Alternity's Lieder
By Blair Provence

TITLE: Alternity's Lieder  (1/?)
AUTHOR:  Blair Provence
E-MAIL ADDRESS:  aggiemo@msn.com
SPOILER WARNING:  To third season, I suppose, up to the finale. An alternate future.  This story is a sequel to my fic "Alternity", available at the New Buffy/Giles Relationshippers and A Watcher's Love.
RATING:  NC-17 - (Buffy/Giles)
ARCHIVE:  The above two sites.  If anyone else wants it, let me know.
DISCLAIMER:  Everything Buffy belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Warner Brothers.  He'd never let Buffy and Giles have *this* much fun, so I feel obligated to do so.
SUMMARY:  Buffy and Giles return home to try and rescue Willow, despite the danger posed by the Watcher Council's Tarakan Assassins and the return of Angel to their lives.  Sequel to "Alternity".  Beware of Angst.


FEEDBACK IS WELCOME AND APPRECIATED!

Alternity's Lieder (1/?)

     Buffy inhaled deeply, relishing the taste of cool, clear night air, a welcome change from over eighteen hours of inhaling Giles' secondhand cigarette smoke and truck exhaust.  She twirled around in front of their parked car, stretching muscles too long cramped from sitting.  Hour upon hour spent driving across the nation in an un-airconditioned car had never been her idea of a good time, and this trip had been longer than most.  They had departed Houston at the ungodly hour of five o'clock in the morning - which had been earlier than they'd planned, but their worry about Willow had kept them from sleep until they'd finally given up trying.  Once the decision had been made to return to Sunnydale to wrest their friend from the Council's clutches, there was no real reason to delay.  Willow's 'trial' was scheduled to take place in four days, and they knew they would need every minute of that time to plan their operation.  So they had loaded up the car with their belongings and struck out before first light.

     Between them, they'd managed to map out the rudiments of a battle strategy during the early hours of the morning, before Buffy, yawning hugely, had dropped off for a few hours of sleep in the rear seat.  Giles had traded places with her in the afternoon, his fatigue such that even her 'adventurous' manner of driving wasn't sufficient to keep him awake.  They'd made rather good time, actually - only two stops for gas at carefully selected pay-at-the-pump stations, and more frequent restroom breaks off of convenient backroads.  Over the past six months they'd developed a comfortable traveling rhythm, preferring to avoid contact with other people while on the road, eating out of a well-stocked cooler in the trunk and training in out-of-the-way fields.

     Buffy tossed a few experimental side kicks toward the forest, then segued into a graceful flip and spin combo, relishing the stretch and pull of taut muscle.  She hoped Giles wouldn't mind staying put for a few hours - they'd been on Pacific time since the beginning of the trip, and it was midnight in the forest just outside Phoenix with about seven more hours driving ahead of them.  They'd decided to make contact with their target at 10 a.m., which gave them three hours leeway, and, as she gazed out at the dark vast sea of trees in front of her, Buffy couldn't think of anywhere in the world she'd rather spend the time.

     But Giles had been in a semi-hostile mood all day, and he would probably disagree with her suggestion just for the hell of it.  Sighing, she turned back toward the hood of the car to recheck the atlas.  They had missed the turnoff to highway 60 a few miles back, not noticing the error until signs had indicated they were almost to Theodore Roosevelt Dam, and Giles had made several sarcastic cracks about her navigating skills.  She saw no need to provide him with more ammunition by getting them further off track, especially since she had no idea why he was being so contentious in the first place.  And, frankly, his attitude was really starting to get on her nerves - these few hours might possibly be the last they would have alone together before meeting a painful death at the hands of Tarakan assassins, and the last thing she wanted was to spend them fighting.

     Buffy leaned forward against the hood, planting her elbows on the quilt she'd spread across it and squinting down at the barely readable map.  The electric lantern's light was feeble and had a distressing tendency to attract bugs, but the moon added more illumination, creating a lovely, almost romantic atmosphere. She traced highway 88 with her finger and tapped the map, satisfied with her plan - southeast on 88 to 10 through Phoenix and onward, no problem.  She closed the atlas and turned off the lantern, leaning over the side of the hood to place them on the ground, then hauling herself back up to lay down.  The residual heat from the engines still warmed the metal hood, giving the quilt a toastiness that was welcome in the night's chill.  She wore only a light hooded sweatjacket over her tanktop and sweatpants - subscribing, after countless car miles touring the nation, to the comfort school of travel wear.  She closed her eyes and let the chirping of the crickets lull her into a doze, idly wondering why it was taking Giles so long to commune with Mother Nature.

*****

     "Dammit," Giles cursed under his breath as he tripped over his third tree root in as many minutes.  The batteries in his flashlight had failed while he was in the middle of doing his business, so to speak, and he was having difficulty making his way back toward the car without falling flat on his face.  He'd lost track of the roll of toilet paper while stumbling around root number two, and, frankly, this little midnight forest odyssey wasn't doing much to improve his sour mood.

     A mood which he'd been taking out on Buffy, he knew, in a vastly unfair manner.  But she didn't realize just how contrary all of this was to his most basic instincts as both her Watcher and the man who loved her.  He was taking her back to Sunnydale to die, almost certainly, and everything inside him screamed for him to turn the car in the opposite direction and never look back, despite the consequences to Willow.  But Buffy's conscience (and his own, most of the time) would not allow them to do that, and so the miles rolled by, bringing death ever closer to them. He felt as though the air were being squeezed from his lungs, inch by painful inch - so he smoked, sulked, and made smart remarks, ruining what most likely would be their very last day together.

     <Pillock,> he rebuked himself as he emerged into the clearing.  <It ends now.>

     He stopped just short of the car, momentarily struck by the charming picture Buffy made curled up in a ball atop the hood. She was so dear to him, his Slayer, such a vital part of his heart, such a precious piece of his soul.  It had come to the point that he literally could not imagine his life without her in it - without her smile, her instinctive generosity, her ready laugh...without all of the things that made her so ineffably Buffy.  Did she know that?  Had he let her see how important she was to him?

     Well, if he hadn't before, he would do so now, he resolved. She would know the depth of his feelings for her before the end came.  So he approached the car, reaching out to touch her shoulder.  "Buffy?"

     She grinned sleepily and stretched like a cat, rolling over to regard him through half-lidded eyes.  "Hey...did'ja get lost?"

     His lips twisted in a wry smile.  "Something like that.  The batteries in my torch failed."

     She rose up on her elbows and cocked her head to the side. "It's a *flashlight*, Giles - repeat after me - a *flash* *light*..."

     He sat down on the hood, scooting upward until he was lying right next to her.  "I've always wondered about that, actually," he murmured.  "So far as I can see, it does not 'flash', per se."

     She nudged his shoulder playfully.  "Yeah, well, it's not on *fire*, either, which means it's not a torch, Englishboy."

     "Mmm."  He tilted his head back to look up at the heavens. "The stars are lovely tonight, aren't they?"

     She moved over next to him and laid her head on his chest. "Yeah, they are...Are you okay, Giles?"

     "I'm fine...well, no, I'm not, actually, but I'm sorry I've taken my poor mood out on you."

     "S'okay," she murmured, snuggling closer.

     "It isn't," he disagreed.  "I've spoilt our last day alone together with my horrid disposition because I'm upset that it's our last day alone together, and if there's anything more illogical than that, I wish you would tell me."

     She giggled.  "You're allowed to be the illogical one every once in a while, Giles - not *often*, but every now and then.  It really is okay."

     "I just-" he reached over to caress her arm with his free hand, "...you must understand, Buffy...every instinct I possess is telling me to lock you in the boot, turn the car around, and drive all the way to the Atlantic."

     She considered his words for a moment.  "I really don't think that would be at all comfortable," she commented finally, "and the word is *trunk*, not boot.  Trunk, Giles."
 
     "Buf-"

     "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound flip."  She sighed.  "Look, I understand, all right?  Don't you think that I feel the same way? That last gas station we stopped at, I found myself looking at those Porta-Potties by the side of the road, wondering how long it would take you to get free if I locked you in one of them and took off in the car."

     "Oh, that would be *beyond* cruel," he replied, smiling slightly.  "At least there's food in the boot - and it smells marginally better."

     "Mmmmph."  They pondered the stars for a few more minutes, Buffy's fingers tracing lazy circles across Giles' t-shirt clad chest.  "Look, I just...I get why you're angry, all right?  I'm angry, too.  But I don't want to spend our last few hours alone fighting, okay?  We can just make a pact - we'll save up all our arguments, and if we're still alive a week from now, we'll have a marathon mad session and then shag 'til dawn.  Deal?"

     His chuckle was pained, but heartfelt.  "Deal."  They quieted and simply held each other as the minutes crept by, content to listen to the varied sounds of the woods, which were magnified by the night's utter stillness.  Buffy could hear the muted beating of Giles' heart through the thin material of his shirt; she pressed closer, relishing the reassuring sound, and tried desperately not to wonder how few beats it had left before the end came.

     She bit her lip and blinked back tears.  <If only he'd never met me, he might have lived forever...>

     As though he'd read her mind, Giles brought his hand up to stroke her hair.  "It's all right, Buffy, really it is."  His hand slid down to caress her cheek.  "Perhaps I've never told you this, but I want you to know that despite what might happen in the next few days, I wouldn't change anything about our past." She raised her head to look at him, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.  "Well, that's not true, exactly," he amended, "there are a few things that I might alter - the Band Candy incident, for one, and I do regret never having the opportunity to punch Snyder.  But on the whole, I've been very happy these past few years."

     She squeezed his chest.  "You don't have to say that."

     "I know I don't."  He ran his fingers through her ponytail, separating the silken strands and working his fingers underneath the elastic band.  "If you'll remember, though, you'll note that I've never said anything to you just because I've thought you wanted to hear it, and I'm not about to begin doing so now."  The band snapped off and her hair fell free, whipping slightly as a sudden breeze blew up.  "I honestly find it quite difficult to remember the life I led before I met you, but I do recall that it was rather empty in comparison.  So even if it meant that I would live to the ripe old age of one-hundred and twenty, I would never regret coming to Sunnydale to be with you, and that *is* the truth."

     She buried her face in his chest.  "Oh, Giles..."

     He kissed the top of her head.  "I love you, Buffy," he told her softly.

     Buffy felt the tears begin again, but she suddenly didn't care whether or not he saw them.  She raised her face to his and kissed him soundly.  "I love you, Giles.  I love you so much..."

     The moisture on her cheeks rubbed off on his, and he brought his hands up to smooth her tears away.  "Please, don't cry, Buffy," he murmured, ignoring the lump in his own throat.  "We're here, we're together - let's just think about that right now, all right?"

     Buffy nodded and kissed him again, lingeringly.  Then she swung her leg over his waist, scooting upward until she was lying directly on top of him.  "We don't need to get going right away, do we?" she asked breathlessly.

     Giles smiled into her eyes.  "Not right away, no."

     "Good."  She leaned forward and kissed him again, more deeply this time, as his hands searched for the zipper to her jacket.  Finding it, he pulled the silver tab down, and she shrugged her arms from the sleeves, flinging the garment off to the side.  Her tanktop followed suit seconds later, leaving her bare to the waist.  She bent forward and attacked his neck with her lips and teeth as his hands began to work their magic on her breasts.

     For a moment their relative positions cast her back to their first time together, on a rain-swept night in a dingy hotel room in Boston, when she'd finally had enough of living inside her own skin.  The loneliness had become too much to bear, and she'd crawled into bed with him at 3 a.m., waking him with a passionate kiss that had stolen his breath away.  He'd fought her at first, as she had known he would, still trying to protect her in every conceivable way - physically and emotionally - even from himself. But long days on the road together had allowed her to discern the need and longing he'd kept so carefully hidden, so she had persevered in the face of his objections, eventually triumphing over his dwindling conscience.  They hadn't slept apart since that night, forever entwined in each others arms, embracing tightly to keep their living nightmare at bay.

     In the months that had followed that first evening, she'd mapped his entire body with her lips and fingers, coming to know his every scar and sinew, curve and hollow.  He held nothing of himself from her, as generous with her as he'd always been, and she'd returned his devotion with utter abandon, sharing with him things about herself that she'd never shown anyone else, even Angel.  They had truly become each other's other halves, incomplete unless they were together, never more content than when locked in a passionate embrace, shutting out the dawn.

     "I love you," she whispered again, her voice low and urgent with need.  She pulled back to help him remove his t-shirt, nearly ripping the side seam in her haste to get it off of him. Then she attacked his chest, licking and biting in a frenzied fervor, while he slipped his hand inside her sweatpants to cup her through her panties.  She rewarded his clever fingering with a low, breathless moan.  "God, Giles."

     "Hurry," he mumbled in return, his breath coming in short pants.  Immediately understanding the verbal shorthand, she rolled off of him to shuck her pants.  He hastily did the same, and they came back together, drawn as though by magnetism.  His erection was hard against her thigh, and she brought her hand down to stroke it, making Giles groan.  "Have I ever mentioned," he asked breathlessly, "that you're very good at this?"

     She grinned as she nipped at his earlobe.  "I've had such agood teacher," she replied, her hot breath making goosebumps on his skin.  "He has a very *hands-on* approach."

     "Lucky him," Giles muttered, cupping her buttocks in his hands.  "*Very* lucky," he added as she rubbed up against him, brushing his thigh with heated moisture.  "You're so wet."

     "For you," she sighed as his lips found her breast again. "Only for you."

     Want and need raged between them, guaranteeing that the preliminaries wouldn't last long.  In times past they had spent hours on end in bed together, slowly bringing each other to burning heights, but that wouldn't happen this night.  Their need was too strong, their underlying fear too potent, their mutual sense of impending loss far too painful for a gradual seduction.

     Buffy hissed with pleasure as she impaled herself on him, delicious fulfillment gorging her to her very bones.  She rocked back and forth gently, once, twice - finding the rhythm that suited them so well, that brought them to the highest peaks as quickly as possible.  The old car creaked on ancient shocks beneath them, adding a squeaking accompaniment to the slap of moist skin.  Buffy gripped Giles' hands tightly as they pressed against one another, creating maximum friction, their strengths well-matched in this as in everything else.  Their gazes met, two pairs of eyes dark with lust and concentration.  Sweat beaded on their bodies, running in rivulets to meet and combine, creating a miasma of love and desire with a scent all their own.

     A starburst blew up behind Buffy's eyes as she came, and Giles' hoarse shout seconds later accompanied his own release. Buffy collapsed on his chest, breathing heavily.  "L-love you," she muttered incoherently, still nearly insensate with sated desire, but with a desperate need to make him *know*.  "Love you..."

     Giles, gasping for air, trembling with the aftereffects of a mind-blowing orgasm, could only nod in reply.  He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her flush against him, responding to an elemental bone-deep need to keep her safe, to place himself between her and peril.  They remained that way for a very long time as their heartrates returned to normal and the night air cooled their heated skin.

     It was Buffy who finally broke the comfortable silence. "Giles?"

     "Yes, love?"

     She smiled against his chest at the endearment.  "I know that you...I know you had doubts about this, that when I...well, when I showed up in your bed that night in Boston..."  She bit her lip, running her hand up and down his arm to reassure herself of his solidity.  "I know you didn't want to do this," she continued, stumbling over the words.  "I know you were just trying to be there for me, then, to give me what *I* needed.  So, I just wanted to thank you for caring that much, even though you thought it was a very bad idea."  She grimaced as she finished talking, unsure whether she'd made clear what she wanted to say, or simply somehow managed to insult him.

     He caressed her back in reassurance.  "I didn't think it was a bad idea," he disagreed, "in fact, I thought it was a very *good* idea...for me.  Don't ever doubt that I wanted you very much, all right?  I just wasn't sure that *you* wanted it for the right reasons, that's all.  And I have certainly never regretted that night, nor any of the ones that followed."

     She hugged him again.  "Me, either.  And, just so you know, lust, love, and friendship *are* the right reasons to do this in my mind, and we had all of those and then some."  She rose on her elbows to meet his gaze.  "Right?"

     He smiled as they began to extricate themselves from their embrace.  "Right."

     After one last kiss she rolled to his side, sighing as her gaze landed on the stars again.  "Guess we should get going, huh?"

     His sigh echoed hers.  "Probably.  We'd best leave ourselves a bit of time once we get to Los Angeles - we might have trouble finding our destination or meet with some traffic on the way."

     "Traffic?  In L.A.?  Count on it."  She leaned over the side of the hood to retrieve their hastily discarded clothing, then paused, staring down at the ground.

     "Is something wrong?"

     "You could say that.  Um, Giles?  Were you aware that you parked in a big ol' puddle of mud on this side?"  Her shoulders began to shake with laughter.

     He groaned and collapsed back against the hood, his laughter joining hers, and the cheerful sound of it rang out across the clearing.

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