TITLE: Moments
AUTHOR: Kerry Blackwell
SUMMARY: Brief moments in the life of Giles and Willow.
DISCLAIMER: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, FOX and Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. I own only my genius (yeah, right!)
RATING: PG

Dawn was breaking, the morning birdsong just beginning. The first hint of light sneaking in through the open window turning the room into a grainy black and white photograph that had depth and reality, but not yet the colour full daylight would bring with it.

Only the young woman was awake. She was around twenty one, with dark hair that pooled around her and covered her shoulders. She wasn't covered by much of anything else at all, except for the scrap of sheet caught about her ankles. She had thought it was only ever grey and damp here and she had been surprised by the warmth and the sunshine. And there was something delicious about the way it allowed for waking totally naked with the bedclothes all tossed to the floor.

She was lying on her side, propping herself up on one elbow, watching the equally naked man still sleeping beside her.

She'd thought he was beautiful for a long time. If she was to be completely honest, her reaction on seeing him for the very first time, walking out from among the bookcases with a vaguely nervous look on his face, had been one of "yummy!". But back then, a shy, socially inept sixteen year old, she would never, ever, ever have dared to tell him so. Maybe now, or in a few more years, when they could look back on that teenager's crush and laugh in companionable understanding and probably seal the revelation with a kiss.

He was sleeping sprawled on his back, innocent and trusting and beautiful. He looked younger as he slept - not that she had ever cared about his age. Some of the lines on his face had smoothed out and she liked to imagine that she had had something to do with his relaxed posture this morning. His chest rose and fell softly, the muscles smooth and taut under his skin. In the morning half-light she couldn't see the tracings of old scars that she knew were there, crossing his body, hidden among the hair on his chest, but she intended to find every one, kiss it better, make it right, until she knew every inch of him better than she knew herself.

She wanted to run her fingers across his bare skin, feeling it warm under her touch. But she resisted the urge, not prepared to disturb his sleeping, and just watched instead, a soft smile playing at the corner of her mouth. He was perfect. And he was all hers, just as she was all his.

They had made an agreement, simply because it felt right for them, and last night had been the first time they had undressed for each other. The first time they had held each other, skin to skin with nothing between them, and kissed with the passion that always flared between them, both knowing that this time, they would finish what had started long ago. And in doing so, that they would begin something new that would last forever.

And last night had been worth every moment of waiting. She shivered a little at the memory, a smile on her face again. The feeling of his hands running across her skin, his lips on hers, trailing kisses down her neck, claiming her breasts, exploring every part of her. The sensation of him sliding home inside her, possessing her, taking her to heights she had never reached before. The sound of his voice, hoarse with passion, crying her name as they fell off the edge of the world together.

He stirred in his sleep, distracting her, and for a moment she wondered vaguely how many lovers he had had to be so skilled. But she dismissed the thought at once. So much better to be the last woman in his life than the first.

She traced the line of his lips with one finger, not actually touching him. Best of all was the sound of his beautiful voice, telling her he loved her, repeatedly, with a depth and passion that touched her very soul.

She smiled - a smug, sated, possessive smile. All mine. I get to do this for the rest of our lives together.

Willow Giles snuggled up beside her brand new husband and let herself drift back to sleep, the smile still on her face.

"It's a stile!" Willow declared happily.

"So it is," Giles agreed, caught between wanting to laugh at her enthusiasm and wanting to kiss her senseless, just for being so delightfully Willow.

"There are stiles in Winne the Pooh," Willow explained. "Dad used to read it to me when I was little." She paused and her voice dropped, face falling. "Until Mom decided it wasn't an appropriate influence on a growing child, anyway. I never thought I'd see a real one."

Giles, whose battered childhood collection of A. A. Milne was carefully shelved beside Occult References in Pre-Medieval Literature, remembered playing Christopher Robin and carefully avoiding walking on the cracks just to be sure a lion didn't get him and shook his head, taking her hand in his without thinking.

"Winnie the Pooh will be a highly appropriate influence on our children," he declared firmly. "And Peter Pan and The Waterbabies and... and Cecily M. Barker if we have a daughter or two."

Willow looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "Our children, Rupert?"

"How can I have grandchildren to spoil if we don't have some children first?" he asked, trying to sound stern and serious and failing miserably.

Willow threw her arms around him and he almost stepped back a pace with the impact of her body against his before he caught his balance and returned the hug.

"What's that for?" he asked with a smile. "Not that I'm complaining, you understand."

"Children," Willow said, her voice muffled since it was talking into his chest. "You never said you wanted children." She looked up at him, a shy smile on her face. "Little Ruperts running around and driving us crazy." She didn't sound at all perturbed by the concept.

And little Willows," Giles added, finding himself smiling at the thought of small, red-headed daughters. "Sweetheart, I want all the children you're willing to give me."

"Ooh." Her eyes grew wide and the smile grew brighter and shyer, both at the same time. "Lots." She tipped her face up, clearly asking for a kiss. "I love you, Rupert Giles."

He smiled and bent his head to hers, all to happy to oblige. "I love you, Willow Giles."

They kissed, wrapped in each others arms at the side of an English country lane, totally oblivious to the world and completely uncaring of what anyone who passed by might think. They were on their honeymoon. They were allowed.

Willow broke away at last, turning towards the stile but always keeping one of her small hands laced together with his larger one. "Come on Rupert, let's go and see what's on the other side."

"Probably an angry bull that doesn't want visitors," Giles grumbled, but he let her lead him towards the break in the hawthorn hedge.

"Oh..." Willow breathed as he guided her down onto the grass at the base of the stile's other side. "Oh, wow."

Stepping off the wooden cross-beam to stand beside her, Giles found himself feeling rather the same way. This was a piece of the old England that hardly existed anymore except behind high, centuries old walls or hanging in Art Galleries in gold frames, surrounded by barrier ropes and security. A small portion of Britain untouched by rampant development, motorways and petrol fumes and an ever-growing population.

It was a meadow, the grass long and green, swaying just slightly in the late spring breeze, scattered through with the blue and white of wildflowers pushing their coloured faces up through the grass stems. A pathway wound down to a clear, twisting stream bordered by trees, and sheep, wooly and white, grazed placidly on the hillside.

"Oh, Rupert," Willow breathed again, looking up at him with bright, delighted eyes. "It's beautiful."

He felt his heart lurch unexpectedly and tried to hide the sudden feeling of vulnerability by offering her his arm. "Would you care to stroll, Mrs Giles?"

She grinned that urchin grin he loved so much and slipped her arm through his, and they wandered down the path together towards the stream.

Giles felt like he was young again, seeing the world for the first time, new and beautiful, untouched by the weight of destiny or knowledge of the evils that lurked in dark places. Willow could take him back to a time when the world was more innocent, when hes was more innocent, and he loved her for that too, even more than he loved her smile and her eyes, the way her wonderful, fiery hair felt under his fingers. As much as he loved her courage and her intelligence and the integral innocence she had managed to retain despite all she had seen and done and become since the day she first met Buffy Summers.

"Have you ever played Pooh Sticks?" he asked her suddenly, wanting to share this feeling, this gift she gave him without even realising it.

The eyes she turned to him were puzzled, but something else danced in their depths. "Pooh Sticks?" she repeated.

"A favourite pastime in the Hundred Aker Wood," Giles assured her, increasing their pace towards the little bridge. Her hand still locked in his, Willow had no choice but to follow. She trailed along behind him, an amused, private smile on her face that Giles missed completely in his enthusiasm, and prepared to do as she was told.

He released her hand only when they reached the side of the bubbling little stream. "You have to find a stick," he explained. "It has to float, and if possible, float fast." When Willow nodded gravely, he left her to it and headed off on a quest for his own Pooh Stick. He already knew what he was looking for, had known as soon as he had seen the trees bending in the breeze as they followed the twists and turns of the stream. All the same, he was a little surprised at just how long it took to find the exactly right, perfect length of wood.

Willow was waiting for him when he returned to the bridge and she held out her own choice for his inspection. It was old wood, shaped by the vagaries of age, full of knots and twists that gave it character, if not the best change of winning a game of Pooh Sticks.

"Ah..." he began, a little surprised to find the old stutter back in his words. "That's nice, love, but... but you really want something a bit more, ah, aerodynamic." He held up his own selection, straight, smooth and slender, it was a short length of strong, whippy branch fallen from one of the willow trees that overhung the stream. "Or perhaps aquadynamic," he added inanely, turning the stick over in his hands and feeling like he'd just said the wrong thing completely.

A stubborn look was growing on Willow's face. "I like this one," she said firmly and marched out onto the bridge. She turned back and smiled at him. "Come on, Rupert, what do we do now?"

Giles followed her to the middle of the bridge, caught up again in that euphoric feeling of childhood regained. He leaned over the railing and assessed the current below - slow but steady with just a bit of an eddy to make things interesting. Perfect.

"We drop our sticks over the edge at the same time, then race across to the other side of the bridge and see which one comes out first," he explained, suddenly realising how childish it all sounded.

But Willow just laughed, the sound delighted in the still country air. "Okay. Ready, Rupert? One, two, three..."

Both sticks hit the water with a satisfying splash and the couple raced across the narrow bridge to hang over the railing and wait to see who was going to win the race.

"They're taking a long time," Giles said in a worried tone a moment later. "Maybe they're stuck on something."

Willow grinned. "Maybe they just need time to work out what they really want." Giles, his gaze focussed on the water, missed both the grin and the look of concentration on his new wife's face.

"Here they come," he said finally as something other than water appeared from under the bridge. "I bet..." He trailed off as saw that the race had turned out to be a perfect tie. Somehow, his slim strip of willow branch had become twisted around the older, more rugged stick Willow had found, so that they were joined together, never to be split apart again by the look of it.

He looked up to see the last trace of magic fading from Willow's eyes and he frowned, caught between a laugh and a protest. "You cheated," he accused.

"No, I didn't," Willow disagreed, wearing her very best "resolve" face. "I just helped them be what they really wanted to be."

Looking at her, Giles could do nothing but let the laughter win. "Witch," he said softly, affectionately.

Willow simply smiled and lifted his face for his kiss.

Unregarded, their Pooh Sticks sailed on down the stream, entwined together for the rest of their journey into the future.

It was raining.

Pouring, torrential, sheeting, raining cats and dogs, pelting down. Call it what you will, it was raining.

Rupert Giles lay on his back, staring into the darkness, and listened to the sound of the water hitting the roof, running into the gutters, cascading down the pipes. He felt a small smile tug at his lips and he let it come, enjoying the feeling of simple pleasure as much as the sound of the rain.

It didn't rain much in Sunnydale, and when it did it had a tendency to bring with it some kind of disaster. This was just water, falling from the sky and rattling against the roof, reminding him of home.

He had been so terribly homesick, those first days and weeks in Sunnydale. He'd felt like a refugee, banished from his homeland to this strange, inexplicable world of nearly endless sunshine and teenagers who might as well have come from another planet, with the possible exception of one kindred soul it had taken him years to recognise.

Most of all, he had missed the rain. As strange as it seemed, he had missed the grey English days, the mist and drizzle and most of all, the sound of the rain on the roof, lulling him to sleep and making him feel snug and warm, safe in his own bed. All this sun could be more depressing than a month of grey days. There had been times when he would have done just about anything for a good rainstorm.

It refreshed him, washed away his troubles and his cares, cleansed him and energized him. And it reminded him of his home and his childhood; kneeling on the window seat in the downstairs parlour, staring out through the water sleeting down the glass into a strange, mysterious world you could never discover when the sun was shining. A fire roaring in the hearth behind him, the sound of his mother humming in the next room as she sorted the washing rescued from the rain, deciding what would pass as dry and what still needed airing. The carefree days before his destiny came crashing down on him, before he tried rebellion and his failures forced him to discover responsibility. Those were the memories that came with the rain.

The storm was passing now, the sound of the rain growing softer, the pounding on the roof slowing to a soft pattering. Beside him, Willow sighed in her sleep and shifted as she tried to find a more comfortable position and he smiled again. He slipped his arm around her and pulled her closer, settling her against chest, her head resting against his shoulder.

As unable as ever to resist the temptation, her brought his other hand across and ran it over the curve of her belly. He stilled completely as he felt the life inside kick against his palm. That was a wonder he would never grow used to. The first time Willow had taken his hand and rested against her so that he could feel the flutter of movement under her skin, the life he had been taken a part in creating, he had just stared at her, his heart in his eyes until Willow had laughed and leaned over and kissed him. He knew he'd gone around with a goofy grin on his face for the rest of the day because Buffy had teased him about it for a week.

Giles smiled again, listening to the soft sound of Willow's heartbeat against his chest as the rain faded away into silence.

This was home now. He had a wife he adored, a family on the way and the longest lived Slayer on record to his credit.

He could live without the rain.

END