XIV

They went into the chapel first, to pay their last respects in private. Buffy hung back while Giles went up to the closed casket and bowed his head, wishing he could pray. Perhaps that would fill up that terrible emptiness inside him. He'd been almost grateful for Buffy and her worries. At least it had distracted him. Standing here now, there were no distractions. There was nothing but...

Nothing.

When his mother had died, he'd wept bitter, angry tears, incensed at the cruelty of fate that had taken her away from the son who still needed her.

When Jenny was killed he'd been devastated. The mere thought of that night still sent lances of pain through him. He and Buffy had clung together outside that warehouse for a long time before he could muster the strength, the courage, to get up. To go on.

But now.... Perhaps he had grieved so much in his life he was numb to further pain. Perhaps it simply hadn't sunk in yet, the finality. Or perhaps it was degree. His father hadn't been a part of his daily life in a long time. And though he'd loved him, life wouldn't be significantly changed by this particular loss.

He'd wept the other night, and again yesterday afternoon. Had that been his quotient of tears? If so, then why did he feel now like something was missing?

He took a deep breath and turned away from the casket. Buffy stood behind him, her wide eyes filled with compassion and concern. Bless her for being here with him. She helped him feel less alone. He smiled and took her arm, silently walking with her to the back of the chapel.

In the foyer, guests were arriving and the funeral director opened the chapel doors to the public. "Let's get some air before we have to go back in," Giles murmured and they moved to the door.

On the front steps, Elizabeth was talking to Burkridge. Or rather, Burkridge was being talked to. Fiercely. Her words were soft, but it was clear by her body language, and his, that their meaning was anything but. Elizabeth, he recalled, could be something of a firebrand when she put her mind to it. Giles might almost feel sorry for the man if it weren't that he probably deserved everything he was getting.

Elizabeth spotted them, made a final pointed comment to Burkridge, and walked away from him, heading up the steps to where they were standing. She smiled at Buffy, giving her a hug. "Everything's all right," she said. "You have nothing to worry about. He said, if you can believe him, that it was a test."

Buffy stared, aghast. "What was he testing? How I could freak?"

"Your dedication, apparently. And how you felt about your watcher."

"All right, will one of you tell me what's going on?" Giles asked. "I'm serious, Liz. No evasions."

Buffy and Elizabeth exchanged glances. "Burkridge managed to convince Buffy last night that he was going to remove you as her watcher," Elizabeth explained.

Giles felt a cold rage come over him. "He what?"

"He made it sound like it was your fault I died," Buffy said. "I thought...I thought he was gonna take you away from me."

The raw fear in her young face damped down the worst of his anger. "Buffy," he cupped her face, "why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you'd think I was being stupid. Besides, I didn't want to worry you."

His other hand came up to stroke her hair. "I was far more worried that something was wrong and you wouldn't tell me."

"I'm sorry," she said and her lower lip trembled.

He pulled her into his arms, hugging her close. "I won't ever leave you, Buffy," he whispered fiercely. "You have my vow."

"I know you wouldn't," she answered, her voice small. "Not if you could help it. But I thought they could take you from me."

"No. Not ever. They're the ones who put me here and they'll have a fight on their hands if they try to remove me now." He let her go, holding her at arm's length. "But the next time something worries you like this, tell me. We could have saved a lot of grief."

"I'm sorry," she said again mournfully. "I just didn't want to upset you, especially not today."

He put an arm around her shoulders comfortingly. "If I'm upset, it's not at you. It's at bloody-minded bastards who stick their noses where they don't belong." He looked across to where Burkridge was in quiet conversation with another of the senior watchers and felt the rage wash over him again. And, mixed in with the rage, a still, small tendril of fear. He'd never tell Buffy, but things weren't quite so simple as he claimed. "I'm apt to give him a piece of my mind before the day is out."

"No, it's over. Let it go." Her voice was small, afraid.

"No one upsets my slayer and gets away with it," he said indignantly.

For some reason, that delighted her. A bright smile lit up her face and she hugged him happily. "My hero."

He chuckled, pleased to see her smile. He looked over her head at Elizabeth, who caught his eye and winked. And that made him smile as well.

Mr. Larkin came up to them and invited them into the chapel, as the service was about to begin.

Elizabeth touched his arm. "I'm going to find Mother. I'll see you afterwards."

He nodded and, arm securely around Buffy, escorted her into the chapel.

The service was a simple one: a few biblical passages, a short eulogy delivered by Thomas Martin, a prayer. Through it all, Giles sat silently, rigidly. The words bounced off him like raindrops, but he felt the ache in his soul intensify. Whether the ache was for his father or for other losses, for Jenny, he couldn't say. At one point, Buffy took his hand and he clung to it almost desperately, using her tiny hand as a lifeline.

Soon it was over. He sat with his head bowed, still holding Buffy's hand as the guests paid their final respects to his father and to him. He greeted each of them mechanically, thanking them for coming, accepting their words of condolence or praise with little more than a nod and another thank you.

Next to him, Buffy remained, silent and supportive. Then she stiffened. He looked up.

Matthew Burkridge stood in front of him.

"Condolences, Rupert," the older man said, extending his hand.

Giles stared at the hand, then glared at Burkridge. "You'll excuse us, sir," he said shortly, standing and bringing Buffy to her feet, "but it's been a rather trying day." He turned away.

"I was hoping you would have lunch with me," Burkridge replied.

Giles turned back, giving him a hard stare. "I make it a point never to dine with people who show so little respect toward me or my companions."

Burkridge smiled reluctantly. "Ah, yes, Miss Summers, I understand our conversation yesterday upset you. I apologize. That wasn't my intention."

"Then what was your intention, Mr. Burkridge?" Giles asked coldly. "What possible reason could you have had for saying the things you said?"

"I...."

"My father," Giles hissed, "taught me that the slayer, her needs, her care, must always be paramount. That is the single most important commandment of our kind. By your callous, cruel remarks, you have broken this most sacred of vows." His arm tightened around Buffy's shoulders. "If you have any criticism regarding the way I do my job you come to me about it, you don't go around upsetting my slayer. Before you start slinging accusations you might want to consider the effect your actions have on the one we're all sworn to protect. She's the one who matters here, not your petty ego nor mine. And if you ever try to interfere again, I will stop you. You have my promise on that."

He took a deep breath and turned away, bringing Buffy with him.

"Rupert!" Burkridge called sharply. Giles stopped and slowly turned back. Burkridge was glaring at him. "We must talk."

"I believe we just did." He felt no fear, nor any intimidation.

"Your father had some books-"

"Yes," Giles nodded, cutting him off. "They've been boxed up and will be sent round to you. Except for a few titles I've kept for my own use. I've made a note of those. Good day, sir."

He turned back and firmly guided Buffy from the chapel, hoping he looked more confident than he felt.

"Giles, you're shaking," Buffy whispered at his side.

He couldn't answer; words and breath were lodged in his throat. He stopped in the foyer, unable to get his legs to carry him farther. Elizabeth and her mother were there, waiting for them. Elizabeth came over, touching his arm. "You know you're magnificent when you're riled," she said with a smile.

Just then Burkridge came out of the chapel. He and Giles exchanged a pointed glance before Burkridge looked away, moving swiftly out of the building.

Beside him, Buffy smiled. "Game, set and match."

A soft laugh was torn from him and suddenly, everything collapsed. Vision grayed and vanished, replaced by a roaring in his ears. Wobbly legs failed him and he found himself sitting, not quite knowing how he got there. His stomach lurched and his heart gaped open. He reached out, clutching at whatever was closest, trying to find a lifeline, finding it in something soft and warm. He held on, much as he had held on that night in the alley, when he was racked with pain beyond imagining. This was different; less pain, more ache, less loss, more emptiness. His entire existence irised down to this moment, Buffy's strong arms around him, and an ache more intense than nothingness had any right to be.

Eventually, the grayness passed, and the hot fingers which had tightened around his heart loosened, allowing him to breathe again. He sucked air gratefully, his face still buried against Buffy's neck, and the scent of her perfume, light, floral, so like Buffy herself, was a balm to him. He raised his head, looked into her open, tear-stained face, and closed his eyes again, kissing her forehead. "Thank you," he whispered.

Buffy said nothing, simply held him tighter.

He took a deep breath, letting it out again slowly as he straightened from the embrace, feeling the dizziness and the nausea pass, feeling his strength return in slow stages. He found his handkerchief and handed it to her.

Their world expanded and he became aware of other people: Elizabeth standing next to him, gently stroking his hair, her mother behind, looking on worriedly. Jack Larkin looking concerned, asking if he needed assistance.

"I'm all right," he managed. Now the fit was past, he was rather embarrassed about having collapsed in such a public place. He usually reserved such reactions for the privacy of his own home.

Mr. Larkin nodded and left the small group, returning in a moment with a glass of water, which Giles sipped gratefully.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, sitting next to him, her gentle touch soothing.

He shook his head, passing the rest of the water on to Buffy, letting her finish it up. "Too much stress, too little sleep, too little food.... It was very peculiar, like watching everything sort of...disappear."

"That's passing out," Buffy said, handing the glass back to Mr. Larkin.

"But I didn't lose consciousness. At least, I don't think I did."

"Everything go gray?"

"Yes."

"That's passing out," she repeated confidently.

"How do you feel now?" Elizabeth asked gently.

He took a deep breath, doing a quick survey. He still felt a bit shaky, a bit off-balance. But everything seemed to have settled back down. His head no longer swam, the pain in his chest was back to being an empty ache. And the tendril of anxiety still curled in his stomach was, at least for the moment, staying put. "All right," he answered. "More or less." He looked over at Buffy, now over her crying, and touched a finger to her chin. "Are you all right?"

"Reflex crying," she nodded, sniffing.

He smiled, grateful again to have her with him.

"Why don't we go to lunch?" Elizabeth suggested as they stood. "You need to eat, both of you. Mother recommends Blooms, they're right down the street."

"Isn't Blooms just a tea shop?" he asked. He didn't have the heart to tell Mrs. Peavey that Blooms was the sort of place she, and his mother, used to go to, and as such it held less than no interest for him. If they were going for lunch, he wanted real food, not finger-sandwiches.

"Not anymore," Mrs. Peavey joined the conversation. "About three years ago they sold out to some young kids. It's still mostly a tea shop, but they do good lunches, too. And they're licensed."

Giles glanced at his young companion. "Buffy, are you up to going to lunch?"

"Sure," she smiled.

"Why don't we walk?" Elizabeth suggested. "We could all use the air." They left the chapel together, walking the few blocks to Blooms.

Giles had to give the place credit; it had managed to maintain some of the ambience which had made it a favorite with his mother while adding touches, like the expanded menu and the soft contemporary music, which made Buffy feel completely at home. The three adults split a bottle of wine and lingered more than two hours over lunch, talking about everything...and nothing. It was a wonderful tonic, and if the empty ache in his soul was still there, at least for the moment it didn't hurt quite so much.

Eventually, Mrs. Peavey said she had to go, and Elizabeth told her she'd get a lift home with Giles. The older woman made her farewells and left the little group.

"Damn," Giles muttered.

"What?" Elizabeth asked.

"I'd especially wanted to talk to your mother about something and it completely slipped my mind. Ah well, it's not like I don't know where she lives."

"What about?"

"Some arrangements. I'm having an auction house settle the contents of the house and I wanted to ask your mother if she would be their local contact. It's much easier having someone on-site, especially with me being so far away."

"Oh, yes, I'm certain it would be all right," Elizabeth assured him. "In fact, if you tell me when the sale is, I'll come down, lend a hand."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. What about the house itself?"

"I've got an Estate agent handling that."

"Who are you using?"

"Your mother recommended Smithsons."

Elizabeth nodded. "They've been here forever. I'm sure they knew your father."

"They did. He did some of their title work once upon a time."

"Does everybody in this town know everybody else?" Buffy asked.

Elizabeth laughed. "Just about. That's both the advantage and the curse of living in a small town. The curse is that everybody knows your dirty little secrets. But the blessing is that there's always someone to lend a hand when you need it. The Peaveys and the Gileses have known each other more than forty years. If we can't rely on each other when things get rough, the world really would be a sad place."

Giles smiled. "It'll be a load off my mind knowing the situation's well in hand. The appraiser's coming first thing tomorrow morning. Do you think your mother could stop by so they can meet her?"

"Of course. I'll let her know."

"Only, tell her first thing means nine o'clock, not seven."

Elizabeth laughed.

They talked until the shop closed and Elizabeth reluctantly looked at her watch. "I'd better get home and changed if I hope to get back at a reasonable hour."

Giles felt a pang. "I wish you could stay."

She smiled. "So do I, but I have to be at work tomorrow morning. Besides, you're leaving tomorrow anyway, aren't you?"

He almost suggested that there was always tonight, but caught himself at the last moment. Despite Buffy's suggestion the previous night, this was not the sort of thing he wanted to be discussing in front of his slayer. So he settled for smiling ruefully and they took their leave.

Elizabeth came back to the house so that Buffy could give her the phone back. Giles had something of his own he wanted to give her. He excused himself upstairs while Buffy and Elizabeth said their goodbyes. He found what he was looking for and came back down to find them hugging.

"You take care of yourself," Elizabeth was saying. "And keep in touch. E-mail, telephone, even an old-fashioned letter. All right?"

"I will. Thanks for everything."

"You're very welcome, love. Now you be good and look after Rupert for me."

"I beg your pardon," he interrupted, smiling. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."

"It's okay," Buffy said, taking his arm. "We look after each other." She smiled up at him, her expression a mixture of pride, love and a degree of possessiveness. A look which said, "hands off, this is my watcher." He didn't mind it, he felt the same way.

"Walk me home, Bertie?" Elizabeth asked softly.

"Bertie?" Buffy gaped wide-eyed at him.

"You didn't hear that," he told her sternly, shaking a finger. "And you," he pointed to Elizabeth, "are asking for it." Bertie indeed! He hadn't been called Bertie since he'd been out of short pants.

"Ooh, you don't scare me, Watcher," she teased. "Come on, love. Walk me home and I'll make it up to you."

At his side, Buffy giggled and he sighed. He'd never hear the end of this, he was certain. He turned to her. "Back in a few."

"Yeah, sure," she answered, disbelieving, a bright smile on her face. He glared at her but knew there was no winning this one. Better to let it go.

"Bye-bye, love," Elizabeth said, giving Buffy another hug. "Talk to you soon." Then she took Giles's arm and he escorted her from the house.

They walked silently, hand in hand. He had too much to say and no words to express what he was feeling. They crossed through the hedge and started up the slope to the Peavey house.

He cleared his throat. "Liz, about what Burkridge told Buffy...."

"Are you still fretting over that? She's fine, Rupert. It gave her a scare, but I told her she has nothing to worry about."

"Doesn't she?" He stopped walking. "I've been the black sheep amongst the watchers for twenty years now. I don't know why I thought it would be any different now that they gave me a slayer. A number of them weren't keen on my nomination and some of them, like Burkridge, have been looking for an excuse, any excuse to pull me out of there. And God knows I've given them enough of them. It's all very well to tell Buffy she doesn't have to worry, but I won't lie to her. I know you aren't actively involved with them any more, but I need to know if there's any chance Burkridge could succeed if he were to try to petition for my removal."

She smiled grimly. "It's really too bad so many of these old duffers have such long memories, isn't it?"

He turned away. "How can you joke?"

"I'm not. I told Buffy that Burkridge didn't have enough support to go through with it."

"Yes, but is that true?"

"If it wasn't when I told her that, it is now," she answered. "I talked to a few people at the funeral. Martin, McManus and Soberry all think you're doing just fine, and I spoke with Geoff Kenzy in Holland before we left for the chapel. You know you have his support. Plus me, of course. Just because I'm not active doesn't mean I don't still have voting privileges. I can make some other calls when I get home, but even with those, you've got enough to keep Burkridge from getting his consensus." She smiled.

He stared, stunned. "Why did you do all this?"

"You've tangled with him before. I just wanted to make sure Burkridge won't have a leg to stand on, in case he was serious." She gazed up at him. "Rupert, you know how I feel about the bond between the watcher and the slayer. It was the most important relationship of my life, and I wouldn't wish its dissolution on anyone, especially not if forced upon you by some meddling old fools." She smiled fondly. "I have to admit that when I heard you were to be the new watcher for the slayer, I was a little surprised. But I can see now what a good decision that was. I personally think she's the best thing to ever happen to you, and I know you're good for her. So you'd better believe I'm going to fight like mad to make sure you can stay together."

All he could do was gaze at her, too amazed and awed to speak. She'd just given him not only peace of mind, but peace of heart. A watcher, one who'd done the job, one whom he respected, thought he was doing a good job. That meant more to him than he could have possibly expressed.

He decided to let his actions speak for him. He took her in his arms and held her, tight. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," she murmured in return, reaching up to kiss his mouth.

He broke the kiss and smiled at her shyly. The passion had been so strong last night, so all-encompassing, that by the light of day it seemed a bit...overwrought. He took her hand and they continued up the path to the Peavey house.

"Come in for a few minutes while I change," she said.

"I don't think so," he shook his head, glancing away.

"Getting shy all of a sudden?"

He looked down, flushing. "I just don't think it would be appropriate."

"Appropriate for whom?"

"Us."

She stopped. "Cold feet?"

He shrugged, wondering if he could explain what he was feeling. Certainly, his passion for her was undiminished. But the manifestation of that passion.... "Things look different by the light of day," he began. "When my senses aren't overwhelmed by you. When I can think a little more clearly. I know I love you. I don't know if it's still or again, but I have to believe the emotions are real. But I can't help wondering...."

He took a deep breath. "I told you about Jenny."

"You said Angel killed her," Elizabeth nodded sympathetically.

"What...what I didn't say was that he killed her...mostly to hurt me. He..he broke her neck and left her in my bed."

"Oh, my God."

"I went after him, of course, with every intention to kill him. To make him suffer. But I was fully prepared to die as well. I think I might have preferred it, actually. It might have gone that way if Buffy hadn't shown up when she did.

"Losing Jenny has been much harder than I'd ever imagined. I...I hadn't let myself fall in love in...in a very long time. After I lost Jenny, I remembered why."

He took another shaky breath. "I'm very attracted to you, I always have been. And you've been...so wonderful. To me, to Buffy. But it hasn't even been a month yet, and then to have to deal with my father's death on top of it.... I can't help wondering if part of what I'm feeling isn't...."

"Rebound?" she completed. He nodded. Of course she would understand. "So what if it is? What do you think drove us together in the first place? Pain, desperation, and need. I was searching for something, anything, to take the pain away. You were trying to fill up the emptiness. If we found what we needed with each other, even if only temporarily, what of it? That didn't make it less real."

"The difference is that we're not children anymore. We shouldn't be relying on the nearest warm body to keep the monsters at bay. Call me old-fashioned, but I have this silly notion that a relationship between two people ought to mean something more than that."

She stood in front of him, arms crossed angrily. "First off, we weren't children then. I was a married woman with a child and you were old enough to know better. And second, the nearest warm body-you-kept me from killing myself. I will never belittle what we had then as just sex. It saved my life and how dare you relegate it to the category of shameful little secret."

He stared at her, shocked by her sudden vehemence. "I...."

"And furthermore, where do you get the daft notion that you're not allowed to need someone, just because you're an adult now. That's bloody nonsense. We never stop needing, Rupert. The needs may change, but needing never does. You feel ashamed because you need someone to help you get through a very difficult time. Well, welcome to the real world."

"Liz, no," he pleaded. "I'm not ashamed of you, not ever. It's the opposite, in fact. I don't want to demean you by using you simply because I hurt. You deserve better than that."

She chuckled, shaking her head, her defensive posture easing. "Ah, Rupert, you dear, sweet idiot. Chivalry isn't dead as long as it has Rupert Giles as its defender. For a brilliant man, you're not very bright sometimes. Let me try this again, using little words so you'll understand. You aren't demeaning me. You aren't demeaning what we had. You're simply reaching for a friend-a good, old friend-who can help you through a time of crisis. I'm here. Lean on me. Depend on me the way I depended on you. You'll find the burden's easier to bear if it's shared."

He gazed at her for a moment, awed again by her strength.

Then she opened her arms and this time he went into them willingly, clinging to her desperately, like a lifeline. "Oh, God, Liz," he moaned, feeling like he couldn't get close enough.

"Shh, it's all right," she whispered, stroking his hair and back soothingly.

"No it's not. You're leaving and I don't know when I'll see you again." He knew he was practically whining, but he didn't care. He didn't want to let her go.

"I know," she said, sounding very nearly as sad as he. "I'll see what I can scrape together. Maybe come summer."

He nodded, fighting for control. "I ought to be getting some cash when the house sells. Assuming there's anything left after the death duties, I'll send you a ticket."

"All right."

"Pray it sells quickly."

"Absolutely," she nodded fervently and he laughed.

Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned in, kissing her tenderly, reveling one last time in the sweet softness of her lips, and of her warm arms around him. Then, reluctantly, she released him from the embrace.

"I'd better get going," she said.

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll let you go." God, this hurt more than it had any reason to. "Oh, wait, I have something for you." He dug in his pocket. "Hold out your hand."

She frowned but did as she was told. He fastened the item around her wrist and she gazed at it. It was the watcher's charm bracelet.

"It was my mother's," he said softly.

"Yes, I remember it. I always thought it was such a wonderful piece."

"We were going through her things and it reminded me of you," he said. "I'd like you to have it."

She smiled, her eyes glittering. "Even though I'm not a watcher anymore?"

"You'll always be a watcher, my love. Just look at you and Buffy these past two days. You're still a watcher. You just don't use the label anymore."

She held her arm out, examining the bracelet in the late afternoon sunlight. "It's wonderful," she murmured. "I love it. Thank you so much." She put her arms around him, hugging him tight. Then she released him, stepping back. "I'd better go, or else I won't want to ever leave."

They smiled at each other shyly. "Keep in touch?"

"Of course. I'll call you. When do you expect to get home?"

"Not 'til quite late on Thursday."

"Then I'll call you on Friday. What's the time difference?"

"We're eight hours behind you."

"All right. Take care."

"You too."

Another pause, another moment with too much to say. Then he forced himself to turn away and he heard her door close.

He got back to the house to find Buffy changed out of her dress, curled up on the couch, reading.

Reading? This was an interesting development. He hadn't thought she'd actually started her book, beyond what he'd read to her the other night. But she looked to be absorbed in it.

She looked up as he came in. "She get off okay?"

He nodded. "She will in a few minutes."

"Too bad she had to leave so early."

"Yes," he said softly. Her leaving hurt more than it had any logical reason to.

"She gonna come out to visit?"

He swallowed. "We're going to try."

"Good," she smiled, then went back to her book.

He went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, then turned it off again. He didn't want tea. Or anything stronger. What he wanted was changing her clothes, saying goodbye to her mother. What he needed was climbing into her car and driving 250 kilometres away.

The ache in his heart joined with the hollowness in his soul and he knew he was unfit for company at the moment.

"Buffy, I'm going upstairs for awhile," he said and before she could comment, went up

the narrow steps, closing the door behind him.

The second door was closed, too, a barrier against the real world. He dropped his jacket onto the desk chair and tugged off his tie, sitting on the bed to remove his shoes.

That was as far as he got. He fell back onto the bed and gave himself over to his grief.

Chapter XIII