Decisions
By Ruth

Decisions
(Part 3 of the Debriefing Series)
Author: Ruth
B/G
Rating: NC-17 at one point. Angst in parts, but read it to the end…
Summary: the title says it all. Set immediately after "Declaration": Fallout.
Spoilers: after the end of Season 5.
Disclaimer: Joss still owns them even though he has lately failed to realise the Watcher’s worth. So he better not sue me for doing so. A not-for profit fic.
Distribution: Archive at buffygiles; VSS. Otherwise please ask me.
Feedback: it’s why I write – well that and the plotbunnies. rufusruff@hotmail.com
Dedicated to those who asked for a sequel: hope you like.

The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California, Tuesday October 16^th 2001. 8 a.m.

"Yeah, guess I did"

Buffy settled her grip more firmly in Giles’ and rested their joined hands on the counter. She took a steadying breath.

"What I needed before I came back to Sunnydale was to realise something I should have seen a long time ago. To see the *person* I needed all along. He’s been right here, and I finally got it. I love Giles and he loves me"

Amy was merely frowning in her confusion. Xander, on the other hand, was doing his best impersonation of a floundering fish. When he finally came to a decision on the mouth closed vs. open issue, he croaked

"Um, like you and me, Buff, friends forever, like Willow, right?" A part of his mind knew very well what he was hearing and seeing, not to mention the waves of contented joy that were coming off the couple. But this, on top of the overload of Buffy’s return…it was too much.

Giles shifted quietly closer, and letting go her hand, put his arm around Buffy’s waist. She nestled easily against him as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and met Xander’s eye squarely.

"Like this" she said simply. She looked up at Giles, and they shared such a look of complete communion as to leave no doubt.

"No no no," Xander stammered nervously, backing away behind the counter until he hit the display, setting the glass containers clinking tunefully. Amy looked as if she didn’t know where to look, and muttered something about Anya being here soon to open up, that she had to check the stock before then. She scurried to the storeroom leaving the other three standing there in the lengthening silence.

"We realise that this is somewhat…unexpected news" began Giles at last.

"Unexpected is Tara and Willow. Unexpected is you singing at the Espresso Pump. This is…God, I don’t know. A *really bad idea* actually," he looked worried, "I don’t think you guys are thinkin’ too straight right now"

"Never straighter, Xander" Buffy replied calmly, although Giles could feel the tension in her body and the challenge in her stance.

Xander fidgeted, unable to meet their eyes, then blurted out

"Look, I gotta go to work now. I *will* call Willow and the others; let them know you’re back, Buffy. Then we all need to talk. Serious talkathon later, okay?" the click of the back door closing behind him left Buffy and Giles alone, leaning on each other.

"Do you want to wait for Anya?"

"I don’t think I could cope with her right now" Buffy’s voice suddenly sounded tired and thin, and Giles pulled her into the circle of his arms and held her there gently. All the barriers he had built over the years against inappropriate physical contact between them had come tumbling down in last night’s feast of touch. He lost himself again in the memory for a moment.

"Giles, what do you think the others are going to say? About you and me, together?"

About to say he didn’t bloody care, which would only have been partly true, Giles moved away from her at the sound of Amy, tentatively re-entering the body of the shop to open the customer door. He shook himself from his reverie and guided Buffy out past him into the street.

The bright morning sun illuminated the pavements, shop fronts and workers making their way to the start of another ordinary day. Buffy stopped again, as she had frequently on the way into town, staring in wonder at the familiar things she had once taken for granted.

"There were times when I hated this town," she told Giles as they strolled along, hand in hand, still to him almost as great a miracle as anything else. "But now I know it’s where I belong, and despite the Hellmouthy centre, you can see goodness here too. Last time I saw it, from…up there" she mused, looking up at the sky in the direction of the gantry from which she had leaped," I said goodbye to Dawn, to all of you, and I hated to leave you. But this place…Spike told me once that a Slayer dies when she has nothing to hold her to this world anymore. At that moment, I thought he was right."

She heard Giles catch his breath and looked up to see him turn his head away, biting his lip. Ashamed of her tactlessness, Buffy laid her hand against the side of his face and turned it back.

"I’m sorry," she said. "It’s all over now. I’m here, and I intend to stay. That night…it seems like a different life. Someone else’s." At his questioning look she laughed. "Hey, don’t worry, I’m not alternate universe Buffy; I’m not the robot. See, no hidden panel." she slipped one of Giles’ hands under her sweater and let him feel the smooth flesh of her back. He held her tightly again; she could feel him trembling, and drew his head down for a tender kiss.

"I love you"

He gazed into her face, mesmerised by the sincerity he saw there.

"I just can’t believe this. It’s like Alice Through the Looking Glass." At her blank look, he explained "Believing six impossible things before breakfast". They both laughed at the image, then Buffy began to stride ahead, pulling him after her.

"Talking of breakfast, can we get some? I need to eat, and we need to work out what we’re gonna do next"

The Espresso Pump, Main Street Sunnydale, Tuesday October 15^th 9am.

Soon they were seated comfortably at a corner table, a huge steaming cappuccino, a freshly brewed pot of tea and a pile of warm croissants on the table between them.

"I didn’t know you could get tea here," remarked Buffy, patting the tea cosy as if it were a pet.

"I know the manager"

"Of course, your famous singing career" she teased

"You never came to hear me, so don’t knock it. People used to make a special trip, so I’m told"

"You do indignant *so well*, Giles. Bet you practice"

Giles raised an eyebrow, put on his best affronted expression, then shared her laughter. It was so like old times.

Yet so not. The small hand that might before have brushed his arm affectionately and then been withdrawn stayed at his elbow for a few seconds until he looked into Buffy’s face again. As at the meal last night, they were all but silent as they ate, but now little touches and shy smiles spoke for them. At last they settled back in their chairs and looked at each other over the remaining fragments of breakfast, then both spoke together

"Giles.."

"Buffy.."

Giles began again. Buffy seemed unusually vulnerable, bewildered by this life that had been returned to her, and his need to protect and guide her reasserted itself.

"We both need to find somewhere more permanent to live than a hotel. I need some form of employment, and you have to decide whether you want to go back to college. The financial side of things may be a bit tricky but the Council can sort out emergency funds for now. Buffy, are you with me?" Her attention seemed to have drifted to a group of older men playing checkers across the room, but his concerned tone brought it back.

"Council? Do we *have* to bring them in on this?" She looked both worried and not a little petulant at this. <<Oh god, she’s still so young>>

"They sent me back here, Buffy. I must tell them of your…return, without delay. I can email them today from the Library"

In another abrupt shift of pace, Buffy mocked him in a fake foreign voice, "Email? What is this strange language you speak, tall white stranger?"

"Very droll. I will *also* need to make a full written report by means of the usual channels, but that can wait"

"Er, Giles, just how much do you need to tell them?"

The fragile new thing between them, that even they were not quite sure of, they knew needed space and time to grow, away from prying eyes and prurient questions.

"I learned the art of creative editing quite soon after I became your Watcher" Giles told her, with a calm he did not entirely feel.

"But they’re gonna be okay with this, right? I mean, saved the world, Slayer sacrifice, big credit balance in the making allowances account?" Her eyes were pleading for his reassurance, but he owed her honesty as he had always done. He looked down at the table than almost involuntarily over his shoulder. Someone always seemed to be there, judging him, judging her.

"What I did" he spoke very softly "could be considered an abuse of my position of trust as your Watcher. Once the Council find out – and they eventually will – I may be in very serious trouble"

Buffy couldn’t miss the emphasis.

"I was there too, remember? Willing participant?"

At the doubt and regret in his face, her heart melted." Giles, I *was* willing. You really think you could have made me if I hadn’t been?"

"No, I suppose not. Nevertheless, in the eyes of the Council I would and should bear full responsibility." Not wanting to think about consequences too deeply any more, he forced himself out of his troubled mood.

"Meanwhile, first things first. Is there anything in particular *you* want to do?"

She sat in silent thought at that, while he paid the bill .He steered her back into the street, a hand resting on her shoulder. It stayed there as they walked along.

"Visit Mom" she whispered at last. Giles’ hand tightened briefly, then he let go and stopped to face her.

"Would you like me to come?" he asked, fully expecting her to want privacy, but instead she said, "Yes, please".

So they went together to Restfield Cemetery, and sat for a while beside Joyce’s grave. Buffy spoke to her mother, telling her everything she could remember, asking for her blessing on them. "Giles will always take care of me, Mom, be there for me like you were"

Her choice of words bothered Giles more than he would have liked. He didn’t want there to be any confusion: he didn’t feel like her father, never had. Their relationship had always defied description; he’d simply been her Watcher, and redefined what that meant for them both virtually every day. Now, well… But he said nothing, not wanting to add his emotional uncertainty to the difficulties she already had.

They stayed together all that morning. Giles found himself a small apartment, contacted the Council in as brief terms as he could decently manage, and they lunched in a small diner away from Main Street. They didn’t break contact unless they had to, but it was non-sexual, casual, as if the previous night had been spent in a reality where everything was simple and they had always been together. Here Giles sensed that Buffy needed him as her anchor in this old world made new. As the day wore on, when he spoke to her he often had to say her name two or three times before she answered. She seemed shellshocked by normality; reluctant to think about practicalities, such as where she should live now the house on Revello Drive had been sold. In the middle of a stilted conversation about college courses she suddenly said

"Can we train today Giles?"

"Train? Um, yes, I s-suppose we could. We could see if we can use the training room at the shop. But, are you sure you’re quite ready?" In truth, he wasn’t certain he wanted to entrust her with weapons in her distracted state.

"You know what they say, back on the horse. I can patrol tonight, check out the bargains at World of Vampires"

Her tone was characteristically flippant, but beneath that Giles saw her serious need for something focussed, clear-cut: hunt, fight, slay. And giving her what she needed was his duty and his joy.

Training room, Magic Box, Sunnydale 4.30pm

They faced each other, armed and ready. Buffy had chosen the two handed broadsword, Giles wielded a heavy battleaxe. They’d cleared the training room of every obstacle to free ranging movement, and spent a little while on stretching exercises.

"Right, let’s see how much you remember"

"No holds barred, Giles?" she challenged him, grinning.

"No holds barred." With that, he came at her with all the intensity and concentration he had shown last night, his strength fully unleashed, his passions in service to another kind of struggle, but her the centre, as always, of his endeavour.

There was something profoundly liberating about this after the months of misery and inaction. Giles swung the axe around his head, meeting her blade time and again, his feet braced on the floor against the aftershock of her returning blows. She could see where he favoured his still-stiff left side and exploited it, giving no quarter and expecting none. Their blades were dulled, but the sheer weight of that sword could have broken his arm had he made a serious error. The room sang with their combat: advance, retreat, swing, parry: the clash of steel and the harsh rhythm of their breath as they put all their energy into it. Look into your enemy’s eyes, Giles had always told her, to see the idea of his next attack before it reaches his weapon hand. Buffy looked into Giles’ eyes now and saw his dedication to the task of keeping her alive, and more, how he revelled in this even as she did. He had been born to this as much as she had.

Gradually they became aware of a small knot of figures at the periphery of their vision; they had attracted an audience. Willow, Tara and Dawn, gathered at the shop after classes at Xander’s suggestion, had gravitated to the back room when they heard the familiar shuffle and crunch of Slayer training, sounds which had been absent from this place for too long.

Giles swung the axe up to take advantage of his height, only to find that Buffy brought the flat of her sword sharply against the side of one knee; he staggered sideways, still grasping the axe and narrowly missing Tara where she stood near the doorway. The onlookers jumped back and chips flew out of the door jamb as the blade bashed against it. Giles failed to right himself before his shoulder hit the wall, his upper body twisted and the axe clattered to the floor. He leaned against the wall, doubled over and pressing a hand to his left side, panting in apparent distress.

Buffy dropped her blade and rushed to him with a cry of concern. Just before she reached him he looked up to judge the distance, bent to pick up the axe and swept the handle up like a staff in front of him, taking a crouching stance. Only Buffy’s Slayer’s reflexes prevented her from slamming into it, and a flying side kick sent it spinning through the air safely out of reach.

"Cheat" she hissed, giggling at the same time. He answered her with innocently raised eyebrows, but evaded her tentative caress and spoke seriously.

"At that moment I was still an injured enemy, and dangerous. Don’t lose your focus, Buffy"

The warning was there both for her and to some extent for the others, whatever they might already have heard. She was still the Slayer and he her Watcher and they needed to hold on to those roles more than ever.

"I think we’d better stop there" He indicated the others; she gave them a nervous glance and nodded, reaching out to take his hand, pulling him up. Giles led the group back into the shop and busied himself making tea from the stock that Anya mercifully still kept there. It seemed she had absorbed at least some civilised values from her former employer.

Buffy meanwhile sat uneasily at the big table, wondering exactly what her friends had heard from Xander. When Willow at last spoke up it was obvious that he had chickened out.

"Buffy, good to see you back." The inanity of what she had just said seemed to pain her; she shrugged apologetically then continued "Xander said you needed to say something important, that things are gonna be *totally* different with you now. So, spill."

Looking at her friend’s expectant face, Buffy reminded herself how Willow had stood by her through some of her craziest decisions and worst behaviour. Willow liked and respected Giles; she would be fine with this. Buffy glanced behind her, willing Giles to come and support her, but his back was still turned; he was working in small controlled movements, avoiding drawing attention to himself. He wanted the group to know Buffy had chosen this freely; he wanted to be sure himself.

"Giles and me, well, we’re making some…changes."<<Just say it already! Before, you could hardly wait to tell Willow about your latest romance. Except this is a hell of a lot more important>>

"You mean he isn’t going to be your Watcher anymore?" Willow ventured, trying and failing to catch Giles’s eye as he came to the table with a tray and served everyone, concentrating on pouring and sugaring as if it were the most delicate magic.

"No, no.. he will. But he’ll be something else as well. My partner." ‘Boyfriend’ sounded somehow ridiculous: trivial and inadequate.

"*Partner*? Are we talking Vampire Slaying, Inc, in which case I don’t think the IRS would believe you, or are we talking um, ‘partner’…" Willow’s voice had gone up to a squeaky whisper.

"It’s obvious to me" butted in Anya, who had sailed over from the counter where she had been shamelessly eavesdropping whilst attempting to serve a customer. "Don’t listen little girl," she instructed Dawn, putting her hands over the teenager’s ears, before announcing in a stage whisper.

"They want to have sex" She removed her hands with a satisfied smile, confident that her tactful actions had spared Buffy the embarrassment of having to say it and of Dawn hearing it. Dawn did not, however, miss Willow’s shocked "What?" and Tara’s confused look to Giles.

"It must be the ritual "muttered the blonde witch, but Giles shook his head in frustration.

Willow, however, jumped on her words with a combination of relief and reproach.

"Yes, that must be it! Giles, there must have been some side effects, y’know, apart from the ones you didn’t tell us about, that you’d feel like we all did, all lusty and wanting to be with someone. That earth magic and the mystical forces must have tried to find you a someone but they made a mistake, it shouldn’t be a *Buffy *someone. And that was weeks ago, you won’t have been holding on to it..er..er "she stammered, red-faced "I mean, help me out here, Tara" she appealed to her lover

"N-no". At Willow’s astonished glare, Tara elaborated.

"Not, no I won’t help you, but no, not that ritual. The one Mr. Giles did to bring Buffy back into Sunnydale. Maybe it didn’t just do what it was supposed to, maybe it did more"

"He cast a *spell* on her? Giles, that’s the kind of thing you always used to say I should be careful with; now you’re the one with the whoops wrong spell shame-causing… thingy" she finished, abruptly and lamely.

" Hold it!" cried Dawn" Will someone let me *in* on this loop. Thanks to ex-demon censorship" Anya looked grumpy and shrugged, "I’m still not clear if we’re really talking about Buffy and Giles being "Buffy and Giles". Cuz that’d be just icky. Giles is an old guy"

By no stretch of an *adult’s* imagination is forty six old, Dawn," put in Giles tartly "and Willow, I did not, never have nor ever will do anything to cause Buffy to act against her will, even if I could"

"Yeah, Slayer on the Bridge here" protested Buffy "Kicking Giles around and resisting dark forces my speciality." Giles looked at her quizzically at the first statement, and she hastily added "*And* what he said"

"Um, Buffy, you didn’t see him after you…died. He was so messed up I thought he might do something stupid" Seeing Giles’ outraged expression, Willow qualified "Not that he was going around crying or doing anything unBritish and unmanly. But those kind of big feelings, whether you show ‘em or not, can affect magic in funny ways. I’m sure he’d never do it on purpose, but…"

Buffy stood up and stamped her foot.

"Will you listen to yourselves?! I am *not* under a spell! This is Giles, for God’s sake! Not Spike! Giles, who’s always been there for me, who’s always cared. Don’t any of you remember that?"

" I understand" declared Anya sagely. Both Buffy and Giles shot her somewhat guarded looks. With Anya one was never quite sure until the other shoe dropped, and as she continued, Buffy dropped back into her seat in visible frustration and Giles covered his eyes with one hand.

"When I was young, I mean pre-demon, the knight rescued the damsel and got her hand in marriage. It was only fair exchange for his effort. Buffy’s been rescued from a fate worse than … well, the same as death, so she’s going to give Giles orgasms to pay him back. Seems reasonable to me. Oh, Dawn," she hastened to add, "just pretend my hands were over your ears for that last part."

"I think we’re rapidly getting nowhere here," Giles suggested after another acutely uncomfortable pause. He turned to Buffy "Perhaps we should give everyone a little time."

Dawn was still looking at her sister as if she was wearing polka dots with plaid.

"Dad called; he wants to know if I’m alright, and whether I want to come back to LA. I’m not sure what I should say. Especially not now." Her resentment at the surprise she had been pitched warred with her very real happiness at Buffy’s return, and resulted in a pout.

" You can’t tell him. Not any of it" Buffy was clearly upset at the thought of not seeing her father, of leaving him with the grief of her death. " Not until someone, the Watcher’s Council maybe" she looked to Giles for confirmation and he silently agreed to investigate "can fix up a story that’ll hold water".

Giles hesitated to intervene between the sisters, but he still felt a measure of responsibility towards the younger girl.

"Dawn, you’d better go back to Los Angeles, try to act as if everything is as it was. Keep in touch however you can. Ladies," he asked the two witches "can you drive her over? I’m afraid I must be elsewhere very soon. Buffy, you remember I need to see Stefan at Unibooks. Six o’clock?"

"Yeah. I’ll come with. Anya, tell Xander ‘Hi’. I’ll…catch him sometime". Anya glared at Buffy but she missed it, her gaze fixed on Giles as they shared a soft smile. She also missed the worried glances between the others as they gathered up their bags to leave.

Buffy was missing altogether too much.

Breakers Woods, Sunnydale Tuesday October 16^th 6.30 pm

Autumn was here, even in the pine woods. There was a freshness to the breezes ruffling the branches and rippling over the bushes. More, there was still magic here, beyond the evidence of it still on the ground. It seemed to greet her, recognising her otherness. Where Giles had built her a shelter only twenty-four hours before, there remained only the wooden frame. Someone, Tara perhaps, had reclaimed all the coverings and magic elements and taken them back to Sunnydale. Buffy hesitated at the entrance. She stooped to look inside the sacred space, sense memory presenting a vivid image of the two of them joined, seized by the final moment of fire, and she took a shaky breath. Then she looked more closely at the ground. Exactly at the place they had lain together, a tender green shoot was thrusting its way out of the earth, standing out against the scorch marks that she saw led out from that very spot. She gave a startled giggle. <<Symbolic much? >> She bent to touch it and jumped at the spike of magical energy that shot through her body, settling deep in her belly.

She turned and ran. She had agreed to meet Giles after his interview, she told herself. He would be worried if she were late. She didn’t care to notice that her knees were suddenly trembling.

Giles was pleased to have got the job. His facility with languages and obvious love for the written word would be an asset to Stefan’s book import/export business; he would start the following afternoon. His good cheer was infectious and Buffy brushed off her experience in her own mind as "some leftover mystical weirdness". They made the rounds, collecting slaying supplies of holy water from the churches, fashioning stakes and makeshift crosses. They shared another meal and agreed that she should check in with him at his new apartment after patrol. After nightfall, he watched her go with an extra edge of unease that he told himself firmly had nothing to do with their new found feelings. They just needed to see the lay of the land, now that she was back. This was still Sunnydale, "home of the big brewin’ evil". He had always secretly appreciated the succinctness of Willow’s phrase.

All that fell to him now was to return home and wait.

Apt 4a, 386 Portland Drive, Sunnydale, Wednesday October 17^th, 2 a.m.

<<This flat needs more things in it. More books and lamps, and boxes to open and shut. More cupboards to tidy, cushions to straighten… phones to stare at. Lose the clock, though. I’ve a watch, no need to keep checking if they both still say the same time. God, I need a drink>>

Taking the well worn path to the corner cabinet in the kitchen, Giles once again lifted the Scotch bottle down and got out a glass, then put it and the bottle back again << No. If she needs me, I mustn’t be incapable>>

He almost shut the cabinet door on his hand as he started and turned. Someone was knocking, not loudly, on his front door. He rested his forehead against the wall in relief at the sound of her quiet "Giles?" Opening up quickly, he listened along the hallway as of long habit to see if they had disturbed any inquisitive neighbours. If so, he might later have to ply them with an improbable excuse as to why a beautiful young blonde was visiting his middle-aged self at such an hour. At the old place, he’d nearly got into a fight once with a sleazy car salesman who’d asked him for the number of the agency that had sent her. Some of Buffy’s clothes back then had definitely sent out the wrong messages.

Tonight – this morning- she wore grey sweatpants and a white hooded top, muddy sneakers (it had rained on and off for hours), and two huge bags slung one over each shoulder.

He ushered her inside and she dumped the bags, looking around in vain for a couch. It hadn’t yet been delivered; she flopped down instead into a blue beanbag, blowing out a breath through pursed lips.

" I, er, expected you earlier. Was everything all right?" Giles strove to keep his enquiry professional rather than frantic. She however, had seen behind the façade and patted his hand where it rested on her shoulder.

"Patrol was fine. In fact I was at the top of my game. Three newborn vamps not going to make it to kindergarten"

"Nothing out of the ordinary then?"

"I didn’t say that" she corrected him shortly. He made a sound encouraging her to go on.

"I was going back to the motel to do a quick change before coming here. I was pretty filthy with mud and grass, one of the vamps dragged me across this headstone: pulled my shirt nearly off and popped half the buttons. It was raining and there was a headwind all the way. When I got to the motel lobby they’d lit a real fire in that fake Spanish fireplace. I wanted to warm up and stood over by it. All I did was look into the fire, Giles, just for a minute, and it…*came *at me"

"A flame demon, a salamander, what?" He knelt in front of her in puzzled concern.

"No, the *fire* came at me. Like a big tongue lashing out, but only I could see it. They all stared when I fell on the floor rolling around trying to beat down the flames; there was nothing they could see. But I smelled smoke, my jacket reeked of it. So did my hair until I washed it twenty times. After I’d done throwing up. I don’t like being "not really on fire", Giles." She shivered, wrapping her arms round her drawn up knees and curling up, head down. Giles embraced her, grateful that he now had the freedom to do so without explanation or excuse. He rocked her gently until her sniffling stopped.

"It must have been a horrible experience, but you’re safe. It might have been an illusion, trick of the light and tiredness", He didn’t really believe it even as he said it, and she passed him a sceptical look.

"It wasn’t just the burning. I don’t know how to say this, but…it was like the fire *knew* me, I heard it *say* something, only I don’t speak Imaginary Combustion, so I don’t know what it wanted to tell me."

Giles’ mind was working double time. If the fire itself was trying to communicate with Buffy, then the Elementals who had brought her back to him and to this world must be the prime suspects. But they could not be cross-questioned and their ways were often unfathomable to mortals. He rose to pace around the room, nervously combing his hair back with one hand.

" I need to research. Those books are at the Magic Box. Damn. No, wait, I still have a key somewhere". He went to fish in the pockets of his jacket on the coat stand.

"Giles? Buffy interrupted in a plaintive, exhausted voice. "Time? Sleep?"

"Yes, yes, sorry. Shall I see you back to the motel? Or perhaps to Willow’s?"

She looked over to the bags and he followed her gaze. "Ah".

"I can stay here with you, right? I don’t feel too comfortable asking Will and Tara for big favours right now. And I signed out of the motel before they could send the men in white coats to come get me."

Giles gestured vaguely in the direction of the absent couch, then looked over towards the open door of his bedroom. He lifted Buffy’s bags and she followed him through as he set them down at the foot of the big bed. Taking his sleeping bag out from under the bed, he straightened to find her standing with hands on hips and wearing a ‘don’t be silly’ expression.

"I think we’ve bypassed this bit already, Giles. Which side do you want to sleep on?"

"Buffy. Yesterday, er, Monday was a special circumstance. I don’t expect you…"

"No, you don’t. But I want to. I need someone to watch over me tonight, what’s left of it. And I’m cold to the bone. Warm me?" she touched his neck under the collar of his open shirt – he’d lost his tie to restless fidgeting hours ago –and he could feel her icy fingers. She looked pinched and pale when in direct light, still shocked by the traumatic vision. Giles sighed and capitulated. He was out of practice at resisting her will, and it had never been one of his better skills.

He had removed his shoes and socks and was unbuttoning his shirt when he noticed her looking at him out of the corner of one eye as she rummaged through her bags, trying to find some suitable nightwear.

Suddenly self-conscious, he decamped to the bathroom carrying a robe. When he got back, modestly clad in a loose t-shirt and dark green boxers under the robe, she was sorting out a jumble of garments that she’d clearly just tipped out onto the bed. He raised an amused eyebrow and she wrinkled up her nose in irritation.

"Couldn’t find any pyjamas. Still can’t. I don’t think Will or Dawn kept any. My yummy sushis" she mourned. "There must be a clean and decent top somewhere here," holding up a cropped blue number which would definitely *not* serve.

"We can get you something in the morning" Giles said resignedly, shedding his robe and hanging it behind the door. The "we" gave Buffy a warm feeling near her heart. Her Watcher took off his own t-shirt and handed it to her, saying, "It’s clean on, and you’re more than welcome." The intimacy of sharing clothing was not lost on either of them, and Buffy deliberately inhaled the faint smell of Giles from the thin cotton as she carried it off to change.

She padded around the apartment, turning off the few lights left on, and came to bed to see him lying on his side, contemplating the empty side of the bed, trepidation and longing evident in his expression, even shadowed as it was by the half light of the reading lamp next to him on the nightstand.

"Rupert." He looked up at that, uncertainly. She was addressing him, but also trying out the sound of it with her voice.

"Y’know, unless it really means a lot to you, I’ll stick with Giles. ‘Rupert’ always makes me think red sweater and yellow check pants." She made a "fashion challenge" face.

Giles laughed aloud.

"That damn bear: bane of my childhood".

"Yeah, even in High School, you never dressed *that* bad. Liking the look these days, did I say?" Something cheeky in her appraisal at this moment suggested his present state of undress was included and he coloured.

"Call me whatever you feel comfortable with."

"Sweetie." She giggled at his dubious expression. "No, *definitely* Giles."

Giles smiled warmly and drew back the bedclothes. Then he opened his arms.

Buffy awoke from dreamless sleep to find herself still protectively cradled against her Watcher’s side. She looked up and saw that he was wide awake, his free arm behind his head. He appeared to be deep in thought, so much so that he jumped slightly when she addressed him

"Hey, Giles"

"Oh! Er, good morning Buffy. Did you sleep well?"

"The best" she snuggled happily against his chest, trying to intertwine their legs, but stopped when she felt his resistance.

"Something wrong, Watcher mine?"

"I’ve been thinking. About this…us…being together"

"Happy thoughts, yeah? ‘Cause I have *really * happy thoughts about it".

Buffy began to stroke his bare skin and smiled when she saw his eyes close and heard him groan softly. His hand over hers stilled it and he turned his head to look at her.

"Please Buffy. Listen for a minute. And *please* stop " – her other hand was busy now- "It’s difficult to think straight when you do that"

"Yay me" she looked a trifle smug and impossibly young. Giles made a sound halfway between exasperation and despair.

"Buffy, do you *really* want this? I’m your Watcher, I’m more than twenty five years older than you, and if you knew the half of what’s made up my life, you’d run a mile in the opposite direction."

Buffy propped herself up on one elbow and gazed into his face.

"I know enough to see that you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. Sometimes you’re stuffy and stubborn and clueless. Sometimes you drink too much and when you’re not repressing like mad you have an awesome temper. But, you’re one of the truly good guys in this world, and I love you. That’s all I need to know" she ended defiantly.

"I killed Ben. With my own hands." Giles tensed in expectation of her shock and revulsion, but instead she only said,

"Yes, Willow told me." Her apparently calm acceptance of his actions astonished him, but she regarded him gravely, and continued

"I’ve had a *lot* of time to think over the past few days, Giles. On Saturday night, I hardly slept, and Will and I talked all night. She told me a whole lot of stuff about how things were when I was…not here, and she said one night when you’d had too much to drink again" Giles cringed, but she smoothed his brow with her fingers," that you just let it out, like it had been eating you from the inside, and you had to get rid of it." She stroked the hair at his temple. "It doesn’t change what I feel. I understand now what you said about saying and doing what other people can’t – to protect this world."

"Saying is one thing. Doing… I took a human life, Buffy. Not for the first time."

Buffy crawled over until she lay right on top of him, tucked her head under his chin and held him as close as she could, where she could feel the tight shallow breaths of his distress.

"You would never have done it except to save the world" she said with certainty.

"You couldn’t kill Dawn to save the world"

"In the end, I didn’t have to. What choice did you have? Could you even have saved Randall any other way? You didn’t have a willing vampire handy. Even that wasn’t just your fault. I didn’t see Ethan losing any sleep over it. You do, because you have a conscience, you care about consequences, about people. You’re *good*, Giles."

His arms were round her now, hanging on for dear life. He so wanted to believe her, but remorse was an older companion. Sliding back to lie beside him, she didn’t let go. Neither did he.

"As for the rest, a lot of it I know, most I don’t need to. Aren’t you the one always saying, "Move on"? Behold me moving on" She sat up and struck a little pose, which made him giggle in spite of himself. Then, serious again, in another of the mercurial changes of mood which were so entirely Buffy, she kissed him deeply and reverently.

"Where I want to move on to is wherever you are. Let me be good to you, Giles, love you the way you deserve. Give you what you need, what you want." After a beat, she grinned mischievously. "I can even handle your kinky pain and sex thing".

"It’s not "kinky". Merely, er, ups the intensity a little at the right moment. I, um, don’t go any further than, well, what you saw". He was blushing adorably and she kissed his hot cheek before leaning in to his mouth again. A few minutes of tender but pleasurable contact later, her hands re-started their journey over his body. What he had said about their age difference suddenly came back to her and on impulse she threw back the bedclothes, pushing them down so that she and Giles were completely uncovered. She pulled the tee over her head and knelt up, turning to him so he could see her clearly. She could not pretend that she did not totally enjoy his open-mouthed worship, but she had another purpose in this.

"Giles, strip" she commanded confidently.

"W-what?"

"These." Buffy slipped three fingers into the waistband of his shorts. "Take them off".

After a few seconds of panicked hesitation, he did as he was bidden. He made a move to cover himself with part of the comforter, but she leaned over and stopped him, a bare breast brushing over his back and hip with predictable results. Buffy indulged in a spot of worshipping of her own, before speaking in a low firm voice that he recognised on a most basic level: her claim on him, and it was profoundly unnerving and exciting.

"Lie still now. Let me look at what you are"

The morning sun was streaming through gaps in the blinds; Buffy opened them completely so that the light made the room glow. Giles screwed his eyes shut, not against the light but the clarity of her searching. There were so many ways of being naked beyond the absence of clothing.

"It’s okay, see what I see" He looked, but she shook her head when he tried to speak. She was moving her hand steadily over his skin and following its progress with her eyes. She paused from time to time at all the places he had feared; where the passing of years and his sometimes sedentary lifestyle had thickened him at the waist, where the mark of Eyghon still reproached him with bitter memories, where there was grey in the hair on his head and body. Yet she stopped also to test the breadth of his shoulders and the strong definition of muscle on his thighs, the result of their training.

"You’re a man who has seen twenty five more years than me of the life we both lead. Years I might not get to see, even with my nine lives"

A truth he had to acknowledge, however little he wished to.

"But if I do see them it will be because of you. I want them, many or few, if you’re there too."

Buffy saw that her Watcher’s – her lover’s- face was as open with love and the doubt that she could never feel the same way, as it had been the afternoon they’d faced each other in the clearing. This time, she was able to return the love and remove the doubt.

"In the woods…it was like nothing I’ve ever…"

"You mean the earth magic," Giles ventured carefully. Willow’s and Tara’s reaction at the shop had bothered him more than he wanted to admit; part of him feared that they might have a point.

"No, that was separate, different. The other kind of magic; you know" she touched his fingertips, "that was you. Magic hands" his lips, "magic kisses", brushed her knuckles over the still strong evidence of his desire "other stuff. You were amazing. So good. I meant just to go through with it, and I trusted you to make it alright." Giles’ face told her that he had accepted that trust gratefully. "But when we actually…Giles I *really* wanted it, wanted you. And afterward, everything about loving you just made sense. Not magic, not gratitude. People call it ‘falling in love’, but that’s so…passive. I jumped, with my eyes open. I *decided*".

To some, it would have disappointed; it sounded unromantic, prosaic. To Giles, wary of fairytales and with a soul whose natural poetry had been disciplined by a thousand trials, it was reassurance and peace. He smiled with a brightness that rivalled the sunlight and gathered her to him, kissing her everywhere he could reach and letting words of love and devotion tumble out in a barely coherent rush.

"Happy thoughts now?" Buffy asked him breathlessly.

"Yes, indeed."

"Wanna get happier?" she began deliberately to arouse him, whispering suggestions and touching all the places she talked about with firm strokes of hand and tongue and the lightest of teasing scratches. Bracing her arms either side of his waist to rub herself against him like a golden cat, there was a fresh challenge in her eyes.

"Fight me again, Watcher, you’re the one with the sword this time" She illustrated her point by getting between his legs and dipping her head down to take the tip of him in her mouth, smiling at his cry of surprise and tasting him with her tongue, hissing in pretend pain, baring her teeth as she looked up his body into his face, tossing her hair like a mane.

"Sharp". She commented, "Feel like doing some damage?"

Giles barely caught himself in time before he simply pulled her up and impaled her, managing to warn her in a harsh whisper

"No, not now. I didn’t get in any…supplies. Didn’t want to presume" This last in an absurdly bashful tone that didn’t diminish the raging passion underneath.

Buffy looked a little nonplussed for a second, but then she smiled slowly and dangerously.

"Well, then. We should take some care. There’s nothing like a well tempered weapon" she moved her mouth wetly up and down his length and settled it again over the head, suckling firmly. Giles raised himself on his elbows while he still had the strength, in order to enjoy the sight. She had her head on his hip, one hand splayed, moving with enviable co-ordination in circles across his stomach and through the hair on his chest at the same time as her head dipped and swayed, pulling all the nerves in his body to one place and firing every one of them in turn.

"Oh Lord, that’s so good. You’re so lovely, my huntress. My goddess Diana."

She left off her task to look quickly up at him, sparkling with gladness at his pleasure and the feeling behind his words. "Hey you with the poetry! Just me, Buffy. Garden variety one-in-a-billion Slayer…*your* Slayer"

"Please. Always my Slayer"

"Then see how well you trained me" she had been caressing him steadily with her hand all the while, keeping the fire stoked, but she could tell how much he’d rather experience her mouth again. His attention was all on her lips moving, his body intent on her words.

"I can feel your pulse beat from here" she put her wandering hand briefly to his side, "right down to here", back to his sex, keeping a gentle pressure. "It’s telling me you’ve liked this so far, but you’re ready for more" She showed him the tip of her tongue and he swallowed, trembling for her, lying back and waiting.

"Don’t say a word, let me listen to you breathe and I’ll give you exactly what you want"

Her lips took him again and this time he closed his eyes as she did hers, concentrating on the sensation and letting his mind flow with it. She listened to his wishes expressed without speech; only little sighs and deep, slow exhalations. She heard rather than saw him clench his fists and press them into the mattress in obedience to her, giving her no guidance with his hands though he longed to touch her, allowing her to rely on sense and instinct. She half expected him just to want to go as deep as possible, but it seemed to be the variations in touch that pleased him most; he let her play with him a long time, until a raw hollow ache throbbed between her legs. She began to suck smoothly and powerfully, as if feeding on him. She could hear his voice in the breaths now, never the forbidden instruction, but low moans and an occasional barely audible ‘oh god’. Under her hand his muscles tensed and trembled and she knew he must be close. She inclined her head back a fraction and scraped him delicately with her teeth with each pass, not enough to injure at all, just add friction. A warning note later she released him and touched the warm wet life as it left him, scenting the sour salt smell of come mixed with the sweat which shone on both of them. They were each breathing hard from the chase and the look she gave him when their eyes met at last was pure triumph.

"You" he panted, "are a marvel." He was laughing softly and unsteadily.

"Ain’t I just?" she began to clean him carefully with a corner of the sheet, avoiding the still sensitive parts, loving the relaxed sprawl that laid him completely open to her service and her pride in him. He in turn could see that it hadn’t been solely for him; in her slightly shaking hands and the way she now kissed him hungrily was the tension it had built in her that was not yet released. Recovering, he Watched and waited for her to come to him, as always.

"I need my Watcher’s help with something" she spoke low into one ear.

"Of course" he replied, as casually as if she had asked him to lend her a Demonology. He thought for a moment, then reached over and palmed his signet ring from off the nightstand and put it on. Her curious frown made him smile.

"It’s all right. Symbolism is very important. This is the outward token of my vow as a Watcher. I’ve had it ever since I made the promise to serve this world, and you. Before you were born."

Giles trailed the back of his left hand down her temple and cheek, so that she could feel the slight coolness of the metal and onyx, rough with the relief-engraved crest of his family, a line of Watchers bound to the Slayer. He used his arms and legs to nudge her until she crouched on all fours over him, knees wide apart and hands spread on the sheets, an heraldic beast guarding him. He drew her head down to kiss and taste her, humming his satisfaction, then skimmed one-handed, lingering over her breasts and tracing down her stomach, turning the ring toward her from time to time so that the reminder of the symbol was not lost. The long fingers of his other hand cradled her chin, and covered her lips when she might have spoken. He could Watch and see her response, just as she had used her keenest Slayer senses to judge his. The smoky green of his eyes warmed her with the power of his faith in her and the invitation to trust him.

Encouraging her to move up his long body so that he could pass his hand up and down the backs of her thighs and over the curves of her bottom, he brought it round past her waist and finally to where her eyes were begging him to go now – to the liquid flame at her centre, talented fingers beginning to torment but taking pity and making firm strokes to bring her shaking, tumbling over the edge with a keening cry. Even during all this, the occasional contact with metal or stone made her catch her breath, not in discomfort, only taking the meaning. Lover and Watcher both, he gathered her into his arms as she relaxed against him, coming down slowly.

He sang softly, wordlessly, to her, the song of his heart. They dozed a little, then stretched, rose, showered separately, dressed without self-consciousness and sat down to eat together as if it were the hundredth time.

947 Lincoln Drive, Los Angeles, California. Wednesday October 17^th, 2001. 8 a.m.

"I said no, Dawn" Hank Summers put down his coffee cup with a definitive bang, and picked up the newspaper. "You’re barely back home after nearly a week in Sunnydale doing heaven knows what, and now you want to go out to a *party*? On a school night?"

"It’s not like a ‘dancing and cheese sticks’ party, Dad. It’s a ‘meet my new kitten’ party. Belinda just heard they’re fetching it from the breeder after school and it’s the cutest! *Everyone’s* going round to her house tonight."

"The kitten’s not going anywhere after they take it home. You can see it at the weekend. Now, get your bag and get in the car, or we’ll be late."

"But Daaad…" Dawn had been hoping not only to meet with her school friends again but also to make a sneak phone call to Sunnydale where there was less chance of being overheard.

"Young lady, don’t whine. You’re far too old." Her father’s voice was curt and impatient and he was rubbing his face tiredly. Laura tried to appeal to Dawn’s sympathy.

"Sweetheart, please let it go. Your Daddy didn’t sleep too well; I think he might have a bad head this morning. Can I get you a pill, honey?" She stood beside Hank and tried to soothe his brow solicitously, but he brushed her hand aside and she pouted, looking a lot younger than her twenty five years.

Dawn rolled her eyes and marched out to the hall with her nose in the air. Laura’s attempts at Stepford Wife irritated the heck out of her. Not to mention her habit of hovering around trying to make Dawn feel she was "interested in her life".

<< My life is several blocks past interesting right now. Not to mention my formerly dead sister. And Giles! *Gross*. Wonder if the School Counsellor would fall for the ‘it’s happening to a friend’ line? >>

Her father seemed awfully twitchy during the journey to school, braking sharply at the slightest encroachment from another vehicle, and asking her repeatedly to make sure she came straight home after classes. As he dropped her off at the gate, his face was strained and he squeezed her arm a little desperately.

"Take care now, special munchkin"

<< Okay, officially creeped. I haven’t been "munchkin" since I was, like, seven>>. She nodded, embarrassed, and skipped up the steps into school. Driving off, Hank watched her through the rear view mirror.

<< It can’t be happening again. Not with her, too>>.

The Magic Box, Sunnydale, Saturday October 27^th 2001, 3.15 p.m.

There were some volumes missing. Important ones that he might need, and that had definitely been here the last time he had come to consult them. Giles was just checking to make sure they’d not been put back out of order, when one of them was thrust under his nose.

"This what you’re looking for?"

"Willow, good afternoon. And yes, that one among others. Might I ask what *you* are doing with it?"

Willow set her bag on the floor and extracted two more slender books with worn calfskin covers. Giles recognised them immediately and gratefully.

"The same thing as I was doing with these. Research."

"Into?"

The young witch kept the two books tucked under her arm even though Giles was looking at them pointedly. She hung her head and scuffed her shoes on the floor.

"Stuff" she said. She didn’t want to start last week’s argument all over again.

"Well, whatever it is, I suggest it can wait. I must help Buffy"

In the past, that had always clinched any debate, but Willow was stalling. She hoped he would not notice which places she had marked with slips of paper. She surreptitiously pulled a couple out and crumpled them in her hand as she tried to keep up a chatty front.

"How is Buffy now? You seen her much? Hey, of course you have. I’ve hardly had the chance to catch up with her, just a few times at college and she didn’t tell me her number or where she’s moved to. I checked at the Motel, but they didn’t know either."

"Buffy’s with me".

Willow looked around them, then over the rail into the shop.

"I don’t see her…"

"She’s living with me. Please, may I see those" he continued, gesturing to the books, and Willow absently handed them over whilst her mind was still trying to process what he had told her.

"L-living with? As in…" Willow’s eyes were like saucers and she took a step backward.

"As in, same address, also telephone number. As in, eating, sleeping, and as Anya would no doubt reduce it to, "having sex". Not that that’s anyone’s business but ours."

He was flipping rapidly through one of the books as he spoke in a monotone, concentrating on what he read. She meanwhile was making little hesitant "oh" sounds as her imagination supplied more detail than she was comfortable knowing.

"Hav…having…"

"Do grow up, Willow. Try to overcome the adolescent preoccupation with sleeping arrangements. It’s not relevant to the task in hand."

She had not known him to be this blunt about such things, or dismissive of her concerns. He was clearly deeply rattled by something, muttering under his breath as he failed to find what he was looking for.

"Can…can I help? Or maybe Tara? She’s just downstairs." Giles rose from a crouch, snapping shut the book.

"Very possibly. Buffy’s been having some disturbing experiences lately, a species of waking dream or vision. I believe they are connected to one or both of the restoration rituals.

The elemental forces that seem to be trying to establish contact with her have left her with a distinct sense of menace."

"Why should they want to harm her? Aren’t they kind of on our side?"

"In a sense. Elementals represent the basic forces of nature. Without them, we would be severely hampered in our fight against the undead. Earth grows the wood from which stakes and crossbow bolts are made, water once blessed burns a vampire’s flesh. The fire of sunlight unleashed is deadly to them, and the breath of life, which they no longer possess, can be turned into words, passing on the knowledge of how to defeat them. The Elementals have an interest in preserving the Slayer. She can take a more active part in resisting that which drains the health of the world, what we would call Evil. We believe the visions are more in the way of a warning, but of what we still don’t have a clue."

Willow went to the stairway and called to her partner.

"Tara, could you come up here, please? What exactly happened?" she asked Giles in a low voice as they waited.

"It began last week, in fact the evening she first arrived, after patrol. All the ensuing visions have happened after patrol, although Buffy reports that the hunting itself, so to speak, has been good. The vampire population seems to be recovering from the summer and the fallout from Glory’s inter-dimensional chaos, but she’s making substantial inroads into the ranks of the newly risen. Hello, Tara."

"Mr. Giles. G-good to see you". Tara noticed that Giles was dressed fairly casually and was wearing his gold hoop earring. He might have looked relaxed, if one could ignore the frown lines around his eyes and mouth and his hand raking continually through his hair.

"How’s Buffy?" Her question was polite, but as with all enquiries about Buffy these days, there was a subtext. They would all get the message in the end, and Giles did not care to spell it out every time.

"In as yet undetermined danger. You know of the Elementals, of course?"

"Sure. Powerful nature spirits that no –one can summon. They preside over acts of creation and destruction. You… you said they had something to do with Buffy’s original return, you remember when we had that talk? " She looked significantly at Giles and Willow caught the exchange.

"Tara, Giles, what’s going on? Am I out of the loop on this somewhere?"

"Sweetie, it was in confidence" Tara chided her without rancour." It just might be connected to how Buffy returned. Were they actually visible, both times? Did you get even a subliminal message?" she asked Giles.

"I only saw them on the first occasion. They acted as a kind of…escort for Buffy, but they did not communicate with either of us as far as I can recall"

Tara seemed at a loss, and shrugged apologetically.

"You got that email from your friend in England. He seemed in with them," remembered Willow. "And Dawn, didn’t she have visions like Buffy’s having? Could one of them help?"

"I’ve already spoken to Dr. Parker; he didn’t have any insights. When Buffy and I finally managed to get hold of Dawn, she was rather too taken up with the trials of parental authority to be of much help."

"She told us her Dad was on her case big time" Willow agreed. "He’s starting to think something’s up, with the Secret Squirrel act she has to put on. Did you try the Watchers’ Council, Giles?"

Giles seemed if possible to be even more troubled at that thought.

"I was… thinking of holding them in reserve, just for the moment".

London Headquarters, Watchers’ Council, Friday November 9^th 2001 11.30 a.m.

Balancing a folder on each hand, Quentin Travers mimicked the action of a set of old-fashioned scales, like the ones held by the statue of Justice atop the Old Bailey, which he could see from his office window.

" I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," he mused aloud. "So help me God. Well, God help you now, Rupert, because I’m not certain I can. Or that I should."

He tossed the folders onto the desk and opened them again, side by side.

The left hand one contained several pages of Rupert Giles’ meticulous handwriting, careful phrasing and sundry footnotes. Buffy Summers’ resurrection – there was no getting round that word – had been effected by her Watcher using magic, aided by the most fundamental mystical forces. It seemed the pair had powerful support. All might have been well had they left it at that.

The right hand folder had been delivered to Travers’ office that morning by Special Operations. It contained one packet of photographs, taken with a telephoto lens, and a brief written recommendation: Refer to Disciplinary Committee Without Delay.

Travers spread the pictures out again in the form of a film sequence. A graveyard in Sunnydale, late at night. A pretty blonde girl, black leather trousers, black roll neck sweater, calm alert expression.

<<Honor Blackman. Good Lord, that dates me>>

Two or three shots of a flurry of movement from all sides. More of the girl – young woman, he corrected himself- spinning and kicking out, throwing off opponents at impossible angles, balancing on those impossible heels. So far, so unexceptional.

Then, she seemed to falter, or merely become overwhelmed by numbers. A close up of her startled face, another of her shouting to someone off-camera.

They fought back to back. "The Watcher needs at times also to be Warrior". That *was* in the Handbook. To what purpose otherwise the comprehensive weapons training? The Slayer was her own weapon in the main, though one had to admire the way this one wielded a stake.

A halo of dust caught in the moonlight, surrounding two figures as they brushed it off each other, laughing with hysterical relief. Then, a frozen tableau. They were facing each other, a pleading expression on her face, and barely suppressed terror on his. One could almost hear the looming soundtrack.

<<This, however, is real life; and very nearly, real death>>.

Despite what Giles might think of him, Quentin Travers had a genuine if grudging respect for the younger man, and an appreciation of the talents of his Slayer. Their record spoke for itself. So, unfortunately for them, did the photographic one.

The next two shots were rather affecting. Buffy was all but hidden by Giles’ bigger frame as they clung to each other, their eyes closed. Then he was holding her hands in his as he gazed at her thankfully, the vulnerable look not of a father, but of a man in love. That alone might have been cause enough for concern, but what tipped the balance and called for immediate action was the final frame.

Travers might be getting old, but he could recognise passion when he saw it. Not to mention trouble.

He tapped the picture several times with a forefinger, then picked up the telephone and dialled an internal line.

"Parker? Travers here. Stop by my office on your way to lunch, would you? We need to talk."

Apt 4a 386 Portland Drive, Sunnydale Friday November 9^th 2001 5 p.m.

Afternoons after College were rapidly becoming Buffy’s second favourite time of the day. She could spread her books out across Giles’ outsized desk, play the tracks of her pop CDs that he didn’t care for, and indulge her sweet tooth before supper. She glanced guiltily in the direction of the blue enamelled tin and wondered if Giles would notice another slice missing from his lemon sponge cake.

She’d made a half-hearted attempt to cook and keep house, until he’d made a mild observation that he had shifted for himself for over two decades, thank you, and that if she really wanted the way to his heart, taking her studies more seriously would be a better place to start. She’d been gratified that her aim was still good, even if it meant half a yard of scotch tape and some fast talking to the College librarian about her political science textbook.

Buffy turned back to her books with a smirk. The "kissing it better" had been nice too. A knock on the door surprised her, it shouldn’t yet be her favourite time of the day; Giles had said something about staying late to finish some summaries for UniBooks’ new catalogue.

Skipping nimbly around the furniture in time to the beat, she opened the door.

Her father stood in the corridor with a pole axed expression.

"Dad…Daddy!" Buffy made as if to hug him, but he stepped back a pace in shock, putting his hands out as if to ward her off.

"No…can’t be you…" His voice was shaking and he looked terrified. This was some wild hallucination, or a crazy mistake.

"Come in" she asked him, pulling his unresisting figure inside and closing the door. "Sit down".

Hank sat gratefully onto the couch, staring at her, his mouth working soundlessly.

"It’s really me, Daddy, it’s Buffy" She sat next to him, clasping one hand to reassure him of her solidity.

"I came…to see Mr. Giles". He held on to what he did know of reality, the purpose of his journey.

"Yes, he lives here. I’m…studying here ‘til he gets back" <<Giles had better be really late home tonight. I don’t think Dad could take that on top of everything else>>

"You’re not…not dead. Oh God, Buffy why did they tell me you were?" Hank was moving rapidly from shock to anger.

Buffy thought quickly. What with the upheaval in her personal life, the visions, and the recent spate of extremely close calls on patrol, getting the Council to think of a cover story to explain her return had not been a high priority. In fact, Giles had been distinctly cagey when she had asked him about it. He seemed almost to be trying to avoid drawing the Council’s attention to them, which, since she was the active Slayer, looked to be a bit of a lost cause. On the other hand, her friends and Dawn knew everything, and her death itself had not been very widely publicised. To most other people except Hank and Laura, she’d merely been out of town for the whole summer. She had not expected her father just to pitch up in Sunnydale without warning.

"They weren’t lying to you, Dad. They all thought I was gone. Giles sort of…found me, in the woods outside town" True enough, as far as it went.

"Where were you all this time?"

"I’m…not sure. I don’t remember much". Also true enough; before she’d found herself on the grass in the clearing, Giles wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, all she could recall was the leap from the gantry, bright white light and lightning flashes of colour turning to black mist. The mist had rolled back at the sound of his voice, singing for her to come to him.

Hank took hold of her by the shoulders, looked at his hands as if to check again that she was no apparition, and smiled his relief and happiness at having his daughter back. It seemed for a moment that he would just accept, and in true Sunnydale tradition ask no awkward questions. But then he turned his head aside and muttered,

"Thank God, those nightmares weren’t true, then".

"Nightmares? Dad, what did you dream?" Buffy’s Slayer senses were alert. Something told her that more than simple grief and fear were involved. Hank’s eyes were haunted as he asked her to trust that he was *not* crazy. A difficult plea, as he was far from sure himself.

"You’re going to find this…unbelievable" he began.

The corner of Buffy’s mouth quirked, but she looked at him seriously.

"Try me"

"I had this terrible dream, of Dawn screaming, bleeding, of you falling a long way, of a lightning storm, and creatures, like out of a horror movie, flying about…"

Buffy did not know what to say. It was if he had been there, rather than halfway around the globe. He clearly had more to say, and she gestured with her eyes for him to go on.

"Then I learned you …were dead in an ‘accident’. Dawnie didn’t want to talk about it, which we all understood. But the docs said her injuries didn’t seem to tie in with the story. I wouldn’t have connected it with my dream, except…"

"Except? You can tell me, Dad, I’ve seen some*way* strange things in Sunnydale"

Hank nodded ruefully

"I watch the news, read the papers. Joyce…your mother used to wonder where the heck she’d brought you to, the first couple of years. Then, she stopped talking to me about it. Maybe if she hadn’t I’d have told her. That dream, Buffy: it wasn’t the first".

"You, um, had prophetic dreams?"

"Prophetic? Is that what they’re called? I just know that all my life I’ve had weird dreams, and *something* always happened right after. I knew when Grandpa died; I was only twelve. I knew I was going to meet your mother at the High School Prom. And the night you were born…"

Buffy sat up straighter. What, if anything, did her father know about her destiny?

"The night you were born" Hank continued "just before your mother woke me and told me we had to get to the hospital, I saw you in your cradle, that we’d brought home from the store that morning. I knew you were a girl, you were dressed in a little pink romper suit and you were smiling and gurgling. But all round the cradle were…monsters. Guys with horns and scales, things like blobs of goo. *Vampires*."

"Vampires?" said Buffy in a small voice.

"I know, I know, crazy. I don’t even like those kind of movies, why should I dream about vampires? But the really freakish thing was, they were *afraid* of you, of my little baby girl. They wouldn’t touch the cradle, they were hissing and snarling, trying to get a better look without coming too close. They kept saying one word, over and over. "Slayer"."

Buffy sat, stunned. As she turned her look of amazement on Hank, he misunderstood.

"I swear to you, that was the dream, but I don’t know what it meant. I didn’t have it again; I told myself it was some distorted sign of my fear of fatherhood."

"But?" she prompted, guessing there was more.

"When you were about fifteen, I dreamed about a young girl, not you, in a cave surrounded by a pack of dogs, but not like any dogs I’d ever seen – hideous green, spines instead of hair. They fastened on to her, and …tore her to pieces. Then I was standing there, holding you in my arms – you were just a little girl in my dream. All the dog-things turned round from…feeding and looked straight at us - at you. I started to run, but you said, "I have to go back, Daddy". Then I woke up. It seemed that all the trouble we had in LA, with school and the police, started then. I had more dreams, was afraid to tell anyone about them, but couldn’t handle dealing with your troubles. That upset your mother. It didn’t help make things any better between us…Buffy?"

Buffy had covered her face with her hands and was sobbing for the pain her calling had cost him, from the old fear that, but for her, he and Joyce might have had a normal, happy life.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry Daddy"

"Sweetheart, it wasn’t you, it was me. *I* had the insane dreams, *I* got snappish and stayed late working too many times. Anyway there were things…I think your mother and I weren’t good for the long haul. You can’t blame yourself." He held her close, patting her back and telling her how precious she was, had always been. She dried her tears on his handkerchief, then made a decision.

"Dad, those dreams. They weren’t insane. You need – you deserve – to know this about me. Mom knew, I had to tell her, but it’s supposed to be a big secret. The things you saw, the demons, the vampires: they’re *real*. And I fight them, Dad, every day. I’m the Slayer. Buffy, the Vampire Slayer".

Hank searched her face, scarcely able to take it in. But, given that even to *think* that what his daughter was telling him might be true flew in the face of common sense, in his heart he knew the truth. It was the only thing to do – believe her.

"I saw you save Dawn, jump to your death to protect her. Is that what happened?"

Buffy hesitated. <<Maybe…maybe it can’t get more unbelievable. I should tell him the truth. All of it. Well, nearly all>>

"Yes, I saved Dawn, I saved the world actually. That’s the Slayer’s job. Well, once in a while. Mostly, it’s saving people in small groups, or one at a time"

"How many of you …slayers are there?"

"Just me "

"So the only monsters are in Sunnydale?"

"No, they’re everywhere, but for some reason, there’s only one Slayer at a time. Supposedly. Don’t ask me to explain, that’s Giles’ territory"

"Mr. Giles? He knows about all this? I know Dawn said he helped her, that’s why I’m here"

"Dawn…Dawn’s in danger?"

"I…dreamed again, but I thought it must be about her, because you were…I don’t know, now."

Buffy spoke gently to him. "I *was* dead. Giles…found a way to bring me back"

Hank shook his head. It sounded so…matter of fact.

"Then I guess I really need to thank him; and find out what the heck is happening now. Do you know what time he’s due?"

Buffy looked at the clock. Almost six. She had a sudden thought that she’d better warn Giles in good time. A phone call to Unibooks established that he’d not long left. It was only a short walk to the apartment; Buffy asked her father to stay right there, and slipped outside to watch down the street. It was getting dark, and she not only wanted Giles safe indoors, but also to avoid a confrontation.

Giles walked briskly homewards, whistling tunefully. Stefan had shooed him out with a wink, saying he expected Buffy was waiting. Giles remembered how he used to linger after hours at the Magic Box, putting off the moment when he would have to return to his empty flat. He’d wistfully wondered then, what it would be like to open his front door every night and have someone welcome him home. Now he knew, and it was sweet. Buffy would give him a happy hug, then chat to him about her day as he brewed them some tea. He would tell her some of Stefan’s amusing stories, or discuss her history assignment.

Once or twice, they’d just gone straight to bed.

The inevitable adjustments of learning to live together had had to be made, but they’d had mutual respect and goodwill to smooth the way. It was when the Elementals arranged occasional further demonstrations, and when Buffy returned home as often as not badly shaken from patrols that had not gone as they should, that Giles truly feared things could not go on as they were. He’d gone with her on patrol a few times, but it was not a long-term solution. Needing his help with fighting only sapped her confidence in her Slayer abilities.

She was there, waiting at the entrance to the apartment block. Glancing up at their window to see if Hank were looking out, she took Giles to one side and explained what had happened.

"Oh dear Lord. You told him *everything*?"

"About the slaying, and the being formerly dead, and the bringing me back, but not the ‘how’, of course, nor the ‘why am I at your place’. He wants to talk to you about these dreams."

Giles accepted Hank’s effusive thanks with an embarrassed air, and then turned the conversation as swiftly as politeness allowed to the reason for the visit.

"Can you describe the content of your last dream in as much detail as possible?"

Hank’s brow furrowed in concentration.

"I seemed to see a girl, from a distance it looked like Buffy but I couldn’t get close. In the morning, I thought it must have been Dawn. Now I’m not sure. She was in a clearing in some pinewoods." Buffy and Giles exchanged looks.

"She was…protecting something, making a circle with her arms. It looked like a small tree or shrub. As I watched, vampires attacked. She tried to fend them off with her feet, and there was another figure, a man, brandishing a weapon, a sword or an axe. But she kept holding onto the tree, and in the end they were both overcome. I couldn’t help, I was too far away, and in my dream I couldn’t get closer."

Giles paced, one hand held to his brow, in front of the couch where Hank sat. At last he said,

"I believe the female figure must indeed have been Buffy. The male, well I suppose, must be myself. It’s my duty as Buffy’s Watcher to support her work, mainly by training and providing information, but at times ‘hands on’. A tree usually represents life, in particular the life history of a person or family. Your dream may relate to the fact that Buffy’s life as the Slayer is necessarily dangerous. Perhaps it was in some way to prepare you for learning of her death."

"So why should I dream that dream only for the first time a few weeks back, then again just yesterday? Before, it was always not long *before* things happened that I dreamed them"

"A sapling can also represent a new life or a new beginning. You have just discovered that Buffy has been granted such a fresh start, but that she is still vulnerable to the forces of evil"

<<Lately, all too vulnerable>>Giles fretted. He could see that Buffy was having much the same thought.

The telephone rang loudly in the ensuing strained silence. Buffy, who was closest, picked up.

"Dawn! Yes, I know, he’s here already. No, no, it’s all right. We, er, we had to tell him. About the *slaying*. No. Absolutely *not*. Not yet. Do you want to speak to him?"

Dawn wanted her father to come home, and Buffy persuaded him that her sister needed him more than she did.

"I can look after myself, and Giles is here. No offence to Laura, but Dawn doesn’t have anyone who understands. She’s seen a lot of stuff that someone that young who’s not the Slayer shouldn’t have to. You two should talk."

Hank was still reluctant to leave her, but Buffy was resolute.

"Then can…can I drop you home on my way?"

Buffy controlled a rising blush.

"No, it’s okay. Giles and I should prepare for patrol. Maybe fix up some extra weaponry, do some research. I *promise* I’ll phone *every* day from now on."

Once they had said their goodbyes and Hank had gone, Giles and Buffy flopped onto the couch and floor respectively. She looked up at him and they let out a relieved breath almost in unison.

"With the number of people who are getting to know about you, perhaps we should simplify matters and hire a billboard"

Buffy giggled irreverently." Yeah, I can just see it: Buffy Summers, the Sunnydale Slayer, will take on all comers. At a cemetery near you" She raised her fists and shadow-boxed the air.

Giles chuckled and reached down for her hand, bringing it to his lips.

"My money’s on you, darling. Every time."

She looked down at the carpet and frowned.

"I don’t know. The more I try, the more I seem to lose it. It’s getting so I...don’t want to go out there any more"

"Did you ever*want* to? I can’t see you as Faith, somehow."

Buffy snorted. "Thanks for that. But when I …came back to this new life, as you put it, which by the way seems pretty much like the old one" she grinned at his shocked expression "with exceptions" she added innocently. "When I came back, I was ready to give it my all, and to start with, it was going great. Lately, it’s as if more and more power is being sucked out of me every day. I get tired too, I’m dropping off more than usual in class. I’ve been feeling edgy, like it’s that time of the month, only…Oh my God."

"Buffy? What’s wrong?" Giles knelt in front of her, searching her face, which had suddenly lost most of its colour.

"I didn’t think. That new life you talked about, the tree in Dad’s dream. I’m not in it. It’s in me. I’m surrounding it, protecting it. Giles, I think I’m pregnant."

"Oh dear Lord." Giles was terrified, both at the implications for them as a couple, and at those of Hank’s dream. At the same time a tremble of excitement and joy told him that he’d wanted this in secret for years, long after he’d given up hope of it ever happening.

"Do you think that’s what the Elementals were warning me about, too? That the baby puts me in danger? Oh God, Giles, what if it’s a *demon*. Cordy told us about what happened to her, remember?" Buffy’s voice was shrill with panic, but Giles stroked her hair and shushed her tenderly.

"No, no. I can’t imagine any reason why the child of a Slayer should be a monster. In fact," he paused, considering; "I don’t recall an instance of a Slayer having a child at all. Ever."

"Why not? Slayers have been around since forever, right? But people didn’t know about contraception back then. Do you mean they*all died*? Oh God."

"Not necessarily. You forget how unusual you are, even today. In cultures where potential Slayers are identified young, they are adopted by their Watcher as a child, and shielded from social contact. In times gone by, even a Slayer who did have a public life would have had few chances to…well. Casual sex was largely unacceptable, and a Slayer’s duties are hardly compatible with what was considered a married woman’s role. The vast majority of Slayers never had even the chance to become mothers."

"So what am I going to do? If there’s nothing in the Slayer Handbook about maternity leave, do I keep on slaying? How will I train? What if Dad’s dream *is* a true prophecy? I don’t want you to die, too, because I’m not up to my job"

"I’m sorry, Buffy, I don’t know the answer to any of those questions. I wish I did."

<<I wish I could just be happy about this>>. Behind the cloud of anxiety and uncertainty, an image presented itself to his inner eye: Buffy nursing a newborn baby, smiling her sunny smile, contented and proud. The image called to him like a mirage, vanishing again at the intruding sound of the telephone

"Rupert, is that you?"

"Who… oh, Dr. Parker. Um, Robert, of course. Isn’t it rather late over there?"

"Yes, I couldn’t sleep. I’m not supposed to be talking to you but I thought you should know before you get the summons. The Council, they know about you and Buffy. They’ve called a meeting of the Disciplinary Committee for Monday morning. After that I’m sure you’ll be hearing from them and needing a ticket to England. Meanwhile, if you can find any precedents, any excuses, now’s the time".

"And you, Robert? What do you think of this?" Parker’s opinion was important to Giles. He had seemed to understand the strength of the emotional bond that Slayer and Watcher had formed before Buffy’s death, and had not condemned it. Neither had he taken Giles to task for falling in love with his charge. But as he had said, a way of life was a choice, and they had decided to carry on as lovers despite knowing that the Watchers’ Council would frown on it. Giles’ oath as a Watcher promised not to act for his own benefit, only for the Slayer. The Council would regard him taking her to his bed as a matter for grave concern.

"I think" Parker said after a pause, " that you two had better decide whether you can prove that Buffy is stronger or weaker as the Slayer, given what has happened. I imagine I know what *you* believe, but can you make a case to *them*? People are reluctant to go against precedent; it means they have to take a risk".

"Thank you for calling, Robert. We appreciate the warning. As for precedent, that seems to be in rather short supply" <<More than you know>> he thought, looking at Buffy, who sat gazing blankly in front of her, one hand absently moving over her abdomen.

London Headquarters, Watchers’ Council, Friday 16^th November 2001, 8.50a.m.

Tweed and Sunnydale had never mixed. On a brisk autumn morning in the City, however, it was just the thing. There had been condensation on the inside of the cottage windows when Giles had got out of bed, and a mist hugging the water meadows at the side of the line as he’d stood in the train all the way to Victoria. Much as he adored Buffy and appreciated many of the comforts of Californian life, there was nothing like a real English autumn, tree branches bending in the wind, heaps of leafy crispness turning to mush on the pavements in the rain. Giles loved the rain, and knew the value of a good umbrella.

He walked among the crowds of City workers making their way to banks and brokerage houses, insurance companies and law firms. Virtually none of them knew of even the existence of the organisation that had brought him there, though it was older than the Corporation of London, ‘Watcher’ a more ancient calling than that of Common Councillor or Alderman.

Stooping slightly to pass through the covered alley, he hastened to the front door and pulled the brass bell-rod. The Council Headquarters was an imposing and elegant Queen Anne mansion in weathered red brick, with a glossy black front door and a discreet brass plaque bearing the legend:

Watchers’ Council

Please ring for admittance

Giles waited for several minutes whilst the rain dripped off the points of his umbrella, running in rivulets between the paving stones. He was at the point of ringing again – he knew he was expected- when the door opened and he was silently given entry. The words "please come in" were by tradition never spoken here, even during the day.

The young man who answered the door and stored Giles’ belongings was the same one who had brought the news of Dawn’s phone call back in August. In the place of hero-worshipping deference there was now muted embarrassment. Word had clearly got round that Giles was in disgrace, even if the nature of it was unclear.

His escort melted away once they had reached the Boardroom on the second floor. Giles cleared his throat, straightened his tie and knocked twice. Once again, the door was opened without a word. The chairman’s secretary was just re-seating herself at the table as Giles stepped into the room and took in the scene. Sir Donald Fraser Conroy sat at the head of the table flanked by two men and two women. Apart from the secretary, Giles recognised the other woman as Barbara Giles MacLean, a distant cousin of his, and to Sir Donald’s right, Quentin Travers as Director of Operations for the North American Continent.

<<I will not be intimidated. This is not a court of law, and what the hell is *he* doing here? >>

The other man was Robert Parker.

Giles tried to get some sense of what Parker’s role in this might be by searching his face, but his friend was staring stonily at the papers in front if him. The Chairman rapped a small gavel against a sliver bell.

"This Committee is now called to order". His secretary opened a thick ledger and sat poised to record all that was said. Conroy addressed Giles in formal tones.

"For the record, please state your full name, years of service and current assignment"

Giles stood with a straight spine, hands clasped behind his back. He met the Chairman’s eye and spoke quietly but clearly.

"My name is Rupert De Montfort Giles. I took the Watcher’s oath twenty one years, three months and five days ago. My current assignment is to watch Elizabeth Anne Summers, commonly known as Buffy, who is the active Slayer."

Barbara MacLean had been attached to Records and Archiving last time he’d heard. Falsifying Watcher’s records, which it might be argued he had done, was in itself enough to attract severe censure. Her demeanour was suitably frosty as she came round the table and handed Giles a folder, asking him,

" This is your official report of the events surrounding Miss Summers’…return to active duty?"

"It is"

Giles did not need to re-read it. He knew every carefully worded sentence.

"Please explain what is meant by the statement "Buffy is living under my roof and protection"".

"It means what it says." Giles had no intention of laying his head on the block. Not yet, anyway.

"You regard yourself as acting in a parental capacity, then?" That from Travers, impatience and sarcasm sharpening his words.

" No, I believe that was *your*interpretation. Buffy has a father. He does not have the knowledge and experience to protect her in her work. I do."

"And as an older and wiser man, you are in a position to exercise a unique and powerful influence on her" suggested Conroy.

Giles reflected that, after all, the Chairman had never met Buffy. Travers permitted himself a tight smile.

"Evidence has been presented to this Committee which implies that your relationship with Miss Summers may be other than strictly professional". Conroy clearly intended to take the indirect route.

"Meaning?" enquired Giles, daring at least one of them to come right out with it.

Conroy looked daggers at him. It was all in such bad taste. He pursed his lips, then steeled himself for the indelicacy.

"Have you had sexual intercourse with your Slayer?"

"Yes"

There was a collective intake of breath around the table, not so much for the fact, which they had already surmised, as at Giles’ utter lack of shame.

"On how many occasions?"

"None of your…I don’t keep records" Giles finished, controlling his temper, remembering to whom he was speaking.

"Are you, in effect, living as man and wife?"

"We are"

"Your actions are in direct contravention to your oath. The Slayer has a sacred trust to protect the world. She is not there to serve your desires and wishes"

"What of *her* wishes?" <<Anyone would think she’s my bloody concubine>>

His third cousin looked down her nose at him.

"You expect us to believe that a by all accounts extremely attractive American girl would give herself freely to her middle-aged English guardian?" She looked Giles up and down, flushing when he gave her his most charming and calculated smile. Then he spoke sincerely.

"I have every reason to suppose that her feelings for me are unforced and genuine."

He hated to expose the heart of their love like this, but at the same time he was proud that Buffy had chosen him. He missed the comfort and pleasure of her lying beside him each night, he missed celebrating her triumphs or soothing her fears with his body. He missed all of Buffy, all the time. He prayed only that she would be kept safe.

"You deny, then, that you have exploited her trust in you and her understandable confusion at recent events to encourage dependence on you?" put in Travers.

"Buffy is the same woman that you met last year, who talked to a god in her living room and held the Council to ransom. She knows her own mind."

They seemed to have reached an impasse.

Until now, Parker had contributed nothing to the discussion, only looking about the room as if seeking an escape route. Now Travers turned to him.

"Dr. Parker, I believe you have compiled a summary of the Council’s views on Mr. Giles’ conduct, your own analysis of his motives, and recommendations for action?"

Giles’ betrayed glare cowed Parker, but he told himself to do his duty. Picking up a sheet of typed notes, he began to read as if reciting a lesson.

"Since before time immemorial, the Council has fought the evil of the undead and of the demons and dark powers that yet survive in this world. The Slayer in each generation is the hand of the Council. The Watcher guides and directs the hand as it strikes. It is the Council’s view that a proper distance should be maintained between Watcher and Slayer. It is the Council’s policy to discipline either or both should that distance be breached. It is this committee’s recommendation in the case of the Watcher Rupert Giles and his Slayer Buffy Summers that, bearing in mind the proven effectiveness of their collaboration until now, the Watcher should not be relieved of duty". Giles gasped with relief, but his jaw set at Parker’s next words: "However they should be instructed to cease their intimate association and return to the status quo ante the ‘death’ of Miss Summers in May this year."

Conroy looked at the assembled Committee. "This is the unanimous opinion of us all?" Two of his companions nodded their heads without hesitation, but Parker shifted nervously in his seat. All eyes turned to him as he began tentatively.

"It is my personal opinion, borne out by some private research, that an, er, intimate association is not in itself objectionable, provided that the parties can retain a clear awareness of their roles as Watcher and Slayer apart from their personal relationship, and that the work of the Slayer is not compromised in any way. I am sure that Mr. Giles, who has always been conscientious in the performance of his duties, can offer assurances that such is the case." He looked expectantly at Giles, giving him his cue.

Buffy’s Watcher was silent for a full minute: such a small measure of time, but one that can last longer than one might think possible. Scenes from the past week assaulted him; Buffy, going with resolve and purpose to obey her calling even after she had wept with terror in his arms; fleeing from dangers she had become too weak to fight; calling for his help and hating herself for needing it; finally, begging him silently not to call upon her to go on patrol again. He’d given in. He’d told himself that it was as Watcher, not as lover; that it made sense not to waste her resources on everyday threats in case a greater one manifested; that to protect innocent life included the life that she carried. As he stood in this place, however, among people who had taken the Watcher’s oath even as he had, he could not lie to himself any longer. His instincts told him too that there might be more than Buffy’s life at stake.

"There is …a complication," he admitted, sending an apologetic glance to Parker, who had tried himself to walk the fine line between duty and personal loyalties.

Travers and MacLean exchanged "might have known" looks. Parker looked surprised and anxious. He thought he’d given Giles and Buffy enough time to prepare a case. The Chairman’s secretary gave Giles a gentle and sympathetic smile: she was a compassionate person and could see he was facing a dilemma not easily resolvable. Conroy himself folded his hands in front of him on the table and leaned forward.

"This complication being…"

"Buffy’s expecting a child". He could hear his heart beating, the loudest sound in the room. Parker closed his eyes in defeat, the other three committee members looked furious, talking among themselves in fierce whispers. Travers contained himself enough to ask coldly

"You are the father of this child?"

"Of course I’m the bloody father! What kind of woman do you think she is?" roared Giles.

<<Calm, calm. He’s just twisting the knife. Don’t give him the satisfaction>>

"I was merely establishing the facts. I have to say, gentlemen, Miss MacLean, that I am disappointed with our colleague’s conduct. It ill becomes a Watcher to have so little self-control that he neglects to take simple precautions"

"It wasn’t like that" Giles protested. He hated having to tell them about this, but his and Buffy’s only defence and aid now, had to be the truth. "In order to bring her back to the Hellmouth where she could serve, we needed to employ certain magics, which required there to be a… natural union between us". He was scarlet with embarrassment, but his voice was steady. It was not the deed but the telling of things no-one else had a right to know, which shamed him.

Robert Parker seemed to understand what Giles was talking about, but although he recognised that the risk had had to be run, he knew better than the others at the table what now had to be done. Asking to be allowed to leave for a short while, he returned bearing a thin sheaf of handwritten papers of some antiquity. Selecting the appropriate one, he handed it to Giles over the protests of their colleagues, saying only

"The Slayer cannot bring forth life, only death. See for yourself, Rupert. I’m so sorry."

Apt 4a, 386 Portland Drive, Sunnydale, California. Sunday November 18^th 2001, 11.40 pm

"Xander? What are you doing here?" Giles put down his case and looked around his living room. Buffy was nowhere to be seen.

" Doin’, what you should‘ve been here to do, *G-man*. Looking out for Buffy, making sure she doesn’t end up dead again. And she could have had company; Anya was tailed by a vamp; he was going for hard cash from the Magic Box till, thought he’d grab a snack and maybe make himself a new playmate" Xander’s usual qualified edge of respect for Giles was all but absent.

"Anya is safe, though?" As Giles came further into the room, he could see her curled up on the couch, holding a bloodstained cloth to her neck. "And what about Buffy?"

"In there" Xander nodded tersely in the direction of the bedroom "What were you thinking, Giles, sending her out in her condition?"

"I didn’t…condition? What do you mean?" the thought that Buffy might have told her friends, that even more people knew the full extent of this mess, formed a ball of ice in his gut.

"She’s weak, Giles. Not only did she have a hard time even hauling him off Anya, he was kicking her ass until I waded in with the old sharp stick. Here’s more wig - the stake didn’t *work* first time, and I know I got the heart ‘cos I’ve been practising. Buffy got him second time she tried, with way more effort than she usually needs. Unless it’s another test that you’re supposed to keep secret, you better get on it, don’t you think?"

"Buffy’s not working right," added Anya, glaring at Giles. "Did you *break* something inside her? Or were you too busy having sex to train properly?"

Giles rushed into the bedroom. Buffy was lying in the middle of the bed, on top of the covers, propped up on pillows. Her only obvious injuries were deep scratches made by vampire fingernails scoring her cheek, but she looked alarmingly pale and seemed nauseous. Her smile as she saw who it was, seemed to take inordinate effort.

Giles went to the door and called to the others.

"I’d…like to be alone with Buffy. If Anya is not seriously hurt, perhaps you can drive her back?"

"Yeah, we got the car. But what happened to the research party? Don’t you need any friends in happy couple land?"

"Trust me for the moment. Buffy may very well need her friends soon. Thank you, for what you did tonight."

As he shut the door behind them, Giles was overcome by a wave of jet-lagged tiredness. He hoped Buffy would opt to sleep first and ask questions afterward, but her determined face as he re-entered the bedroom gave little hope of that.

"So what did they say, the Council? Six of the best, and don’t let me catch you doing it again; or do we get something English and tasteless for a housewarming gift?"

"Buffy, can we just go to sleep and talk about this in the morning"

"Tell. Me. Now."

Giles sat on the side of the bed and took her hand.

"The weakness. The stakes not working. The fear. It’s supernatural in origin, and it’s caused by the baby. A Slayer cannot nurture new life within her and remain the Slayer. It leaches power from her, and from the natural weapons that she uses. As time goes on, fewer and fewer things will harm vampires, even when wielded by other people. Anti-vampire activity all over the world is being hampered even as we speak. Demonic possession is on the rise, dark magic is successfully combating white. This has happened every time an active Slayer has fallen pregnant. Fortunately for the world, that hasn’t been very often. There are only two ways to end the situation; one of them is available as a choice for you that previous Slayers did not have. You can choose to… to terminate the pregnancy".

His throat closed<< My child. Buffy, please don’t>> but the alternative was worse.

"What did the others do?" She wasn’t looking at him.

"They all died. None of them got past the third month. Because of the increased vampire activity, their successors had abnormally short careers; and in the meantime…the Darkness was in the ascendant"

"So the Council asked you to persuade me to take the first option. Otherwise, "the Slayer is dead, long live the Slayer." Except she won’t. Is that it, problem solved, case closed? I won’t do it, Giles. I’ll find a third option. The Council always underestimates me." She raised her chin, but the challenge seemed muted.

"Actually, I was instructed to *order* you to do it. To use legal means if I have to."

"*Order* me? Are we in the same universe, here? And the law’s on *my* side, buster".

"Remember how much influence the Council wields. They can fix the courts if necessary. They prefer not to, the due process of law is important to them…"

"Oh, yeah, gotta respect the law. Respect for life, well, I guess that’s conditional. Maybe *you* don’t have a problem with that, Giles. The mission has to come first, can’t have any pesky innocent lives getting in the way"

Giles clenched his fist and hit the footboard of the bed.

"Stop it! You think it’s simple for me? Not being able to do anything except give you this choice?"

Buffy was exhausted by her sickness and fear. She didn’t have any energy left to see it from his point of view.

"It’s *way* simple. Just a mistake that needs to be fixed right? Take a risk; take the rap; clear up the cr…" Giles interrupted her quickly. Her bitterness was shredding his heart.

"Perhaps…perhaps we *can* overturn the odds. It won’t be the first time, eh?" He spoke gently, hopefully, but her face was turned away and her eyes were blank. He could not fool her with false optimism.

"Isn’t your ‘Watcher’s speech’ supposed to go: "the danger isn’t going away, sacrifices must be made, it’s not a person, only a bunch of cells, you’ll get over it, you don’t ever get a chance at normality, you are the Slayer"?" She was swallowing tears, throwing her misery and anger at him. Giles turned to her, trying to make her see that he had misery that was all his own. But he had read the histories, the reports, and could interpret the prophecies well enough.

"You do have to make a decision, and soon. I won’t force you or put on any pressure. But if there were another way… Buffy, if you think I haven’t spent every waking hour since I knew the truth racking my brains for a better solution, then you don’t know me as well as you should,"

She twisted away from him to climb off the bed and go to the bathroom.

"Maybe I *don’t* know you, Giles" she whispered as she shut the door.

He undressed and laid in bed waiting. For a long time, she neither joined him nor made her bed on the couch. He was debating with himself whether going to her would make things worse, when she came into the room, her beautiful eyes puffy and red-rimmed, sat on the bed with her back to him and brushed her hair with unnecessary force for several minutes. Static electricity fanned it out around her shoulders as she turned out the light and lay down, still with her back turned. The few inches between them yawned, a widening chasm, as they fell into unquiet sleep.

*********************

<<Must be a dream. I’d never wear *this *again voluntarily>>

She was walking in a meadow, in the linen dress of the magic ritual. It was Spring; she could see the grass growing as she walked, feel the warmth of the sun, smell flowers on the breeze, hear a fast-running stream in the distance.

There was a slope to the ground; it was dotted with what looked like rabbit holes. As Buffy made a little game of jumping over and around them, she wondered where the surreal part of the dream was going to fit. <<That guy with the cheese could pop out of one of those holes any minute>> She had no sooner had that thought than a hand covered with blood and grime snaked out of the ground and grabbed her ankle. She shrieked and struggled but the hand held her fast, and another was clawing out of the turf. The meadow was heaving with activity now, bubbling like a pot, boils of grass discharging vampires and every kind of demon. Apart from the rather skinny hands that were keeping her from moving, the other monsters showed no interest in her; they made their way away in all directions, heads low, hunting in daylight, wading through the running stream to make for the town.

Buffy began to kick desperately against the restraining hands. Finally she pulled away, the shock of release sending her flying, flying impossibly far and high, until the wind caught her and tossed her up, over the meadow, under the clouds. At first she fought it too, tumbling and flailing with every limb until it tired her out and she just floated, trusting it to take her where it would. It took her down, skimming the topmost branches of the pinewood, down to the clearing, the same place that her father had dreamed of in LA, where she had run from the magic of the shoot in the ground.

The shoot was now a tree, taller than herself, every twig still bare, the trunk twice as thick as her arm, roots spreading in all directions into the ground. The wind that carried her suddenly dropped, and Buffy with it. She fell into the outstretched branches, tangling herself in them, slipping through until she was sitting at the foot of the trunk, clinging to it. She could see the roots growing as they thrust into the earth, seeking nourishment. Cracks appeared, the grass in the clearing browned and caught light. The fire approached the tree and she tried to beat it down with her feet, even rolling on the flames, but to no avail.

In the end she had to flee, watching helplessly as the fire crept up the trunk and spread to every part. With relief she felt raindrops on her face, but no matter how it poured, the fire did not damp down; the tree, however, was not consumed, in fact it seemed rather to flourish. It drank from the earth and budded as she watched, growing and swaying in the wind. Leaves unfurled, tender yellow shoots darkening to green as they matured; blossoms the colour of blood opened, spread their petals to the sun.

Then the ground shook as the tree fruited, the flames, rain and wind retreated from it and all was still, at peace. Buffy could feel the wholeness, the healing taking place in the world; her Slayer senses knew that Good could once again gain the upper hand over Evil. She came up to the tree and tried to take some of the fruit, but it was all out of reach. She felt an arrow of disappointment pierce her

***********************************

and woke, clutching at Giles’ shoulder. It was near dawn, and he was sleeping lightly, on the verge of waking. Buffy’s shaking roused him at once. Her face was still profoundly sad, but also determined.

"Giles, I think I know now what I have to do. And…I think I need your help."

"Then it’s yours. Always. You know that".

Buffy allowed herself to be held. She knew.

Portland Drive, Sunnydale, Monday November 19^th, 2001,11.20 p.m.

"I feel kinda bad about doing this. They think we’re poking our noses in way too far already"

"If they won’t talk to us, Will, what do they expect?" Xander was rather enjoying himself; he’d dressed in his army surplus combat gear and toted a pair of binoculars. Anya was grumbling that he’d stolen her mascara to black his face, asking if he knew how much trouble he was going to have, cleaning it off.

Willow pulled her black cloak a little further over her highlighted red hair. Wouldn’t help to be a traffic signal. Tara touched her shoulder and pointed to the apartment block entrance. Two figures were emerging, keeping to the grass as much as they could as they headed out of town.

"They have to be working nature magic" whispered Tara. "I knew when Giles asked if he could borrow those clothes again, the ones we had for the handfasting."

Willow nodded. "Lucky we never got around to that patchwork quilt we were planning".

The group of four followed at a good distance, noticing that every so often Buffy would stop and look around, listening to the night. She did not, however, seem to spot them. Giles had his arm round her; they were talking softly. Walking all the way to Breakers Woods, they hesitated on the edge of the clearing, then gathered themselves and went over to a young tree, its branches autumn-bare in the lee of its evergreen fellows. First contemplating it silently, Giles then guided Buffy to sit with him under it, his back braced against the trunk. She sat between his spread legs, leaning back on his chest and taking both his hands, interlacing their fingers tightly. They stayed thus, eyes closed, for the few minutes until midnight. Buffy sensed the hour without a watch, and looked at her lover.

Together, they placed their still-joined hands on the ground on either side. Both sang, Buffy’s slightly faltering alto supported by Giles’ strong harmony. Magic began to rise, the rainbow mists glowing with their own illumination as they twined round the couple and the tree, like streams of festive lights. Buffy and Giles’ heads were bowed as they welcomed and absorbed the power, but they snapped up as one at Their approach.

"Greetings". The combined voices of the Elemental spirits formed a chorale of warmth, depth, sparkling melody and breathy descant. They spoke only in unison, and Giles and Buffy answered in the same fashion.

"We have come, the Slayer and the Watcher, the Beloved and the Lover, the Mother and the Father".

Xander’s eyes widened and he made as if to rush forward and speak to his friends. The girls restrained him, and shook their heads frantically to get him to stay quiet.

"The world is losing its balance. The unhealthy thing thrives. You know this."

"We know it"

"To you falls the task of restoring the balance. The Slayer is the Centre. Her power cannot be compromised. What do you offer for the health of the world?"

"We offer the child of our union. Take it and restore the balance."

The swirling cloud around the two beneath the tree found its focus in Buffy, lifting her slightly off the ground as Giles still held her, supporting her body, clasping her hands. She felt no physical pain, but still it was a parable of giving birth, of loss and renewal. The tree seemed to absorb the energy that flowed from her until it was all spent, and the Elementals went with it.

The onlookers had turned away, embarrassed to intrude on this most private time. It was only when all was done that they heard Giles’ voice carrying over the distance, not angry but grateful for their caring.

"Friends, come" He beckoned to them with one arm, while the other still held Buffy as she cried quietly against his shoulder. Willow, Tara, Xander and Anya huddled round them in a circle, touching and trying to give comfort, giving and receiving forgiveness for lack of understanding of the bonds of friendship.

"Thank you" said Giles at last. "You are all…much appreciated".

They all knew better than to remark that the one who had always been their standard for calm and the rational view, had tears in his eyes

Sunday July 2^1st, 2002. Daybreak.

It was going to be another hot day. The bright light coming in through the blinds came from a cloudless sky. Rupert Giles turned carefully over in bed, not wanting to disturb his sleeping wife. He picked up his wristwatch and squinted at the time, his subconscious also taking in the date.

<<I would have been a father by now.>>

He sat up and watched Buffy for a while, enjoying his memories of last night’s loving.

<< But Buffy’s still here, still - wonderful thought – with me. I’ll take that and be eternally grateful>>

Buffy seemed restless, frowning in her sleep, her feet moving as if walking. She’d had more than a few bad dreams about her loss, even though when she was awake and strong she trusted that she had made the right decision. On those days, she trained harder, patrolled more diligently, presenting her victories to him as a token of her dedication.

As she started awake, he thought to see the momentary sorrow in her face, before she remembered to smile. Instead she looked energised and purposeful, and scrambled out of bed, dressing swiftly. When he tried to ask her what she was doing she only shook her head impatiently, saying nothing. Alarmed, he put on his own clothes and followed her to the door.

There was a trail of earth leading away from the threshold, down the stairs, out of the block and away down the street.

They had not returned to Breakers Woods since the previous autumn; there were plenty of other places to take the long weekend walks, alone or with their friends, which had become their habit. But now Buffy headed straight there, directly to the clearing where it seemed to her that this journey had begun. As they made their way through the woods, the earth trembled under their feet; sharing a startled cry, they joined hands to steady each other and walked on.

The tree was a stately height now, in full summer leaf, wind singing through the foliage. As they got closer they could see there was something quite large caught in the lower branches, a basket made from twisted twigs. It moved slightly, independently of the natural movement of the tree. Faint sounds issued from it. Buffy stretched up as far as she could but her fingertips only grazed the basket. Giles’ much taller frame was more suited to the task of retrieval, and he lifted it down to the ground.

A plump naked baby boy lay on a thick bed of sun-warmed dry moss, waving his tiny fists merrily. Giles shed his jacket and lifted the baby out to wrap him in it.

Buffy stared at the child and then at her husband, who was humming softly to reassure him and holding him with careful concentration.

"Ours?" She didn’t dare believe, but she remembered how the tree had borne fruit in her dream the year before, and how *she* had been called to this place by name in the one she had had that morning.

They both caught the reply of the voice on the wind, carried thence and away almost before it reached their ears.

"Yours. In his growing, he has already completed his task. In his raising, your task continues. Establish and maintain the balance: Slayer, Watcher; Beloved, Lover; Mother, Father."

Giles grinned with delight at the squirming baby.

"Good morning, son"

THE END

of the Debriefing Series. Definitely.