XII

They arrived at the funeral home a few minutes before three. Jack Larkin, the funeral director, ushered them into the chapel, letting them have some private time before the doors opened to the public. Giles took Buffy's hand, walking to the front of the chapel where the casket stood. Several feet shy of the front, he stopped, unable to go forward, the lump in his throat cutting off his air. At his side, Buffy stood, supportive and waiting.

He closed his eyes, swallowing. "Give me a few minutes, Buffy?" he whispered. "Please."

She squeezed his hand and let go, moving away. Finally, he opened his eyes and, taking a deep breath, approached the open casket.

His father was.... Dead. He'd never understood people who commented on "how good" the dead person looked. The mortician's art had taken away the pallor in his father's cheeks, the sunkenness beneath his skin. But it could not restore the spark of energy which had been so much a part of the man, even lying on his death-bed. It was difficult, seeing him like this, so...empty of everything which had made his father the man he'd been. Though at least in this setting, Giles felt a sense of closure. There was no feeling like this was all some ghastly mistake. Like there had been with Jenny....

He pushed that thought away roughly, knowing if he went there now, he was lost.

There was a kneeler in front of the casket and Giles found himself on his knees without much conscious thought. Funny how early indoctrination came back to you, even after a lapse of almost twenty-five years. He bowed his head.

Our Father.... the prayer began in his head, then sputtered and died. He still remembered the words. But their meaning was gone.

He started again. My father, who art...somewhere I may never know. Happy, I hope. Without pain. With Mother.... He swallowed past the lump in his throat. You know, we're not very good at expressing our emotions, you and I. I can't even remember the last time you told me you loved me. I can't remember the last time I said it to you, either. But I did-do. Love you. And I hope you loved me. I hope you were proud of me, there at the end. It seemed like you were, but with you one can never be sure.

I wish...I just wish there weren't so many regrets. So many things I wish I'd said to you. So many things I wish you'd said to me. I wish I could have been what you wanted me to be. But I couldn't. I can't. I can only be who I am. It took me almost twenty years to realize that, and I'm sorry if...if that wasn't enough for you. I'm sorry I was a disappointment, but...but perhaps I'm even sorrier that I never...felt you gave me the support I wanted...needed. From you. Somehow or other, we failed each other, Father. And we can never make it right.

I suppose that's what makes me sorriest of all.

Giles took a deep breath, feeling his control slipping, feeling a tear trace its way down his cheek.

I have a slayer now, Father. And as you've seen, she's...quite a handful. I hope I can do her justice. And if, some day, I ever train someone to follow me as a watcher, I hope...I hope I can instill in her the same dedication and devotion to her calling which you tried to, no, which you did instill in me. You always were my role-model, even if it didn't seem so at the time. However far I may have seemed to have strayed, I never really did. And even though you're gone, you're still with me. Just as you have always been.

I love you, Father. Be at peace.

He stayed still a few minutes longer, head bowed, wanting to be certain when he rose that he was back in control. The mind-numbing grief he'd felt after Jenny.... There would be time for that later. But for now there was Buffy to consider. His young slayer was out of her element here, stuck in the middle of a strange town, in a foreign culture, a stranger to everyone but him. She needed him. If he hadn't known that before, last night had proved it.

Pull yourself together, Rupert, he commanded himself. For Buffy.

He opened his eyes, took a deep breath and rose to his feet, looking around the chapel. Buffy had taken a seat in the last row of chairs, and as he turned she rose to meet him. He tried to give her an encouraging smile, but the emotions swamped him unexpectedly and his eyes closed again in a vain attempt to block the tears. He didn't know whether he moved or if she came to him, but the next thing he knew her arms were around him securely and he buried his face against her hair, fighting against grief he honestly hadn't expected to feel.

In a few moments, he was calmer and simply rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Hey," she soothed, "if you can't cry at your father's funeral, when can you?"

"Funeral's tomorrow," he said, straightening.

"You know what I mean," she smiled, holding onto his arm. "God, you are so literal."

"Simply...precise," he said, finding comfort in their usual banter. He blew his nose and glanced at his watch. "They'll be opening the chapel in a minute. Are you ready for this?"

She shrugged. "Like I have a choice. What do I have to do, play hostess?"

"No, but there will be people who will be interested in meeting you."

"Watchers?"

He nodded. "Or those who are familiar with them. In Chalworth, the watchers are rather an open secret. They're not really talked about, but they're not exactly hidden, either."

Buffy just shook her head. "Too weird."

"It all depends upon your point of view."

Just then Mr. Larkin came in to open the chapel doors. The first person through them was Mrs. Peavey.

Buffy and Giles just looked at each other and smiled.

Buffy stood before the open casket. She'd seen dead people, lots of them. Seen 'em newly dead, seen 'em in their coffins, seen 'em when they rose again. But she'd never really taken the time to look at one, to examine just what it was that made the dead...dead.

Besides lack of life, that is.

There was a certain comfort in knowing that Richard Giles would not suddenly sit up in his coffin. The dead were much nicer when they remained that way. But there was a lifelessness to Mr. Giles which went beyond the not breathing thing. This might have been a person once. Now it was just a shell.

She sniffed and wiped at the tear which threatened.

Gentle hands settled at her shoulders. "Are you all right?" Giles's voice was soft, concerned.

She nodded. "I was just thinking. When someone dies, their soul leaves their body. The body is just a...a shell. A housing. Without the soul, it's empty. And it doesn't matter if a vampire or some other demon moves in. It's still dead. That's the part I knew intellectually, but never really understood, you know? It's hard to think of someone who's walking and talking as being dead. But they are." She turned around to look at him. "And that's what I have to do. Remember that A..Angel...is dead. The guy I l..loved is gone and a demon is walking around wearing his body. But it's not him. He's dead."

Giles didn't say anything, simply leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She leaned against him gratefully, then straightened.

"You need something?" she asked.

"There are some people who want to meet you, but that can wait. Why don't you take a break?"

"I'm okay," she insisted.

In response he brushed a gentle thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tear she hadn't even realized was there. "I don't want you getting over-tired. Take a few minutes, get yourself something to drink, sit down and rest for a bit."

She had to agree. She'd been in this chapel for almost five hours, meeting people, listening to them, sometimes talking to the ones who wanted to meet her. Mostly staying within sight of Giles, if he needed her. But he was hanging together pretty well. She was the one who was ready to drop.

"I guess I am thirsty," she admitted. "Back in a few." She squeezed his arm as she went past.

A quick detour to the bathroom to fix her face, then to the little ante-room which was set up with a coffee pot and which the funeral home guy had stocked with Diet Cokes just for her. A few minutes and a caffeinated beverage later, feeling considerably more human, Buffy went back to the chapel.

Giles was standing talking to a small group of older people, two men and a woman. His hands were behind his back and he was standing straight and stiff, like he a schoolboy called in front of the teacher. These were other watchers, she guessed.

He saw her and a slight smile played across his face. He raised a hand and beckoned to her. So Buffy plastered on her best smile and went to meet him.

"Better?" he asked softly.

She nodded, casting a swift glance at the gathered group.

"Buffy, I'd like you to meet some of the senior watchers. Matthew Burkridge, Sylvia McManus, Thomas Martin." He turned to them. "May I present Miss Buffy Summers."

"It's an honor to meet you, Miss Summers," Mr. Martin said, taking her hand. He was a balding gentleman with kind eyes. Buffy recalled that he was the one Giles said he told about the vampire in Oxford. Mr. Martin was one of his father's oldest friends, he'd said, and would be giving the eulogy at the funeral tomorrow.

"Thanks," she shook his hand, smiling. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Buffy. What an unusual name," Mrs. McManus said, taking her hand. "Is it a nickname?"

"No, it's my real name," she answered. "There are a lot of kids with unique names in California. It's that kind of place."

"Yes, I imagine there are," Mrs. McManus smiled. She was an extremely proper looking older lady, not a hair of her snow-white head out of place, perfectly tailored dark suit, and pearls completing the ensemble. Mr. Burkridge, at her side, was her male equivalent in his impeccable suit, his perfect white hair, his neat mustache, and his supercilious attitude. Buffy couldn't imagine having a watcher like these people. Merrick had been old-fashioned and super-serious, but at least she knew he was human. And Giles was...Giles, in spite, or maybe because of his tweed. But this bunch was like...Stepford watchers.

"Miss Summers, I am so pleased to meet you," Mr. Burkridge purred, moving to take her hand. Something about him made all the hairs on her arms stand on end. He seemed too slick. "Your exploits have been quite...remarkable."

Buffy glanced over at Giles, who shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Exploits?" she asked, hoping to play the innocent.

"The demons and vampires you've encountered. First Lothos, then the Master. Quite extraordinary."

"Oh, those exploits." She shrugged. "All in a day's work."

Burkridge chuckled. The expression never reached his eyes, which remained distant, assessing. "Yes, I dare say. I wonder if you would do me the honor of telling me a little more about some of your adventures. We're all so impressed with your work, I'd like to hear all about your experiences over the past year or so."

"Well, Giles..." Buffy began.

Again that dead chuckle. "Mr. Giles can manage without you for a few minutes, isn't that right, Rupert?"

"What...? Oh, yes, of course," Giles stammered.

"I meant that he can tell you more than I can. I mean, he's the record-keeper."

"Yes, of course, and his reports to the watchers are always timely and...succinct." The way he said it made it sound like he didn't believe Giles's reports. "But I would very much like to get your opinions-straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak."

She glanced at Giles again. The look in his eyes was resigned and helpless. She really didn't want to talk to this man, but couldn't see any way out of it.

"Yeah, okay," she finally agreed.

"Splendid." Burkridge smiled again. This time the expression reached his eyes, but the look couldn't exactly be called friendly. "Don't worry, Rupert, I'll only keep her a few minutes."

"I'm not worried," Giles said, and Buffy wondered if anyone else caught his double-meaning. "I know Buffy can take care of herself."

They shared a smile before Burkridge put his arm around Buffy's shoulders and guided her to a far corner of the chapel.

"Here we are, Miss Summers," he said, "why don't you make yourself comfortable?" She sat down and he sat beside her. "Now then...."

"Now then, let's try the direct approach so we can both stop pretending," she said.

Another dead smile. "I don't know what you mean."

"It's obvious you wanted to talk to me by myself, so why don't you just tell me what you want and we don't have to pretend and mess around with small-talk."

"Shrewd girl," he conceded. "I did want to talk to you privately, Buffy-may I call you Buffy? Because I'm a little concerned with certain aspects of your life as a slayer."

Buffy frowned. "Such as?"

"From the reports Rupert has filed, your approach is frequently, how shall we say, unorthodox?"

"Yeah, well I've discovered that vampires aren't big on following rules. You do what you have to do."

"Including disobeying your watcher?"

"I never out-and-out disobey him," she insisted. "I just...sometimes...kinda find other ways. We still get there in the end."

"More out of luck, it would seem, than out of the careful planning which ought to be the watcher's hallmark. Now, it's clear you're a very resourceful, very talented girl. Perhaps your watcher is not strong enough to give you proper leadership."

Buffy groaned. "Oh, not you, too."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Giles's father tried to say the same thing the other night. And I'm telling you what I told him. That Giles is the best watcher I can think of. Not only that, he's the best watcher for me. We're good together. We respect each other. And I'm doing...." She paused. She didn't know how much Giles had told the watchers about the mess with Angel. If he hadn't told them everything, she certainly wasn't about to tell them anything. "I'm doing pretty good," she finally said. "I mean, there have been some rough spots, but...."

"Like coming so near to dying that the next slayer was activated," Burkridge interjected.

Buffy sighed. "Oh, that again."

"It's a very serious matter, when a slayer is put at that much risk. Your watcher should have...."

"Will you guys stop already! Giles did everything right! From the minute he learned about the prophecy with the master, he did everything he could to keep it from happening. I'm the one who knocked him out and went charging in. Me, not him."

Burkridge gazed at her, a gleam in his eye. "I thought you said you never disobeyed him."

She made a face. "Okay. One time. But that's my fault, not his."

"A good watcher should be able to control his slayer better."

"Yeah, well maybe I'm a slayer who doesn't deal well with authority figures." She took a deep breath. "Look, you don't like the way I operate, fine. Replace me. You've got Kendra just waiting in the wings, go ahead and make her the permanent only slayer. I don't need the aggravation and you probably don't need the confusion caused by having two slayers. But don't go blaming Giles because he's got a temperamental slayer."

"Forgive me, Buffy, I'm not meaning to cast aspersions on your abilities as a slayer. You've done an admirable job. And accident or not, it was a fortuitous circumstance which enabled us to have two active slayers. Now, Rupert is a good man, I've known him since he was a boy. Just as I knew his father, and his grandmother. But my concern is that perhaps he is not a strong enough figure for you. He isn't giving you the guidance you need. Being a 'nice guy' is a fine trait in a neighbour, or even in the high school librarian. But the watcher must be more than that. He must be teacher, trainer, advisor, mentor, coach...."

"He is. He's all of that, and more."

"Yet you seem to be operating a great deal on your own."

She frowned. "Where do you get that?"

"You take decisions out of his hands, you choose your own strategies...."

"Of course, I do. I know what works for me."

"Your watcher ought to know what works for you. He ought to choose strategies based on your skills. He should be the one with the battle plan, you should be the one who executes it."

"Oh, I get it, I'm supposed to be a drone soldier. Little miss robot slayer who only does what she's told." Buffy made a face in disgust. "No thanks."

"Slayers have been working that way for generations."

"And guess what? They're all dead. I'm alive. I'm the walking, talking, living proof that my way works."

Burkridge sighed. "You're misunderstanding me. I'm not saying you're unsuccessful as a slayer. Your record speaks for itself. But my concern is that you are not being provided with the assistance which is your God-given right. The support every slayer needs if she is to succeed.

"I feel that a stronger watcher, perhaps someone older and more...dedicated... would be able to help you grow and thrive, not just survive."

Buffy stared at him, feeling a knot in her stomach. "I've got news for you," she said softly. "I've got a strong watcher. I've got one who's so dedicated he sometimes goes days without sleep because he's looking up stuff, stuff to keep me alive. I've got one who..." she swallowed past the lump in her throat, "...who turned away from the w-woman he loved, because he thought she hurt me. I've got one who has put himself in the line of fire again and again in order to keep me safe. That's way beyond the call of your typical 'Book Man' watcher. My watcher is the bravest, strongest, best person I know. So don't you go telling me he's not up to the job."

"Your dedication to him is admirable," Burkridge said. "But you may be letting your...affection for him cloud your judgement."

"What do you mean?"

"It's obvious you two are very close. After all, he brought you all this way to be with him during this time of trial. I'm sure he finds your presence here a great comfort."

Buffy stared at him open-mouthed. "You think there's something going on between Giles and me?" The idea was too far out to be real.

"Of course not," Burkridge soothed. "I'm sure Rupert's behaviour toward you is always proper. But it's clear you care a great deal for him and he for you."

"Well, yeah, of course. I mean, watcher, slayer, we're a team. Isn't that the way it's supposed to work?"

"Within limits. But becoming too close can be detrimental to the working relationship between the watcher and the slayer. One can lose one's focus. The concern is no longer the destruction of the forces of evil, now it's concern over the safety of one's...companion. This could lead to irrational behaviours, dangerous actions. You are the slayer, Buffy, you cannot allow your affection toward Rupert to cloud your judgement. If he cannot be rational about you, then you must be rational about him."

She stared at him again, feeling that knot in her stomach harden into cement. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Of course. When it comes to matters concerning the slayer, I am always serious. I just want you to consider the possibility that there may be someone else much more suited to the job. Someone who can give you the support your current watcher obviously can't."

"There isn't," she said flatly. "Giles is my second watcher. I won't go through a third. If I lose Giles, then you've lost me as a slayer."

There was a long silence as Burkridge gazed at her, his pale blue eyes digging straight into her soul. "Is that a promise or a threat?" he asked smoothly.

"It's the truth."

"I don't expect you to be able to think about this clearly at the moment. After all, it's a time of emotional turmoil for Rupert; it wouldn't be fair for you to abandon him. But I do want you to consider what I've said, Buffy. Think about it calmly, without letting emotions and personal feelings interfere. Then perhaps we can talk more later."

Buffy stared at him, feeling physically ill. He couldn't take Giles away from her.

Could he?

Giles gave Burkridge five minutes before he decided to intervene. He had no idea what the older man was saying to his slayer, but knowing Burkridge, it couldn't be good. At the very least, the man was overbearing and boring. At worst, he was insufferable and smug. Buffy had, thus far, behaved admirably. He'd been impressed by the poise shown by his young charge, thrown into such an awkward, difficult situation. And yet she handled it with aplomb, greeting strangers cordially, making small-talk, managing to be by his side when he needed her, and yet not hovering. She'd really been remarkable. Now she deserved rescuing.

"Excuse me, sir," he interrupted their conversation. From the atmosphere, he could tell that whatever they'd been discussing, it hadn't been the weather. Buffy looked up at him with a peculiar combination of relief and fear. And Burkridge looked like a man who was far too pleased with himself. "Buffy, there's someone I'd like you to meet. If you don't mind, sir?"

"Not at all," Burkridge smiled. "We were just finishing up." Buffy stood and he followed. "Thank you for talking to me, Buffy."

"Sure," she said, looking at him warily. "It was...interesting."

Burkridge chuckled and Giles nodded a farewell as he led Buffy across the chapel.

"Who did you want me to meet?" she asked.

"No one. I just thought you could use a reprieve."

Buffy grinned. "Thanks. Is he always so annoying like that?"

"I'm afraid so. Mr. Burkridge is among the truly insufferable." They settled on one of the couches near the back of the room. "What did he want to talk to you about?"

"Oh...nothing much." She looked down, refusing to meet his eyes. "Just some watchery crap."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Watchery crap?"

"Yeah, watchers, and slayers, and vamps, oh my." She grinned. "But you'd have been proud of me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I didn't hit him."

Giles laughed and put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a brief hug. He should have known that Buffy would be able to hold her own against Matthew Burkridge.

"Well, it won't be too much longer 'til we can go. I know this has been pretty miserable for you."

She shrugged. "I understand why people have wakes. I've been to them before. It's just this time I feel-well, kind of funny, being here. I mean, I'm here for you, not for him. I hardly knew him. And everybody wants to talk to me about him. I just don't know what to say, most of the time."

"You've done very well," he told her, hoping to reassure her. "Quite a few of the guests have been very impressed with you."

"Yeah, and then there's Mr. Burkridge." She made a face.

"I wouldn't let that bother you. Burkridge likes to push, much like my father did. Which was one of the reasons they couldn't stand each other. Probably too much alike."

"Nope, I don't believe that. "I liked your dad. But Burkridge?" She just shook her head.

Then her gaze shifted toward the door and he followed it. A woman had just entered the chapel. Giles felt his heart jump in his chest. "Elizabeth?" He stood up, not believing it was her. But she turned toward his voice, recognized him, and in two steps he was to her, taking her hands delightedly. "My God, Liz! It's been so long! I'm so glad you could come."

"I just got in and dashed over, hoping to catch you," she told him. Then she smiled and the next thing he knew, she was in his arms, almost as if she'd never left them.

He finally managed to pull back. "You look wonderful." He touched her short hair. "I like the hair."

"I look old," she grimaced.

"No, I like it, it suits you."

"Flatterer," she smiled, then cupped his face in her hands. "You look like bloody hell," she said bluntly.

"Yes, well it's been a hell of a week."

"I'm sure. How are you holding up?"

"About as well as can be expected. It's all a bit unreal. Come on, I want you to meet Buffy." He took her hand, leading her over to the sofa. Buffy had been watching the exchange curiously. "Buffy, I'd like you to meet an Elizabeth Leary, Mrs. Peavey's daughter." Buffy's eyes widened. He suspected she'd never thought she would meet the woman whose horrific experiences had so affected her. "Elizabeth, this is Buffy Summers."

Buffy stood up and Elizabeth took her hand. "It's an honor to meet you," she said warmly.

"Thanks," Buffy replied, as she'd been doing all evening. "It's nice to meet you, too." She glanced at Giles, her expression full of curiosity and more than a little trepidation. As if she wasn't quite sure what to make of Elizabeth, especially given what she knew about her.

Elizabeth's smile softened and she squeezed Buffy's hand. "And it's a pleasure. I'm sure the watchers haven't been saying that. They're a stuffy lot."

Buffy laughed, and Giles watched her wariness melt away before Elizabeth's bright cheer. "I noticed."

"How have you been faring, thrown down in the middle of all this craziness?" she asked.

"It's been okay," Buffy replied. "I've never been to England before."

"Oh, too bad you have to spend it in Chalworth."

"We went to Oxford on Sunday," Giles interjected, not wanting it to sound like Buffy had been a prisoner here.

"Well, that's better than nothing," Elizabeth conceded. "But it's not London. You'd love Regent Street and Harrod's."

"Next time," Giles suggested, seeing Buffy's face light up at the possibility of shopping.

"He wants to bring me back after high school," Buffy explained.

"That would be marvelous," Elizabeth said. "When will that be?"

"Not for over a year," Buffy said mournfully. "This is only my junior year."

"Still, good to have something to look forward to."

Buffy looked away sadly and Giles felt his heart go out to her. He knew the reason she lived so much in the now was because she never planned for the future. It was too painful to think about the future when you realized you had very little future to plan for.

Elizabeth must have recognized her expression because she touched her arm gently. "You have to have things to look forward to, Buffy. Otherwise, there's not much point. Those little plans for the future can make a good deal of the present a lot more bearable."

Buffy looked at her, trying to decipher her expression. "Sometimes it's enough to get through moment to moment," she said softly.

"Sometimes it is. And sometimes it helps to get through the moments if you think about something good at the other end."

Buffy frowned. "Is that how you did it?"

Elizabeth looked surprised. "He told you about that?"

Giles was about to defend himself when Buffy did it for him. "Your mother did."

"Ah. Well, the answer is yes. Moment by moment, always looking toward the future. And it helps to have good friends and companions on the journey."

"I know," Buffy said quietly and moved closer to Giles. He put an arm around her shoulders protectively and she leaned into his embrace, her utter faith in him once again filling him with awe.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, was glancing around the room. "Let me pay my respects-oh bloody hell, there's Burkridge. Well, I'd better say hello to him, too. And then I'll be back. How late is this going on?"

"Just 'til 9:00," Giles answered.

"Almost over then. Good." She leaned toward Buffy. "I hate to say it, but I've always despised these things."

Buffy smiled and Elizabeth excused herself, going to the front of the chapel. Giles watched her go, watched her pay her last respects to his father, standing before the casket for a long time, head bowed. It was so wonderful to see her again. Especially to see her now, when he was feeling so totally at sea-unsure of himself, of his relationship with his father, his relationship with Buffy....

"Yo, earth to Giles," Buffy, at his side, called softly.

"What?" He blinked, realizing he'd been staring. "Oh. Sorry?"

She laughed. "She won't disappear if you take your eyes off her, you know."

He felt himself go red. "It's...I haven't seen Liz in twenty years. I'm just...it's good to see her again."

"I like her," Buffy said definitely. "She seems so...open. Honest."

"Yes, she is," he agreed. "During the past twenty years, she's only grown stronger. She's quite...." He stopped himself before he said something totally humiliating. "I must sound like an idiot."

"Nah," she patted his arm. "I think it's cute. But I was right about the girlfriend thing, wasn't I?"

He flushed again. "Sort of. Look, don't mind me," he murmured, feeling terribly embarrassed. Of course, he'd cared for Elizabeth deeply. But that was more than twenty years ago. Why was he so ready to fall at her feet again?

"At least she made you smile," Buffy said softly. "That's more than I can do."

He looked down, concerned again by her weary sadness. It seemed that no matter what else happened, now many laughs they shared, at some point, it all fell apart and Buffy's depression returned. He cupped the side of her face tenderly. "You do make me smile," he said gently. "Just by being with me. Just by being here and being you."

She leaned into his embrace, hugging him, and he was surprised by the touch of desperation, the strength in those arms. His own tightened around her. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." She straightened. "It's been a weird week."

"Mmm," he nodded. "Almost over, though. Just the funeral tomorrow. And that's it."

"Except for that awful plane ride." She made a face.

"But you can sleep all the way."

"I couldn't coming over."

"Then you were excited. Now you're exhausted. There's a difference."

Elizabeth came back over to them, smiling ruefully. "You know, every time I see Burkridge, I keep hoping this time it'll be different. But it never is. The man is impossible!"

Giles smiled grimly. "Burkridge will never change. Men like him never do."

"Am I gonna lose slayer points if I say I don't like him?" Buffy asked.

Elizabeth laughed. "I'd be worried if you did, love."

Just then, the object of their conversation started toward them. "Speak of the devil," Giles murmured and Buffy immediately moved closer to him, almost as if seeking his protection. He put his arm around her shoulders again.

"Rupert," Burkridge began, "I'll see you tomorrow at the funeral. I hope you and...Buffy..." He said the name like he didn't approve of it. "...will join me for lunch afterwards."

In his arm, Buffy stiffened. "Oh," Giles began, not sure what to say. "We...."

"I want to personally offer my condolences. And there are some things we need to discuss."

Buffy held onto him more tightly, her entire body rigid. The only time he'd ever seen her react like this was with.... Was with Jenny. After Angel.

"Um, yes, well...it will rather depend on how things go tomorrow," he said, not wanting to commit to anything until he knew what was going on with Buffy. "It's been a rather trying week."

"We need to talk, Rupert," Burkridge said sternly.

"Yes, I know. We will. I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you for coming." He hoped the other man took his dismissal. He had no intention of subjecting Buffy to anything more tonight.

But Burkridge wasn't done yet. "Good night, Miss Summers," he said, taking her hand. "I am so glad we met."

Buffy pulled her hand away. She'd faced vampires, demons, the very hosts of hell. Yet something here was frightening her. And that frightened Giles. "Good night," she managed, and held onto Giles even more tightly.

Burkridge finally left and Giles felt his charge relax. He looked down at her. "Buffy, what's wrong?"

The wide eyes which looked up at him were frightened. "Giles, let's go home. Tomorrow. Let's move our flight up and leave right after the funeral."

He stared at her, frowning. She was trying to flee, to run away. But from what? "The appraisers are coming first thing Thursday morning," he reminded her. "What's the matter?"

She sighed and ducked her head. "Nothing," she mumbled. "I...I guess I'm just homesick."

He smiled tenderly. Perhaps she was still worried about that dream. "Do you want to call them again? Just to be sure?"

"It's that phone thing again," she said.

"That doesn't matter. If you'll feel better calling...."

"Is there a problem?" Elizabeth asked.

"The phone at the house is disconnected and Buffy wanted to call her friends back home."

"Well here, I've got my cellular, will that do?"

"Whoa, talk about roaming charges!" Buffy said.

Elizabeth laughed. "I'm on roaming as soon as I leave Doncaster. It's all right."

Giles looked around; they were the last three remaining in the chapel. It was time to go home. "Are you sure it would be all right?" he asked, escorting them out of the chapel, pausing while they collected coats and while he confirmed the arrangements for tomorrow with Jack Larkin.

"Absolutely," Elizabeth confirmed. "I always carry it when I travel, but I won't be needing it here. Why don't you hang onto it 'til after the funeral tomorrow?"

"That would be great," Buffy enthused.

"Just tell us what we'll owe you for calls," Giles added.

"Don't worry about it. It's the least I can do."

Giles smiled; he did adore her. "Thank you."

They left the funeral home together. "Did you drive?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Walked. Had enough of the car on the trip down."

"Then we'll give you a lift back."

"Thanks." She smiled, taking his other arm.

They drove in amiable silence. "Just go on to your place. I can walk from there," Elizabeth said. "Besides, I want to give Buffy the phone."

Giles nodded, casting occasional glances at the woman at his side. She really was extraordinary. He'd let a good one get away when he'd let her go. Of course, he'd been a confused twenty-one at the time, hardly ready to settle down, certainly not able to give her the stability she'd needed then. It was probably for the best, all those years ago. But that didn't mean there weren't regrets.

He pulled into the drive and they climbed out of the car.

"I think I can offer you a coffee," he said as he unlocked the door.

"Nothing stronger?" she teased.

He chuckled. "This is my father's house. What do you think?"

"Ah yes," she smiled. "I'll take one of those. What is it?"

"I haven't any idea. Knowing my father, single malt."

"You mean you could have gotten drunk at home instead?" Buffy scolded, flouncing into the parlour.

"What's this?" Elizabeth teased.

"Ah, I'm afraid I'm in a bit of the dog house from the other night," he admitted sheepishly.

"What did you do?" she laughed.

"He...."

"Buffy," he interrupted, "perhaps Elizabeth can show you how her telephone works."

The two females exchanged a glance and a smile, by which he knew at some point dirt would be spilled. He sighed. He was delighted that Buffy and Elizabeth seemed to be getting along, but wasn't sure about the ultimate implications of that friendship.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, dug the phone out of her bag and she and Buffy huddled over the instrument while he went into the study where his father's decanter was stored. He poured out two measures. He almost poured one for Buffy, something to settle her down. But since she didn't care for the taste of most alcohol, it wouldn't do her much good if he couldn't get it down her.

He came back out to see Buffy smile her thanks at Elizabeth and disappear into the bedroom.

He handed Elizabeth a glass. "To old friends."

"Friendship renewed," she added and they touched glasses.

He sipped, feeling the smooth liquid fire glide all the way down to finally curl in his stomach. From the bedroom he could hear Buffy's voice, soft but happy, as she chattered with Willow. He knew she missed her friends. Oddly, he found he missed them, too. Willow's keen intelligence and bright smile, Xander's irreverence and absolute conviction, even Cordelia's grudging support.

He'd be glad to get home again, too.

"Penny for them." A soft, feminine voice eased its way into his thoughts. Elizabeth was gazing at him, a gentle smile on her face.

"Sorry," he ducked his head, embarrassed.

"You still do that," she commented.

"Do what?"

"Go off on your own little private journeys. I used to wonder where you'd go, whether it was any place better than here."

He shrugged. "Just thinking." He escorted her to a seat on the couch and sat next to her, very aware of her nearness, her warmth, the scent of her perfume.... "About Buffy," he completed.

Elizabeth nodded. "Is she always so skittish?"

"Not at all. That's what has me worried. I know she's tired, but...." He took a sip of his drink. "But it's almost as if she's scared."

"And that's not normal."

"Buffy is one of the bravest girls I've ever known. She seldom just 'gets scared'. Not about little things. Sometimes not even about big things."

Before he knew it, he was talking to her, telling her things. About Buffy, about their life in Sunnydale, about the slayerettes. About Angel.

Even about Jenny.

Through it all, she listened, attentively, compassionately, sitting with one leg tucked up under her, her arm resting on the back of the sofa, her hand stroking his shoulder comfortingly. As if she understood.

Because she did.

He told her what had happened on Sunday in Oxford and about Buffy's nightmare. And about their little "scene" last night, and how now he was worried about her peace of mind.

"I knew this trip would be a difficult one. But I thought it would be hard for me, not for her. I assumed her biggest problem would be boredom. But it's been much rougher than I'd anticipated. Almost as if I'm the one who's had it easy. At least I came here knowing what to expect. Buffy's been rather lost.

"I know she hasn't been sleeping well, not since...since Angel. I brought her hoping that getting her away from all that would help. But I think I've made it worse."

"I doubt that," she soothed. "It sounds to me like spending all this time together has just intensified certain things. Forced some conversations that might have remained unspoken. It's a crap-shoot, Rupert, you know that. You got her away from the danger, at least temporarily. But in the process she gained knowledge you'd have preferred she not have. Things that disturbed her. She's not stupid; do you really think she read anything in those books she hadn't already thought of herself? Sometimes it's harder to see it in black and white, but it's really nothing new. Slayer fights, slayer dies."

He shuddered. "I know. Dear God, I know." He drained his glass then turned to her, taking her hand. "How did you stand it? When I think of something happening to her, I feel physically ill. How did you keep from going insane?"

"I almost didn't," she said softly. "You must remember that."

He did remember. Her anguish, her all-encompassing grief. How sometimes she could barely take a breath without sobbing. And how she had clung to him, reaching for something, anything, to take away the pain. "All I did was take the knife out of your hand," he answered softly. "The resolve, the inner strength, that had to come from within."

"And from without. Rupert, do you think it was just sex we had? That was only a small part of it. The smallest part. More important was someone to hold onto. Who'd listen when I needed to talk. Who didn't view me with either pity or disgust. Who could be silent when I needed stillness. Who was there.

"Why do you think I loved you so much? Because you didn't just save my life. You saved my sanity."

He just gazed at her, completely overwhelmed by her simple declaration. "If you loved me, why did you go back to John?" Then he ducked his head. "No, forget I asked."

"The reason hasn't changed," she said gently. "You weren't in any place in your life to be able to give me the security I needed then. John could."

It was nothing he didn't already know. "No regrets?" he asked.

"Nothing I'd have done differently," she said simply. "Not much point in playing what if. It doesn't change what was, it doesn't change what is."

He reached a hand to cup the side of her face tenderly. Her simple pragmatism was like a balm to him. "I have missed you."

She smiled. "I've missed you, too."

He desperately wanted to kiss her. But the fact that she was a married woman somehow mattered more to him now than it had twenty years ago. So he contented himself with stroking a finger down her cheek and letting his hand rest in the curve between neck and shoulder.

"Do you have regrets?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. All sorts. But not about us. I suppose my only wish is that I could have been older, perhaps through with school."

She shook her head. "If you had been, you wouldn't have been there. Here. No, it was because of what happened in London that you were there when I needed you. So you really can't afford to have regrets. If not for what you'd done, you couldn't have done what you did."

He laughed softly. "I think I even understood that." He shook his head. "I have been hanging around Buffy too long."

She laughed, too, tipping her head and rubbing her cheek against the hand resting on her shoulder. Then she captured his hand, turned her head and kissed it.

The touch was electric, the atmosphere charged. Giles found it difficult to breathe. Her eyes were bright, her lips soft, inviting. She leaned forward, her chin slightly raised. He moved closer, his hand sliding to the back of her neck. He bent his head; her lips parted in anticipation....

Then there was a thump and a muttered curse from the hallway and Giles pulled back as if stung. He swallowed past his dry mouth, tried to force his heart back down into his chest where it belonged, and called out, "Are you all right?"

"Who put this box here?" Buffy called back.

"I thought you knew," he answered. He glanced at Elizabeth; she was a little flushed, trying not to burst out laughing. He was certain he must look equally as guilty.

Buffy came into the room. "Thanks for the use of the...phone." Her words died. "Um, did I just interrupt something?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "Just remembering old times."

"How is everybody?" Giles asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Fine," Buffy answered, willing to be distracted. "Day two of Spring Break, so everybody's bored. Xander and Cordy broke up yet again, it's raining, and Willow's depressed because Oz has to stay in the basement."

"Good Lord, is it the full moon again?"

"Guess so. I lose track."

"It's a good thing Oz doesn't."

"What's this?" Elizabeth asked, curious.

"Oh, my friend Willow's boyfriend is a werewolf," Buffy said matter-of-factly.

"Werewolf! Honestly?"

"Three nights a month," she confirmed.

"You do live in an exciting place."

"Oh yeah. Barrel of laughs." Buffy's scowl was actually rather cute. She handed the phone to Elizabeth. "Thanks for the use of this. I appreciate it."

"Oh, you hang onto it, love. 'Til tomorrow. Just in case." Elizabeth handed it back to her.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. Go on."

"Thanks!" Buffy grinned.

"That's not blanket permission to start phoning everyone you know, Buffy," Giles said, seeing the dollar signs flash in his mind.

"Not everybody. Just Xander."

Giles sighed. Another international call....

"Go on, let her," Elizabeth prodded. "Don't worry about it."

Buffy gazed at Giles endearingly, as if to say 'pretty please'. He sighed again. "Don't talk long," he finally compromised. "You need to get some sleep."

"I'll call Xander then go right to bed. Promise," she grinned and hopped off down the hall.

"Buffy," he called.

"Yeah?" Her head poked around the corner.

"I'm going to walk Elizabeth home."

She smiled and her eyes twinkled. "Sure. Go ahead." He thought she was reading far more into that statement than he'd intended.

He stood, extending his hand toward Elizabeth. "I'll be back shortly, all right?"

"Yeah, fine." Still that knowing smile.

Elizabeth stood as well. "It was lovely to meet you, Buffy," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow." She moved around the sofa, giving the girl a hug.

"Okay. 'Night," she said, hugging back.

Buffy went on into the bedroom and Elizabeth came over to where Giles was waiting, holding her coat. He grabbed a flashlight on the way out, remembering how stygian it got out here. Especially away from the road.

They were silent as they walked around the back of the house, heading toward the break in the hedge which both families had been using as long as either could remember.

Elizabeth looked up at the night sky and sighed. "It's a beautiful night," she said. Sure enough, the moon, almost full, shone bright, practically eliminating the need for the flashlight. Occasional clouds floated past, reflecting silver in the sky.

He smiled, taking her hand. "Thank you for everything you did today."

"What have I done?" she asked with a chuckle.

"Oh, not much-just took a very frightened slayer and put a smile on her face." He stopped and turned her toward him. "And on mine as well."

"You're welcome," she said. "I really like Buffy. She's sweet."

"She likes you; she said so at the funeral home."

"Good." She smiled, took his arm and they started walking again.

Then she suddenly stopped. Ahead of them lay the stable.

"Anything in there anymore?" she asked.

"I haven't been out there. Buffy says not. I suppose I'd better check before I go."

"Let's check now." She gazed at him.

"I...." he started to protest. He'd lost count of the hours they'd spent in that stable, their love spread on a blanket in the hayloft, the world stopping for a time, focusing down until it was nothing more than bodies, and needs and the desire to be together.

"For old time's sake," she whispered.

"Buffy..."

"Will be fine. Come on." Without waiting for his approval, she took his hand and started leading him toward the old building. He realized protest was pointless. Why protest against something he wanted so much anyway?

Besides, maybe he was reading more into it; maybe all she wanted to do was see it and remember, not try and relive it.

It was eerie, seeing it without the horses, though the smell of horseflesh, old leather, hay and dust still lingered. The three stalls were empty, and a bridle hung on a hook near the door. Beyond that, the place was deserted.

"I wonder if anything's left," Elizabeth whispered, heading for the ladder to the loft. He held the light for her as she climbed.

"See anything?" he called.

"Come on up and see," she answered, so he climbed up as well.

The hay was mostly gone, a few odd scraps remaining. There was a pile of rags in one corner.

Elizabeth walked along the railing and crouched down, reaching for something. "Oh, my God," she murmured.

"What is it?" he frowned, unable to see what she'd found.

"Come here."

He followed and she turned around. Cupped in her hands was a candle stub. "Twenty years later, there's still a candle," she whispered, almost awed. At one point they'd had several candles up here. This was all that remained.

She looked at him. "You have a match?"

He nodded and pulled the book out of his pocket. She smiled and held the candle stub and he carefully lit it. She held it for several moments as they simply stared into the flame, remembering. When he glanced up again, she was gazing at him, her eyes bright in the glow of the flame. She wordlessly turned away, ran her hand over the railing to dust it off, and set the candle down on one of the discolored rings which showed where previous candles had rested, wax and soot marking their presence.

Then she turned toward him, let her bag slide off her shoulder to land on the floor, and extended her arms.

He didn't need a second invitation.

He went into her arms and she fit against him the way she did back then, the way she always had. Small, soft, warm, her body felt so good against his that for a long time all he wanted to do was hold her close, feel her heart beating next to his, revel in her sweet scent and the joy of simply holding her.

She made a soft sound and her hands cupped the back of his head, drawing him down. His mouth found hers and he lost the ability to breathe. She felt so good.... Her lips parted in invitation and he accepted it, their tongues caressing, plundering. She tasted of good scotch and smelled of sweet perfume. And he drank of her like a parched man.

Her hands stroked his face, hair, shoulders, neck. She moved her head, lips and tongue nibbling the sensitive flesh behind his ear. Hot fire coursed through his body.

"God, that's good," he moaned.

She made a guttural moan of her own and returned her mouth to his, her searching kiss making him dizzy with desire.

And then, somehow, a small tendril of rationality crept in and slowly, reluctantly, he broke the kiss, pulling back from her still searching mouth.

"Liz, no," he gasped. "We can't." He held her at arm's length.

"Why not?" she asked, as if two old friends suddenly finding themselves in the throes of passion was the most normal thing in the world.

"Because while your marriage didn't mean a lot to us then, it does now. And I can't...."

"What are you talking about?"

"John. Your husband. Remember him?"

"Rupert, John and I are divorced."

The world stopped.

"What?"

"Mother didn't tell you?"

"Obviously not."

She sighed. "Well, that's not surprising. I think she believes if she doesn't mention it, it didn't happen."

The world righted itself again and resumed its spin. He cupped the side of her face in his hand. "What happened?"

She shrugged. "Whatever happens? People grow apart. I suppose it was inevitable. We hadn't felt passion for each other since Kenny died. We had Brian hoping it would help. Don't misunderstand, we both love him dearly, but he wasn't the solution we were looking for. We were comfortable enough together, had no real complaints. Only eventually, we realized it wasn't enough. We looked at each other one day and realized that except for Brian, we had nothing in common. It was amicable enough. He went back to Ireland. We still talk occasionally, but usually only about Brian."

He didn't know what to say. Given the circumstances, it was wonderful news. But it still made him sad, in a way. "I'm sorry," he finally managed.

"What happened all those years ago changed me, fundamentally," she went on. "For a long time I buried it, hiding out in security and something safe. But that's not what life's about. It's about the now. It's about not holding back thinking there might be a better time, because there might not be. You don't spend time on regrets and what ifs. You accept what is. You and I both know that this, whatever this is, can't really amount to anything, not while you're six thousand miles away. But what's wrong with taking advantage of this moment, this feeling? I loved you once. I still feel something for you or this wouldn't have just happened. Why not go with it? For the moment. For what is. Whatever it is."

He gazed at her, absolutely astounded by her. By her wisdom, her strength, her pragmatism. "You are the most extraordinary woman," he murmured and drew her close again, his mouth seeking out hers. The kiss was gentler this time, less pure sex and more heartfelt emotion. But the passion was still there, banked, glowing, threatening to flare again.

They kissed for a long time, not thinking, simply delighting in the sensation of lip against lip, tongue with tongue, body pressed against body.

Then she tugged at him. "I'm getting a stiff neck." They slid to the floor, sitting on the dusty planks in the empty loft, ignoring the discomfort in favor of delight in each other's bodies. His tie was askew as her fingers wriggled between buttons to caress his chest. His hands slid beneath her sweater to rub her bare back. And still they kissed, savoring the touch, the taste.

"I wish," he said between kisses, "I could have you stay. But Buffy's in the bedroom and I don't think we could manage it in my little bed again."

"Good lord, no," she laughed. "That almost killed us the last time." The one time they'd actually put their love into a real bed, it had been his narrow attic bed and they'd each nearly fallen out at least once. After that, they'd contented themselves with the blanket in the hayloft. It became their special, private world.

"And you can't stay with me," she went on. "Mother...."

"I know," he agreed, kissing her some more. "Damn." Now she was in his arms, he was loath to let her go.

She sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. "I guess it just wasn't meant to be. I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little old to play house in a dirty hayloft."

He chuckled, holding her tenderly. "I wish California weren't so far away," he murmured.

"So do I. I'd come out and visit, but the airfares are so dear. Especially with Brian's tuition."

"I'd send you a ticket, but getting myself and Buffy over here, spur of the moment, just about tapped me out."

"It's all right. We'll work something out."

He sighed, burying his face against her neck. A petulant little phrase, one of Buffy's, poked its way into his thoughts. Life wasn't fair. He laughed to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing. I have been hanging around Buffy and her friends too long."

"I'd like to meet them; they sound like good kids."

"They are. Oh, mostly, they're fairly typical teenagers. But they've seen so much, done so much, it's matured them. They're none of them innocents, not anymore. Which is sad, really. Especially Willow. She's very strong, when she needs to be, but there's a fragility about her which is painful to see. Everything that happens seems to affect Willow just a little more deeply."

He sighed again. "I'd considered, at one time, asking her to succeed me. But I'm not sure anymore I could do it. Not that she wouldn't be up to the job, because she'd be magnificent. But because of the terrible toll it would take on her. It's one thing to inherit it, to do it because you have no choice. It's quite another to be appointed."

Elizabeth was silent, her head resting on his shoulder contentedly. "Or perhaps it's easier."

"How do you figure?"

"I never fought it because it never occurred to me I could. Girls didn't disobey their elders, full-stop. You fought it but eventually came round, accepting it on your own. Brian wants nothing to do with it and I'm not sure he'll ever change his mind, because he's been told it's his destiny, which he refuses. But if, instead of having me tell him, at age twelve, that this was who he is, I had waited 'til he was, oh, maybe eighteen or so, then explained the situation and asked him to succeed me, it might have been different. Don't decide based on your reactions. Decide based on hers."

He gazed at her again, awed once more by her insight and intelligence. "It's a tough call," he murmured, stroking her smooth cap of hair.

"What is?"

"Whether I want you more for your body or your mind."

She laughed and they shared a tender kiss.

"Well, seeing as how they come as a set, you don't have to decide."

"I have missed you," he hugged her close.

They sat like that for a long time, simply enjoying the feel of warm arms around them, strong hearts beating together.

Until the candle sputtered and died.

"And that's that," she sighed, straightening from his embrace. "We should probably be getting home."

"Mmm," he agreed, climbing to his feet and helping her up. "Buffy is going to wonder what happened to me."

She laughed, helping him brush the dust off. "You're underestimating her again. Buffy is going to know exactly what happened to you."

"This is supposed to be a comfort?"

Another laugh. "Don't be so afraid that she knows you're human. She has no use for Superman."

"I have no problem with her knowing I'm human," he replied, helping her down the ladder. "It's intimate details about my life I'm not keen on. It was bad enough she had to learn about Ethan and that whole mess."

"So demons are all right but lovers aren't?"

"I didn't say that. It's just... Give me a chance, Liz. I came here to bury my father, not fall in love again."

He stopped abruptly. She was gazing at him, a look on her face he couldn't decipher in the dimness.

"Did I just say that?"

"Afraid so, Love," she smiled. "Want to take it back?"

He shook his head, marveling at the astonishing turn of events. "No. No I don't." He cupped the side of her face with his hand. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he admitted. "I was in love with you twenty years ago. Things have just come full circle."

"Were you really?" she asked, taking his arm as they resumed their walk.

"Was I what?"

"In love with me back then."

"Madly."

"Oh." She was silent for a long moment. "I never realized. I always assumed it was just...physical."

"Of course not. I practically worshiped you."

"Then why did you let me go so easily? I mean, if...."

"You said it yourself. I couldn't give you what you needed. I wasn't such a fool as to think I could compete with safety and security. I would have ruined your life. I knew that. Better to let you go and have you happy than hold on and have you miserable."

"I never knew you were the sacrificial type," she mused.

"I'm a watcher. I rather think it's endemic of the breed," he smiled ironically, a look she mirrored.

They arrived at her door.

"Well," she said, "this has been... instructive."

He laughed. "That's one way of putting it."

They gazed at each other for a long time.

"I want to see you again," he said.

"You will, tomorrow at the funeral."

"You know what I mean."

"How?"

"I don't know. But just tell me you want it too, and we'll work something out."

"I want it too," she said simply.

"Then we'll find a way."

"All right. I trust you." She wrapped her arms around him again, and they kissed tenderly.

"This is insane," he murmured against her neck. "I don't want to let you go."

"I'm afraid you'll have to, love. Or else how do we explain to Mother what we were doing snogging on the front step all night?"

He laughed and that was enough to allow them to release the embrace.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

She nodded. "I'll have Mother along."

"When do you have to head back?"

"No later than suppertime. I have to work on Thursday."

He didn't want to think about her leaving. Not yet, not when he'd just found her again. "Do you want to plan on lunch or something afterward?"

"Aren't you supposed to dine with Burkridge?"

He grimaced. "Come along; act as buffer."

"Thanks." She made her own face.

"No, seriously. Your presence might just about make it tolerable."

"I know," she grinned, "let's really get up his nose-invite Mother to come, too."

He chuckled. "Oh, you are wicked!"

"That's why you love me," she smiled.

His heart jumped at the words. "Among other reasons," he said softly and moved in to kiss her again, but she held him off.

"No, come on, we start that again we'll never say good night."

He still took her in his arms. "One final kiss, and I'll depart," he paraphrased.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," she rejoined.

He kissed her tenderly. "That I shall say good night 'til it be morrow."

"God, this is getting thick," she chuckled and he laughed with her. Who could have imagined himself, at forty-three, quoting Romeo and Juliet on a lady's doorstep.

"Good night," he said one last time, and with a final kiss, he let her go, watching as she let herself in, turned and gave him a bright smile that nearly lit up the night sky. He stayed until the door closed, and then he turned and slowly went back down the garden toward home.

The house was silent when he let himself in, locking the door behind him. He walked through the parlour, picking up their empty glasses and carrying them to the kitchen. He briefly thought about pouring himself another drink, something to calm his giddy spirit. But he realized that despite the "high" of the past hour or two, he was actually bone-tired, and all the alcohol was likely to do would be make him fuzzy as well as hyper. He'd be better off without it.

He was heading toward the stairs when a shadow in the hallway made him start. Buffy was standing there, leaning against the doorway to the bedroom. "I thought you were asleep," he said softly.

"Hadn't fallen asleep yet, heard you come in." Perhaps not, but she'd been on the verge, if her heavy-lidded expression was any indicator.

"Oh." Suddenly, he was at a loss for words. "Everything all right with Xander?"

"Yeah. He's fine."

"Good, good. Well, you'd better get some sleep. Tomorrow will still...."

"You know, Giles," she interrupted, "I could have slept upstairs tonight, let you have the bedroom."

"What?"

"You know, with the bigger bed?"

It took a minute for her insinuation to register. Then he gaped. "What gives you the idea that...."

"Oh, gee, I dunno," she teased, "maybe it's that it took you almost an hour to walk next door. And then there's the dirt on your pants, and your hair's messed up. And the lipstick on your cheek."

He put his hand to his cheek guiltily. "I...I..."

"What'd you guys do, go to the barn?" she smiled. Not much slipped past her.

"I...I...we.... That's none of your business," he spluttered.

"Don't worry, I think it's cute. Anyway, there's always tomorrow night."

"Elizabeth is leaving tomorrow right after-" He stopped. He couldn't believe he was having this discussion with her. "What's with the prurient interest in my love life?"

"It's not prurient, it's just...." She looked up at him, her big eyes even wider. "I just want you to be happy."

"Well, I appreciate your concern, but...."

"And maybe I don't want to wreck it for you again."

His throat tightened. It seemed like no matter what, it always came back to this. "You didn't 'wreck it' before."

"I blamed her," she said, her voice breaking, "even though it wasn't her fault. But you defended me and she...."

"You, your needs, will always come first," he said quietly. "She didn't understand that, not really."

"But if I hadn't been such a bitch, maybe...."

"Buffy, no." He moved to her, a hand on her shoulder. "Let's not go into this again, it's late. What's happened has happened, we can't change it. Not for you, not for me. Believe me, if I could, I would."

"But it's all my fault," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "How many more will have to die because of what I...."

"Hush, now that's enough," he soothed, pulling her into his arms in a comforting embrace. "No more."

He held her while she wept silent tears, until she sniffed and raised her head.

"I'm sorry, I hadn't meant to...."

"Shh." He smoothed her hair. "I know."

"I-I guess it's been kind of a freaky day."

He nodded, understanding. "It has at that." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Now, you'd better get to bed."

She sniffed again and moved out of his arms. "'Kay." Then she stopped and turned back. "Giles?"

"Yes?"

He saw her swallow, and when she spoke, her voice was small, afraid. "You won't ever leave, will you?"

"No, of course not." Whatever gave her that idea?

"I mean, no matter what happens, no matter what I do or what other people say. You won't leave me?"

"I won't leave you," he confirmed, hoping to sound as confident as he felt. "Not ever." She smiled, but it was a sorry expression, and her tear-stained face looked so sad, his heart ached. "Buffy, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just..." She sighed. "Nothing. Good night." Before he could ask again, she went

into the bedroom and closed the door.

He stared at the closed door, bewildered. The calls to her friends had only helped momentarily; she was still upset. Frightened. It didn't bear thinking about, Buffy, the Slayer, the girl who nightly faced demons, devils, vampires, the very hosts of hell without flinching. That girl had clung to him desperately and wept bitter tears. And he didn't know why. Something must have happened which had made her react with such fear earlier. Perhaps something in her conversation with Burkridge, though he couldn't imagine what. The senior watcher was more annoying than threatening.

Wearily, he shook his head. This day had been long enough for two. From light-hearted laughter over the photo albums this morning to this...this heart-wrenching sorrow.

Not to mention Elizabeth. God! Where had

that come from, that passion?

Methodically, Giles put out the lights and

got ready for bed.

He lay for a long time staring at the sloped ceiling, in too much turmoil to sleep.

There was a vague ache of desire in his body. That would pass. And a greater ache of pain in his heart.

That one didn't seem to go away.

Chapter XI