Title: Vows
Author: Lily2332
Rating: G
Spoilers: All of S4, just to be safe, though nothing specific.
Distribution: Gabi, the LIST, anyone else just let me know.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue
Feedback: Yes, please
Summary: Buffy and Giles are falling in love. Love is a long, slow road.
Note: This takes place during the summer after Season Four. Also, I think that it was Nancy who thought of the title, so thank you very much to Nancy and also to lost for comments and help during the writing process.

She was trapped again, in a dream that mirrored the nightmare that was her life, yet was so much worse. Worse because in her dreams, she sometimes forgot that she was the Slayer, and the vampires were new, terrifying, unbeatable. Running got her nowhere, yet she ran and ran-

And finally awakened, in a split second that took her from damp, dark terror into fresh, sunny outdoors. Her eyes flickered about in confusion for a few moments until she found herself.

She sighed, closing her eyes again, feeling the last vapors of the stale, musty nightmare-air leave her lungs, replaced by the warm, fragrant air that surrounded her. The wind whipped her hair around wildly, the sun cradled her in it's heated embrace, and Buffy almost laughed. So good to be alive, and to be heading in the direction opposite Sunnydale. Her head leaned against the inside of the car door, and she stretched, yawning.

They really should've left the top up, though, she thought lazily, opening her eyes to check for some kind of road sign. It couldn't be much further. But there was no way she'd admit that to Giles, who had patiently argued the merits of leaving the top up for a long road trip.

"Oh…" Buffy murmured breathlessly when she saw the scenery, and Giles nodded in agreement. They were driving on a two lane road, surrounded by lush, green hills. Wildflowers flourished wherever she turned, and the sky was bluer than she ever remembered seeing it.

"Have a good nap?" Her watcher asked over the whoosh of road-noise, and his voice finally brought her fully from her dream world into reality. Those dreams she'd been having…

"As good a nap as you can have when you wake up eating your own hair," she said wryly, admitting her mistake.

Ever the gentleman, Giles smiled and graciously offered, "I don't know about that, but I've found the fresh air quite invigorating." He paused, then added, "And it has been said more than once that my complexion would greatly benefit from spending more time in the sun."

Buffy smirked, remembering that Anya's exact words had gone more along the lines of "pasty, night-shift complexion," but she didn't correct him.

"We're almost there," he continued, checking his watch. "We'll be there in time for dinner."

"Okay," she replied, reminded all over again of why they were driving out here in the first place. Their suitcases were in the trunk, packed with enough clothes for the entire summer, all because of stupid Spike.

So a teensy bit of it could've been her fault, she could admit that much. But she didn't even have her drivers license, so how was she supposed to concentrate on driving with a vampire and a demon in the back seat, having a battle to the death? And Giles…well, he'd been in the front seat at the time, and it figured that he would've chosen that one moment in a million, to finally stop playing Overattentive-backseat-driver-guy, and turn his eyes from the road to the commotion in the back.

No, she wasn't the one to blame, but instead of saying all of this, which she'd spouted dozens of times anyhow, she sighed and turned to her Watcher.

"Who knew that a door could be so expensive?"

They'd had this conversation before, but he played along. "It was the door of the federal building, Buffy. The front door."

"But, still…what do you think? Glass, metal, maybe a little cement? Do you really think that it will cost four thousand dollars to replace?"

"There was some structural damage, too. And, to be honest, I believe that the four thousand that we're going to pay is only a percentage of the repairs. It may not seem like it now, but we're getting off rather easily."

She didn't reply at first, and after a few moments, when she finally found something to say, it was too late. The silence wasn't comfortable, though, as it used to be between them in the days of the library. It grew thick, creating a wall that neither of them had the energy to try to chisel through.

Buffy reached for her purse and fished out a tube of chapstick. She filled the silence by painstakingly moisturizing her lips, and when she really couldn't do any more there, held it out in front of Giles. "Want some?"

He began to shake his head, but, then, realizing what she was doing, nodded, accepting the token. "Thank you." The silence being broken, he grabbed at the opportunity to keep it at bay. It was too painful, after what they'd once had…

"So, what is Riley up to this summer?" He asked politely, not having to feign his interest- too much.

Buffy sat up straight, an emery board her newest source of distraction. "Oh, that. He has a job, now. Since he's not with the Initiative anymore, he was pretty much broke with no place to live."

"What type of work is he doing?" He was determined to keep this going until they arrived.

"He-" she stopped abruptly, sighed, giggled, and groaned helplessly. "He's working at the Tasty Freeze. I guess there's not much of a market for ex-military type college students in Sunnydale."

"No, I suppose not." Giles mused, suddenly remembering an overheard conversation from the week before, in which this had been the very subject. He smiled, recalling Xander's gleeful "Oh, how the mighty have fallen!"

Willow, eager to defend the underdog, had reminded Xander that he, too, was in the Ice Cream Distribution business, to which the boy had patiently explained that this was completely different because he was moving up in the world, that he wasn't just an ice cream man anymore. "Who do you think decides what flavor of Push-ups they're going to sell, Willow?" He'd demanded. "Me. Who decides whether we're going to have the kind of drumsticks with nuts, or the plain kind? That's a lot of responsibility."

Giles chuckled at the memory. "So, things are going well for the two of you, then?"

Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that I'm going away for the summer."

"Oh?"

"I love Riley," she said firmly. Giles didn't recall anyone bringing her love for Riley into question, and regardless of the wedge between them, she sensed his disapproval immediately.

"What?" she asked, "What is it?"

He pretended that he hadn't heard her.

"Giles, I know that look, so out with it."

He held his tongue, because though it had been some forty years, his mother had drilled into him the old adage about not saying anything at all if you'd nothing good to say. But Buffy was persuasive and he was tired, so after a little more prodding, he found himself saying,

"I shall be an old man before my time if I attempt the perilous task of keeping up with your love life." Good, he thought proudly, he'd managed to tone down the brutality of his true opinion quite substantially.

Buffy pointed over her side of the car. "There's the sign," she said, all business. "Take the next left."

The sign was old, but still in good condition, the words "Reed Family Luxury Resort, next left" spelled out in swirling, old fashioned lettering.

Giles pulled into a spot specified for employees and turned off the car. They sat in the car for a while, looking at their surroundings and contemplating spending an entire summer in this place, more or less together. Joyce had suggested working here to earn the money they needed. She had wonderful memories of spending her summers in the secluded paradise, working as part of the Reed Family team.

"Are you ready?" Giles asked.

Buffy shook her head, contradicting her sullen reply. "Yes, let's go in."

* * * * *

Buffy stopped at the hostess' station of the hotel's restaurant briefly, scanning the room for her Watcher. Although she didn't spot him right away, her feet propelled her toward the far corner of the room, and she soon found him, partially hidden behind a few ferns in matching pots. It didn't occur to her to wonder about how easily she'd detected her Watcher in a crowded room; it was something she didn't even notice anymore.

As she pulled her chair out from the table, a painting caught her eye. Hung on the wall behind Giles, in a heavy frame, was an oil painting. It was a swirl of blues, whites and greys, expertly brushed together, forming a scene that depicted mountains and water, snow and ice…Alaska, perhaps. A place that remained pure and clean, unspoiled by the blood and ruin that her life had become.

She stood there for a few moments, admiring the picture. Sometimes she imagined herself inside the scenes that artists created, and today was no exception. She could see herself, all bundled up, the wind icy cold on her cheeks. Her coat would be lined with wool. No- to hell with being politically correct, with fur. And she'd look over the landscape from her weathered wooden deck, and Giles would come up behind her with a thermos, steaming hot. She'd smile gratefully, and ask him what was inside, but he'd tease, making her look for herself. And of course it would be sweet, fragrant cocoa.

Then she imagined what her own life would look like, should someone try to capture it in a painting like this one.

Ugly, frightening, lonely.

"Buffy?" Giles was still standing, waiting for her to sit. Her gaze flickered down to the table, and she saw that he'd already ordered their drinks. She sat.

She stirred her ice with her straw, knowing that he was waiting for her to say something. After all, it was she who was acting strangely, she who had messed things up with them on the ride here. But what was there to say? Any meaningless conversation would just be a lie, and starting the reconciliation that she wanted so badly, and sensed that he wanted, too, would be too exhausting for their first night here.

"No one would ever wanna try to picture themselves in my life," was what she ended up saying, a bitter edge to her declaration. His face didn't reveal even a flicker of surprise, just a polite smile, and a nod. He was well accustomed to her random musings, spoken out loud. It was one thing that hadn't changed over their years together.

"I mean…my dry-cleaning bills alone are enough to drive off prospective fantasy-having-type people," she grumbled.

"Have you a lot of prospects?" Giles inquired, motioning for the waiter that they were ready.

"Yeah…" the clever answer she'd planned on was lost. The waiter had gone, and they sat, their troubles joining them at their table for two.

"What?" Buffy asked nervously, annoyed by the feel of his eyes on her for too long.

But he just looked at her. He was with her; she could see something happening in his thoughtful green eyes. Trying to make a decision, perhaps, but it seemed like so much more. His face was aged with weary resignation as his breath forced it's way out in a long exhalation. A shadow of a moan escaped along with the sigh, and Buffy was startled out of the quiet moment.

"I was just wondering…when you are going to let me go," he mused curtly, not caring that this was neither the time nor place for this conversation. It was understood between them. Never spoken, but understood, that he would stay until she told him otherwise. For the past year now, he'd been held prisoner in Sunnydale, in this life that no longer wanted him, by the person whose words and actions held the power to make him or break him.

Daily, they broke him.

As time had progressed, even his most cherished desires had grown muddy, until he was no longer certain what would be more painful, to stay or to leave.

Buffy shivered. They'd never spoken about this, but he was right- she should let him go. But something prevented her from being able to give him pardon, to release him from this prison of waiting, loneliness, and rejection. That generosity never made it to the surface, though, because a desperate, selfish instinct that she didn't understand quickly stuffed it down to where she couldn't feel it anymore. She couldn't face him, her fingers already gripped the edge of the table, ready to push herself away.

"I can't." Her voice was no more than a whisper, but he recognized the feeling behind the words. The same blind confusion that led him to ask the question in the first place. They couldn't understand it, but these pulls and impulses that guided them were like that…hard to obey, impossible to accept. Either way felt like it would kill them.

"You can't," he repeated, suddenly worn out.

Glumly, she smoothed the napkin across her lap, chasing all of the wrinkles until it was satisfactory. "I will," she blurted; a lie. "I just need…"

"What?" he prodded, arching a skeptical eyebrow, "Time? A father? A new pair of shoes?"

"I-no!" she said, appalled, then fled.

He called for the check. It was going to be a long summer.

* * * * * *

The next morning, they reported for their assignments. Buffy liked the way things worked here. At the employee meeting the night before, the director of assignments had informed them that they'd all be taking turns doing the many different jobs available. Nothing would get boring, she thought with relief. Perhaps she'd get to do something fun like the horse stables, or something easy like the gift shop.

"You're going to both start out in the kitchen," the Director told them, checking his clipboard. A pen dangled from a sturdy piece of attached twine. "It's the job that the staff likes the least, so that's where we start off all the new folks. Eventually, you'll move on to more popular workstations."

Buffy had an image of herself in rubber gloves, wearing a hairnet and scrubbing crusty pans. "um," she said weakly, catching Giles' eye. He smiled, but she couldn't tell if it was a conspiratorial smile, or if he were just pleased to see her apprehension.

The Director lifted the top paper on his clipboard, and Buffy could see her application underneath. "I see that you've got plenty of cooking credentials, good. We'll put you on the breakfast buffet line…" his finger moved along some kind of checklist, and stopped suddenly. "Crepes. You'll be our crepe girl, and you," he looked up, pointing at Giles, "You can start cleaning out the sinks. The drains are clogged on the last two sinks on the right."

She shot a glance at Giles, who was glaring at her with indignant shock. "Cooking credentials?" he mouthed silently, and she shrugged, thinking of the facts that she'd fudged on his application. Creative embellishments. They needed these jobs.

The Director looked at his watch, then back at the clipboard, thumping it decisively. "All right, people…hop to it! Elizabeth, your jacket and hat are in that closet, and then you can fire up the griddle." With those words, he strode off, holding his clipboard to his chest protectively.

"Griddle?" Buffy squeaked, but Giles was already heading for the kitchen. He briefly considered giving her a few pointers, but then, who was he to instruct? He didn't have half her credentials. He grinned as he entered the swinging doors.

* * * * * *

"What is that?" Giles heard an offended voice say as he bussed a table near a well-dressed woman of about thirty-five and her husband. He peeked over at the couple.

"The chef said that it was a crepe," the man replied uncertainly, poking at the hard, crumbly pieces with his fork. Giles nearly snorted. Buffy? The chef? Thank God she hadn't donned a stethescope.

"Taste it," the woman challenged, as she dug into her own food. "I dare you."

"No thanks." He replied. "I've been needing to cut back anyhow."

"Maybe you should complain," she suggested, her mouth full of waffles. "Send it back."

Giles couldn't help it, he could see Buffy across the room, working frantically to keep up with the line of people, patiently waiting for their crepes. "Actually," he spoke up, approaching the couple, "That appears to be a…British crepe. Popular where I come from." He made a point of playing up his accent. "The chef must've traveled often to that region to have captured the local flavor so well." He whisked the rest of the dishes, and himself, away before they could ask any questions.

"Hey, hon," he heard the woman say, "Let me try a bite of that."

"Get your own."

* * * * * *

The water sprayed forcefully on Giles' shoulders and back, and he sighed, closing his eyes and inhaling the steam. Hot. Too hot, really, but he needed something extra tonight, something to cut through the grime of the day. And the punishing bite of the steaming water felt appropriate. Pain had a familiar part in his life now, because Buffy didn't.

The job wasn't bad so far, really. Buffy had eventually caught on, and by the end of breakfast had been skillfully turning out lightly golden treats, with neither too little nor too much filling. Lunch and dinner preparations had been easier; under the command of a competent crew, no one had noticed he and Buffy's shortcomings.

Eighty-two more days. A hell of a long time. He counted again as he dried off and got dressed. Damn, he had been right. Eighty-two.

Quite a few of the other summer employees were Buffy's age, and he'd seen her talking with many of them already. Resigned to an evening alone, he was surprised by the knock at the door, and his Slayer's voice. "Giles?" She should be out, having fun.

Deciding that his halfway buttoned shirt was modest enough, he called her in. Instead of sitting, she stood in the doorway. His instinct, and knowledge of his Slayer told him that she was nervous.

"You're nervous," he stated, rubbing a towel on his wet hair.

"Giles…" she ignored his comment. "You know how sometimes there's just no good way to say something, so you don't say it?"

Warning: bombshell about to be delivered. He knew Buffy, and was wise enough to brace himself for impact. "Yes…" the towel was dropped onto the dresser, and he regarded the pacing girl sharply.

She took a big breath, making a motion with her hands as though she were steadying herself with the air. "Okay. And you know how, sometimes, when you let enough time pass, you realize that…" she turned soft, pleading eyes on him, "that it's too late?"

Too late? It was too late for so many things. Avoiding this conversation was one of them. Giles shook his head, unable to even guess. "Buffy, whatever it is, you can tell me. If we're still- well, still alive," he grimaced at not being able to honestly use a more positive word than that, "after all we've gone through, then whatever you have to say can't be such a threat to our relationship…assuming that this is what concerns you."

She nodded in agreement, and made her way to the window where she stood, looking out at the orchard below. "A few months ago… " she whirled around to face him, startling Giles, starting over. "Remember when Riley defied the Initiative? And he was on the run?"

Riley. A dozen painful conversations about Angel flooded his mind.

"Yes."

"Riley gave up everything for me, and he loves me- so much. We were…we are, very much in love. And. We're. Marriednow."

The whir of the air conditioner suddenly seemed deafening, and Buffy was grateful for it. The white noise was a cushion, wrapping around the sharp edges of her words, softening them as they struck her Watcher.

"I see." He replied carefully. "Of course. My Slayer is married and I had no idea." He wanted to stop there, but couldn't. Couldn't just let that be it this time.

"It's fitting, really. First, to have my position taken from me…do you have any idea how many Watchers, in the history of mankind, have had their positions taken, Buffy? None. Just I, but that's beside the point. Then, I'm reduced to part-time demon consulting, because that's all I've really been for you since then, isn't it?"

He fought the urge to grab her, to force her to listen to him. Despite how out of control he felt, he knew that he sounded harmless, like a professor giving a lecture on something he felt passionately about. Never let her see what was underneath. She'd surely be frightened away by the intensity of what was there. How could she understand it, when he himself didn't even understand the hot-cold, tumultuous feelings that stirred inside him.

"And now, the final insult." With that, his anger broke, and he was left with a soul-deep sense of loss. What an idiot he had been, idiot, idiot, idiot-

"-Giles?" she asked cautiously, more relaxed than before. Her difficult task was over, the load lifted, deposited directly onto his shoulders.

He acknowledged her with a nod and a mumbled congratulations, then gave a fabricated excuse about dinner plans, being late, and opened his door, standing with an open invitation to freedom. She eyed the hall like it was the Promised Land, and tried to protest, to act as though she wanted to talk about this, but he could tell how relieved she was to be making an escape.

Once he was alone, the air conditioner kicked off, leaving him with the drip, drip of the faucet in the bathroom, and his own heartbeat.

* * * * * *

Giles shrugged on his jacket as he started down the hall. It felt good to be well-dressed again, he knew who to be when he wore these clothes. He still wasn't good at being that clumsy, directionless person in ill-fitting sweaters and jeans. Soon, perhaps.

As he pulled at his tie, making some last minute adjustments, he was grabbed by a powerful arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Buffy!" he couldn't say that he was pleased to see his Slayer, but it was good to get a chance to catch up. The past few days they'd been separated by their jobs, and he hadn't made a point of seeking her out.

Her eyes widened, and she stepped back. "Whoa, Flashback! You're not going to tell me to read the first three chapters of my Economics textbook, are you? Because I seriously don't think that I can handle that right now."

He didn't reply, and she fell silent, a distinctly uncomfortable look on her face.

"What is it?" he asked. "Is everything all right with your job? What do they have you doing?"

"The day care, today," she waved her hand, dismissing that topic. "It's not that, it's just, seeing you like this." She waved the hand again, this time gesturing at Giles, and he nodded, strangely pleased that she'd noticed.

He straightened to his full height, and explained, with mock dignity, "I'll be working at the gentleman's club today, and I was told to dress properly. How do I measure up?"

"Very proper," she approved, then began to move away from him. "I-work. I'll see you later."

"Buffy, wait." Why wasn't she happy? She had every reason now, after the announcement she'd made a week ago. He cringed. Of course, why would a newlywed want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with her old Ex-Watcher. It was the first time he'd allowed him to think of himself that way, and the impact of the word sent him reeling.

Ex-Watcher. It was better this way. It would be better.

"Do you know where the club is?" the words came, thankfully, on their own, while he was still trying to recover from results of his realization.

She shook her head.

"It's over behind the adult pool area. I'll be there late, until two or three in the morning. If you need me, use the back door. I'll be in the offices."

Forgetting his tardiness, he watched her go. Perhaps they would have a talk later. His anger over her secrecy fell away, bringing him relief at last. But only partial relief, because something wasn't right with Buffy, and until he knew what it was this unsettled feeling would be with him to stay. It had always been that way between them, and it always would be.

* * * * * *

Buffy tugged on a pair of jeans, grateful that she didn't have anything scheduled for this evening. Sometimes they put her on dining room duty, or she would go fill in as towel girl down at the spa. But tonight, she thought with a weary smile, tonight she had time to relax, time to think. To…call Riley?

She stared at the phone for a second, until it blared out with a shrill ring, and she jumped. "Hello?" she answered breathlessly.

"Hi, Buffy, it's Steph. A bunch of us were heading out to Raineyville tonight, gonna hang out, get away from this place. You want to come?" Buffy had worked with Steph in the day care center, and she'd also had a chance to work with many of the other young employees at the resort.

They were all nice kids, but nothing like the circle of friends she had at home. They were all the sort of people that her mother longed for her to associate with, normal, carefree kids with summer jobs. Kids who didn't have to arrange for someone else to keep the demon population under control for them while they were away for three months.

"Um, no thanks Steph," she said, picking up her watch. She squinted at the numbers. Upside down, duh. She flipped it around and contemplated the remaining hours of the evening as Steph rambled on about the fun they were going to have and was Buffy sure that she couldn't come? After being sufficiently assured that she couldn't, she let the annoyed Slayer go, and Buffy found herself once again staring at the phone.

This time it rang just as she reached for the smooth, tan receiver, and this time she cursed vehemently, her hand flying to her racing heart.

By the third ring, she felt calm enough to answer it. "Yeah," she muttered, fumbling around on the side of the phone for the ringer. With no small degree of satisfaction, she slid the switch toward the 'off' side until it clicked.

"Hi, it's me."

Riley. Since when had he become 'me,' she wondered. Part of her wanted to say Excuse me, but you have to earn the right to be 'me.'

Willow was me, Xander was me, but Riley…he was in no way a 'me.'

"Who?" she said, not because she didn't know, but because of the principle of the matter.

"Me, Riley!" he was smiling, and she couldn't help but feel a little warmth just from hearing his voice. She flopped back on the bed, her hair spread out on the midnight blue bedspread.

"I miss you," she sighed, forgetting the 'me' issue altogether. "I'm lonely here."

He chuckled, a sound of heat, and home. She shivered, wanting him there with her. "Giles is there," he reminded her.

"Yeah, it's- I don't see him much," she replied, a wave of guilt taking her by surprise, flushing her cheeks. The spiraled phone cord fit nicely around her finger. Twist, twist, twist.

"Try to," he instructed. "and, I miss you, too."

After a few minutes, they said their goodbyes and hung up. They never had much to say on the phone, she mused. Of course, they never had much to say in person, either. But the silences were easily filled by their friend's chatter, or more often, the way he would pull her into his arms. His lips, his hands, his love filled the evenings more easily than any conversation could.

But tonight that wasn't an option, and Buffy was left with a strange feeling because of it. Removed from Riley, somehow, as though he weren't real. But he was real, she reminded herself. And one sunny day, months ago, they had exchanged vows in a tiny chapel miles from her home. It had seemed like the thing to do. After all, they were in love.

Yes. She nodded her head firmly, as she lay on her bed. Love. This was the real thing. After all, love grew, and their love was still growing. That's why it felt so…confusing.

Rolling up into a sitting position, she sighed. It was well after midnight, and Giles hadn't made his nightly call yet. Even when he was angry with her, or if they'd gone the whole day without speaking, he still called. The first couple of days after she'd told him about her marriage, his 'Good Nights' had been brusque and less than heartfelt, but the call had still come. She supposed that it was his way of keeping her from feeling too homesick, and in it's own way, it worked.

No point trying to go to sleep without the call, so she sat up and slipped on some sandals. The hall had a dreamlike quality to it, she noticed on her way out. The last of the evening's vacationers were straggling back to their rooms. Some were tipsy, some just rowdy with holiday excitement, some carrying sleeping children.

Dodging a necking couple, she padded the rest of the way through the hall and out the door. The thick night air made her skin sticky, and her hair curled at the ends, falling in thick waves because of the humidity.

Past the orchards, down the hill, she could see the lights of the gentleman's club. Giles would be there, and she was drawn through the damp grass, under the shadows of the apple trees, toward the building. The unusually quiet, pensive mood had stayed with her, and she walked slowly, enjoying the darkness that lacked the danger she usually had to be on the alert for.

She walked around the building a couple times, confused about which entrance to take, definitely not wanting to get Giles into trouble. "Aha!" she spotted a door which read, "Employees Only."

"I'm an employee," she muttered to no one in particular, and went inside. It didn't take long to find Giles in a dimly lit study that bore a striking resemblance to their old library. The study obviously had better funding and a better decorator than the library. She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Giles at work.

Amazing, the transformation that had taken place in her Watcher. He looked so much like the old Giles that it made her breath catch. Glasses on, sleeves rolled up…she saw that his top couple of shirt buttons were undone, and knew without looking that his jacket was neatly draped over a chair.

He tapped away at a large adding machine, periodically scribbling in a thick ledger. She giggled, thinking all that he was missing was one of those goofy visors, and he looked up. A warm smile replaced the weariness that he'd worn just seconds before.

"Come in," he gestured to an enormous leather chair that she'd already been eyeing with interest. She bounced over to the chair and plopped down, sliding forward, then scooting herself back quickly.

"Slippery," she explained when she noticed him watching.

"Yes," he answered dryly. "I don't know quite how I've managed to sit here all evening without some type of armchair related injury."

After considering and rejecting a few cheeky retorts, Buffy sank into the luxurious softness, and he went back to doing the books for the evenings' games. She watched him do his work, and he didn't ask her why she was there. It all felt so…comfortable.

"This is just like the library," she finally said.

"Yes, I suppose it is," he mumbled, continuing to work.

Lulled by the constant tapping of the adding machine, Buffy closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the pillowy side of the chair. The leather felt cool against her cheek, and the room smelled familiar and safe…leather and old books. She started to dream, a few snippets, but most of them were incoherent visions of going back to her room and getting ready for bed. Probably her subconscious' way of telling her to do just that.

By the time she woke up, Giles had finished, and sat stretching his arms, hands behind his head, watching her. The night still had that dream-like quality, and she didn't say anything, because it was pleasant and she didn't want it to end. Giles had closed his book and put aside all of his materials.

"It's after Two," he told her. "You should get to bed."

"Why?" she asked, feeling as though she might not ever move. It was possible, in fact, that she was now located in the Most Comfortable Spot on Earth. "I just have towel duty."

"Still…" he didn't finish, and removed his glasses. He looked like the tired one, in Buffy's opinion.

"Sign here, please," she mimicked the director perfectly, even holding her arm out to cradle an imaginary clipboard, then handed over a phantom towel. "Have a nice swim."

Giles chuckled, then, without skipping a beat, "Are you pregnant?"

Buffy was wide awake in an instant, stunned by the sudden shift in topics. Her poor Watcher sat fiddling with his glasses, trying to appear casual, as though he hadn't just come out with the most bizarre thing she could ever think of.

"Am I…huh?"

A frown appeared on his tired face, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry, of course that is a very personal question, Buffy, b-but you gave me quite a shock the other day, when you told me about you and Riley getting…" he waved his arm in a substitution for the word that he didn't want to say.

"Oh, I see," she smiled shyly at him, trying to let him see that she wasn't offended. "And you thought that maybe…no, I'm not."

He closed his eyes with relief. "I was just trying to understand." He stopped, knowing that anything that he might say further than that would be taken the wrong way, or perhaps even intended the wrong way.

He stood, clicking off the desk lamp that he'd used instead of the bright overhead light. "Shall we?"

Buffy followed him outside and waited as he locked the door. "How did it go?" she asked, curious about all the different jobs that they had been doing. He began to walk, putting his hand behind her back, bringing her along with him.

"Quite nicely," he admitted, putting his hand on his pocket where his generous tips were neatly folded. "I wouldn't mind working there every night."

They reached the orchard and slowed, now that they could see the lights of the main building. Neither wanted the walk to end.

<Of course I don't,> Buffy told herself. <I'm lonely. Giles is the only person I know here.>

"I thought that the young people were going out to Raineyville?" he asked, curious about what had brought her down to the club in what appeared to be her pajamas on her only free night that week.

"Oh, that," she frowned. "I did the partying thing last year and it didn't really work out for me. I don't have very much in common with them, anyhow."

Once she pointed that out to him, Giles was startled to realize that it was true. He'd spent so long thinking of Buffy as reckless, childish, and irresponsible, that he hadn't seen this part of her, and this part had grown up in the past months. How could she have anything in common with those children?

With a rush of conspiratorial sympathy, Giles took Buffy's hand in his. He ducked a particularly low apple tree branch. "It must be quite alarming for you to find that you have more in common with an old, unemployed librarian than your peers."

His joking words fell flat, and Buffy squeezed, hard, in reprimand.

"You're not that." She frowned, and shivered in the now early morning breeze. She still didn't move any faster, not anxious to get back to her room.

He allowed her the small victory. Arguing with her had proved to be pointless in the past. As he considered what they were talking about, he looked down at her. A gust of wind blew her hair every which way, and it settled in several scattered directions.

All at once, he felt terribly flushed, inappropriate, transparent. As though she would be able to see his thoughts through their small physical connection. She was married now, and indulging in any of his old fantasies was inappropriate.

There had been a long time when it hadn't been hard to fight those fantasies at all. Almost a year where he'd struggled with liking his Slayer, and forgiving her for abandoning him, leaving him so carelessly. But the Initiative had passed, and so had Buffy's temporary disinterest with her Watcher.

He pulled away, awkwardly, and cleared his throat. "We'd better get inside."

She followed him in, completely unaware that at that moment, there was nothing that he would've rather done than stayed out in the night, holding onto that warm, familiar hand.

* * * * * *

Day Fifteen

"Lauren, darling, I have a confession to make-"

"-Please, don't say it, I can't bear to hear!"

"I must, it's been tearing me apart! You may never speak to me again, but at least I'll finally be free from this secret."

Buffy's eyes were glued to the television, and she held her breath. She knew what the tall, handsome man was about to confess, and brought her hand to her mouth in delicious anticipation, her heart beating faster.

"Don't hate me, love, but I. . .I'm-"

A loud throat cleared behind her, and Buffy tore her eyes from the angsty scene.

"Giles!" She snapped off the TV and approached the man on the other side of the counter.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, blatantly staring. Different. He was wearing a t-shirt, definitely not standard uniform. She leaned over the counter to see the rest of him. Swimming trunks.

Grabbing a thick, soft towel from the shelf, she held it out, teasing him. "This what you want?"

"Good afternoon, Buffy. Yes, please." He must have slept until at least noon, because they'd been up most of the night, and his face showed no signs of fatigue. In fact, he looked oddly handsome. Buffy frowned.

"You'll have to sign here," she said, pointing to the guest roster that they used for accountability. She watched the smooth, quick motions of his hand with fascination as he signed his name and slid it back to her.

"Rupert Giles." She murmured, reading from the paper.

"That's my name." He said, curious and amused by the seriousness with which she studied the paper. "How has your day been?"

She hopped up onto the tall stool that sat behind the counter. "Boring, but not bad."

"I see you've been keeping yourself occupied?" his eyes wandered to the television, and she smiled.

"I would be embarrassed if I didn't know about yours and Spike's year-long Passion marathon."

"Touche." He stepped back, readying to leave. With a bit of hesitation, he turned back toBuffy. "I've been assigned to the club again tonight, but I don't have to arrive until eight. Would you like to meet for dinner?"

"Sure. Meet you at six?"

He agreed, and after he was gone, she sat back down, all interest in her program gone. The way she'd felt when Giles had asked her to spend time with him…she wasn't certain that it was all right to feel the way that she'd felt. It felt almost as if it were a date, but that was ridiculous. Wasn't it? <Am I really this hard up for company?> she asked herself, <that dinner with Giles feels like a major social event?>

She spent the afternoon thinking quietly, trying to process the mixture of guilt and confusion that were so new to her, all the while denying to herself the existence of another powerful emotion that was stirring inside.

* * * * * *

Day Sixteen.

He'd hoped that she'd come. There was nothing to guarantee that she'd come to him, nothing but the fact that she'd been coming every night since he'd been begun working the club.

He threw his pencil onto the desk, annoyed with himself for getting his hopes up with every little noise he heard. He needed to concentrate, get his mind back on the books. If he didn't do a good job, then he wouldn't be able to enjoy the lovely sight of Buffy curled up in that chair across from him as he worked.

There it was, those were definitely footsteps. He held his breath.

Squeaking beautifully, the door opened and Buffy was there. He had no idea why she kept coming. Maybe it had something to do with Slayer-hours. It was her nature to stay out till dawn, and she had nothing better to do now that there was no evil to fight, he tried to tell himself.

But he knew about the parties, the all night festivities that took place in the employees' wing, and he knew that she knew about them. Yet she had never shown an interest.

"Anything you want to say to they guys?" she asked, already in her chair with a notebook. "I'm writing Willow, but she reads the letters to everyone."

"Tell Xander and Anya that my loft is off-limits," he muttered, and she giggled, scribbling the words that he'd dictated. Giles was letting Xander stay in his apartment for the summer, knowing how miserable his own basement dwelling was.

"Buffy," he warned, "I was just- you're not writing that, are you?"

" No," she denied vehemently, "Never."

He went back to working, and she went back to her letter until he began rustling papers and putting things in drawers, which indicated that he was through. She knew this ritual well, now, and looked forward to the next part. Their late-night walk back to the main building.

She folded her letter sloppily and stuck it in her notebook while Giles turned off the lights and put the money-box in the safe. She was already waiting by the door by the time he'd finished.

"Shall we?" he asked, just like always, and she nodded.

This night was cooler than the rest had been, and she could tell that it was going to storm sometime before dawn. The trees sounded like a waterfall as their branches and leaves were tossed all about by the wind. She waited as they approached the first tree of the orchard. This was always where his hand always found hers, and tonight, she found with relief, was no exception.

Her hand was cold, and so was his until, slowly, after they'd walked a while, they created their own small pocket of warmth in the chilly night. A pang of longing tore at her heart, and she swallowed, her throat tight and burning against the tears that the feeling had created. She hadn't known that the easy companionship of her Watcher could become so necessary.

A nice, familiar reminder of home. That's what Giles had been to her these weeks, a friendly face among strangers. Sure, she'd spent a little time chatting with other people, but what was the point? She had learned the hard way how relationships outside her inner circle ended. Badly.

But if it was so good, why was she on the verge of tears? She stopped walking before they cleared the trees, standing completely bewildered, and he waited patiently with her. But she didn't know what to say, all she knew was that she didn't want to go back inside.

What was she doing out here, in this lonely place where nothing was familiar? Other Slayers in the past may have been alone, but not Buffy. She was used to being surrounded by Slaying-privy friends who shared her interests and loved her unconditionally. And sleeping alone was turning out to be colder and lonelier than she could've imagined.

If Giles weren't here, the loneliness would be close to unbearable. If Giles weren't here it would be too much like her summer in LA, surrounded by people yet alone in every other way.

Thunder rolled somewhere far away, and a few moments later a bit closer. Giles was staring into the distance, and she watched him, trying to get what she was feeling to fall into some kind of order. It wasn't working.

"Giles." She said thickly, not a prelude to anything else. He understood, and opened his arms, pulling her hand until she came to him, her face pressing against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist tightly, shocked by how this comfort both eased and deepened her longing. What must her Watcher think? Just weeks ago he was outright asking her to let him go, and how she stood clinging to him helplessly as though he were some kind of wonderful smelling security blanket. She inhaled deeply, then rubbed her cheek against the layers of his suit. A button pressed into her cheek, but she could feel the warmth underneath.

And this was ridiculous.

She pulled herself away, searching for an explanation to give her Watcher, but when she made herself look at him, there weren't any questions in his eyes.

"Ready now?" he asked with his calm assurance, and she nodded, walking by his side until they parted.

* * * * * *

Day Seventeen:

Buffy sauntered up to the bar where Giles was tending, and took a seat. "I'll have a double," she said, slapping her hand on the counter.

He threw his dishtowel over his shoulder, the way that she'd told him she liked. She had informed him that this was the way they did it in the movies. He'd been disappointed when they'd begun assigning him somewhere other than the club, because of he and Buffy's quiet times spent together there, but he needn't have worried. Now she simply came to the bar when he was serving and sat with him as he worked, sometimes talking to him, sometimes mingling with the guests. But always present.

"A double of what?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Oh." She pretended to think for a while. "What do you recommend?" She took off her jacket, revealing a tight black velvet blouse. And, as usual, no bra. He tried not to notice. The not noticing hadn't been very effective lately.

"I recommend the Pepsi." An already filled glass slid in front of her. "On the house." Something else that she had instructed him to say whenever she came in.

She stirred enthusiastically with her straw, then said, "I can't meet you for dinner tomorrow, because Riley's coming to visit for a few days." The ice cubes made the tinkling sound of broken glass as they bounced around inside.

"That's wonderful news." Giles put down the pitcher that he'd been wiping dry. "I'm surprised that he held out for this long."

"Yeah, it's hard," she sighed, and he noticed that the light banter was gone. She appeared tired and a little stressed out.

After she'd taken a few drinks, she added, "to be away from him."

"I can imagine."

Buffy nodded, elaborating even further. "We've only been married for a couple of months. This is supposed to be the important honeymoon part of the relationship. Instead, it's the Me sitting in a bar talking to the drunk bartender part."

Giles blinked. "I'm not drunk."

"How else do you explain that outfit?"

For that, she received a glare, and the satisfaction of seeing Giles momentarily fumble with the glasses that he'd been stacking so carefully. He shook his head. She had changed so much, yet some things would always stay the same. The pleasure she seemed to gain from teasing him was one of them.

"They wanted me to wear something 'casual and fun,'" he explained.

Buffy sipped her drink and watched him work, her thoughts drifting back to Riley. She could imagine what it would be like to have him here, to have a hot body pressed against hers at night, to wake up in strong, gentle arms. She licked her lips. It had been way too long.

And he would leave after only five days. With that thought, she waited for the sorrow, for the big empty place to start aching, but to her surprise, it didn't. There wasn't a big empty place in her anymore, and she knew it. Frightened, she pushed the thought away.

She sat there for about an hour longer. It was crowded tonight, and dozens of people were talking to Giles. He'd met a lot of people here, she thought uneasily. Odd, because usually it was he who walked alone while she sought the company of others. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to get to talk to him, she caught his attention and waved goodbye.

Day 22.

The day started off badly. Riley had departed the day before, and as Buffy lay in bed thinking about the loneliness that she felt, she realized that it had little to do with the fact that Riley wasn't beside her. Why, why couldn't things be right between them, she groaned silently as she dragged her body out of bed. At least tonight she'd see Giles.

After trying to get ready with hopelessly dragging feet, she found herself being sternly upbraided in front of the other employees by the director himself, clipboard firmly welded under his arm. As he lectured her on the evils of tardiness, she imagined all of the scenarios which might result in a mysterious disappearance of the object he was so dependent upon. To top it all off, he ended his scolding by changing her assignment for the day to the laundry room.

The laundry room. She'd been to hell, and while the laundry room wasn't quite as gruesome as hell, it was without a doubt one of the rest stops on the way. Hot, dark, and stifling without windows, it was one of the least liked assignments. By the end of the day, the scent of bleach was permanently imbedded in Buffy's nose, and her clothes were damp and grimy from the steamy, dirty work.

She had a lot of time to think throughout the day, especially during the repetitious folding and stacking, and Riley was her main focus. Sweet, gentlemanly Riley, who had never treated her badly, but had never quite clicked with her, either. He didn't understand her, because he didn't want to. Perhaps because he was content with the Buffy that existed in his mind.

She hadn't made any decisions, but she knew that things were going to be different when she returned to Sunnydale.

That night she went to the club even earlier than usual. It had been days since she'd seen Giles, and he needed to be fully brought up to date on the horrors of working laundry duty. She skipped up the steps and swung that squeaky door wide open, announcing,

"I've noticed that my jobs usually involve towels or wiping of some sort, and yours involve large amounts of cash and liquor. Do you have anything to say about that?"

He was only startled for a moment. "In my experience, the people asking to be placed among large amounts of cash and liquor are the least appropriate candidates for the position."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said," he answered firmly.

"Which is what?"

"I-you're doing this on purpose," he accused, an adorable look of realization appearing on his face, and she could see a smile that wanted to appear.

"I can't fool you, can I?" she grinned, pulling the chair up to his desk, leaning her elbows on the paper-cluttered surface. "I missed you."

"Did you have a good visit?" Quickly, he averted his eyes, distracting himself with some mindless paperwork. She smelled good, he could smell her from this close, and it was like…coconut. Not the kind that you'd smell on the beach. Sweeter. This made him think of a fluffy white coconut cake.

<I am never missing lunch again,> he thought, his stomach rumbling.

She was shrugging, obviously playing off something that was bothering her. "It was all right. Short. But short is good."

He didn't say anything, but did stop his work to look at her. She was deep in her own thoughts by now. Out loud thoughts.

"Good for a visit, that is. I guess short can be bad for some things. Like, a skirt or a…nap," she gave the issue some more thought, then in a moment of inspiration, added, "You probably think that a lot of books are too short."

"Buffy," he interrupted carefully, "Did something happen during Riley's visit?"

"Happen? There were no happenings." It was the opposite, she wanted to say, it was what didn't happen. She hadn't relaxed, they hadn't talked, he hadn't said anything to make her feel…the way that she felt right now. "Just go back to your work." She pulled out a magazine that someone had brought back from town, and started to page through it. Giles returned to his work, and it seemed almost enjoyable with the pleasant company of Buffy. It was all finished before he knew it, and they left together.

They were halfway back to the main building before Buffy finally said, "He just has-" she shrugged, "Slayer issues." Giles' hand was warm again, and for a second, the thought crossed her mind that Riley hadn't held her hand once while he had visited. He'd had loftier goals.

"Slayer issues?" he was intrigued and yet somehow knew what she was going to say.

"He loves the idea of me being the Slayer, it's like some kind of power-trip, being with The Slayer. And on the other hand, he hates that I'm the Slayer, and wants me to keep regular hours, stay away from anything dangerous, and it really bothers him that I can kick his butt from here to Iowa without breaking a sweat."

"Does he really say all of that?"

"No." She sighed. "But he doesn't have to. I know him."

He walked her further tonight than he usually did, all the way to Buffy's door, and it seemed natural to put his arms around her and hold her closely. She felt the same, and returned the embrace, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to understand why this felt so good. When it was time to move, she dragged her arm across his jacket pocket.

"Wow, you weren't kidding about that job…that's some wad of tips you've got in there."

"I'll bet you say that to all the gentlemen who walk you home," he retorted, not missing a beat. She blinked, and looked up to find a glint in his eye.

She managed not to stutter or blush, and was quite proud of that fact. So Giles had some depth. Okay. This was new…right?

"Actually, consider the guys I know. Ice cream man, Ice cream man, Vampire, Impotent Vampire…Werewolf musician." She counted them off on her fingers. "So, nope."

"I stand corrected." He looked infinitely pleased with himself, even as they parted ways, and she couldn't keep the grin off of her face as she got ready for bed.

Day 30.

Buffy raced past Giles in the hall, tugging on her shoes and half-hopping while she walked. Her bag, probably full of the rest of the clothes that she would hopefully put on, walloped him in the side.

"Buffy, I need to-"

"-not now, Giles, late, late, late," she chanted, and he watched her fly by, a few seconds later assaulted by the lingering scent of coconut. He breathed it in, and the hunger that struck him unaware was an entirely different kind this time.

<No.> He told himself angrily, this wasn't going to happen. Wanting like this would only hurt him in the end. For so long he'd wanted, and had hurt, and then she'd given him a way out by treating him so badly. It was almost a favor, because it had been nearly enough to stop him from wanting. Which stopped the hurting.

Almost.

He turned and walked to the gift shop, approaching the slender red-haired woman who managed the store. She'd been flirting with him since he'd arrived, but he'd ignored her attempts to get to know him better. Which made no sense, because she was quite attractive. She wore an awful lot of makeup, though.

"Rupert, good morning," she beamed. She had lipstick on her teeth. Most of the time, Buffy didn't even wear lipstick. Sometimes this kind of lip gloss, but-

He forced his attention back to the woman in front of him.

"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" he asked, and was rewarded with a paint-thick smile. Bloody wonderful.

He left a note on Buffy's door saying that he wouldn't be able to meet her for dinner as usual, and went to work. She would understand.

* * * * *

It was odd being in so early, though it was rather nice to have a break from working the club. Even if he had been assigned to the day care center. The kids were fun to play with, and the female employees did most of the dirty work, he was relieved to find out. Buffy had told him that he practically wore a sign that said, "I don't do diapers," and he supposed that it was true.

Perhaps he would go see if Buffy was available to take a walk, or go for a swim. They'd gone to the hot tub the other night, and it had been…well, it had been an hour in a hot tub with the most beautiful woman he knew. Perhaps that wasn't such a good idea after all, he decided. A walk would be better. He didn't have to dial her room, though, because when he opened the door, he found her sitting right smack in the middle of his bed. Looking mighty unhappy.

"I decided to wait for you because I didn't want to just leave a note."

So, this was the reason for her anger. The note. It hadn't seemed like the best idea at the time, either, but why not? He decided to let her fill him in, and stayed silent.

His jacket went to the chair, his keys into the ashtray on the dresser with a loud clink. Shoes under the desk as he waited.

"I can't believe you canceled on me like that!" she exclaimed, watching his precise undressing routine with vague interest. "We always have dinner together! And you ditched me so that you could go on a date with that awful Avon lady in the gift shop? Everybody was talking about it!"

"Not every night." Tie in the top drawer.

She paused. "Yes-"

"Not when Riley was here," he said firmly.

"That's different."

"There's nothing different about it, Buffy!" He faced her now, standing over her as he spoke. Somehow that had been just the thing to say to raise his hackles. "You bow out for a week to spend time with your husband, I bow out for one night to have a date."

She thought for a moment. Perhaps to him it was the same thing, but it didn't feel like it. Common sense got the better of her and she realized that he was right. She had no argument. Damn him. She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration.

"Maybe," She reluctantly admitted, her face relaxing. He had to strain to hear the barely voiced question.

"Why did you go with her?"

Giles leaned against the dresser, half-sitting on the edge. He placed his watch face-side up on the clean surface, then realized that he had run out of things to take off. Unless he wanted to offend and possibly frighten Buffy, which he certainly did not. He sighed, letting the tension slide away, knowing that his anger had no place in such a delicate situation.

"You have Riley." He moved to sit across from her, on the other double bed. "You have Willow and Xander, and your mother." She wasn't looking as though she understood. She should've gotten it by now, but she was just standing there with an encouraging expression, waiting for him to continue. "So, is it so much to ask that I might want someone, too?"

He braced himself for an avalanche of sympathy, anticipating it with both welcome and dread. Ready for an apology, or perhaps even an embrace, he was completely unprepared for the wide eyes brimming with disbelief and…anger?

"You have someone," she argued, "you have me."

He was already shaking his head. " No. Riley has you. And that's the way it should be." He didn't even believe his own statement, added for the decorum's sake. He should be asking her to leave now, but he could no sooner do that than he could go back to Sunnydale without her. Or anywhere without her.

"What kind of Watcher are you?" she asked in disbelief, and he thought he could see tears glimmering in her eyes. "I'm with you. I've been with you every night…not Riley."

She shook her head. How could he not understand? "You know what I want, and you are the one that I go to. Do you really think I have room for anyone else?"

He didn't reply, and she paced restlessly around the room, desperate to convince him. He needed to know, but a heart like his wasn't willing to just accept anymore. He'd done that too many times in the past.

"Where am I right now, Giles?" she demanded, her voice breaking with an edge of frustration. Her hand was clasped tightly over her heart to show him her sincerity. "I'm here,"

He was still shaking his head, and stopped only when he heard the rest of her sentence, spoken bravely and quietly.

"And when Riley was visiting, I was here, too. Not with him…and he knew it."

The intimated confession left him reeling. It was something that he only let himself think about when he was all alone, usually at night, in the dark. It was too far of a reach to even consider for more than a few moments, but sometimes, at times like this, it was easy to hope. Hope that she meant what she couldn't possibly mean.

But one look at her frowning, lovely, confused face and he knew that the seed of whatever this was had been planted in her as well. And that the time they'd spent together had only served to nourish the unexpected feelings.

"I-I had no idea," he stammered. Denying what he felt for her was second nature by now.

"Don't lie."

"I'm sorry," he dropped his gaze back to the floor, away from her eyes, which were completely open for a change, not missing a thing. So often, she walked around choosing not to see, but right now she was laying herself open, and she expected the very same from him. "I didn't expect this," he said, truthfully this time.

Neither of them found any joy in their discovery, because what could happen? Buffy sighed, feeling even heavier than when she had come to the resort. Marrying Riley suddenly seemed an unforgivable blunder in the light of what she shared with her Watcher.

"If you'd met someone that means something to you, that would be different. But you don't even like that woman, I've seen you around her! You- you even said that she wears enough makeup to turn a chaos demon into a contender for Miss America. You said that, Giles!"

He said nothing. He had indeed been foolish in his choice of a companion for the evening, but the truth was that Buffy had no right to a say in the matter.

Only- she did have the right. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, whether or not it made sense, she had gotten to him first, and it was understood between them that as long as she wished, he would be there. For her.

"Buffy," he said wearily, the summer weighing heavily on his shoulders, "Good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

She opened her mouth to protest, silenced by his tired, "Please."

"Good night, Giles," she replied, and left with enough of what she'd come for to go in peace.

* * * * * *

Day 33

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"

Giles rolled over in a tangle of covers, and found his eyes too tired to open. "Go. Away," he growled, and swatted with his arm in the direction that the chirpy voice had come from. That only solicited a giggle, and a jarring thump on the bed next to him. He vaguely thought that perhaps he should perhaps be more alert, then dismissed the idea. Demons were not prone to giggling.

"No, please," he groaned, feeling the covers tugging out of his grasp. He held on tighter, then realized he was fighting a losing battle, because the portion of his body that was covered by warm blanket was getting smaller, and the portion exposed to chilly air, larger.

"Giles, come on!"

"Buffy?" Suddenly, he was wide awake, out of the half-dreamlike state that he'd been lingering in so deliciously. "What's. . .what time is it?"

She held out a pair of trousers to him, and he saw a shirt and belt draped over her other arm. "It's after seven thirty, now hurry! We have to leave at eight. . .and you're driving." She shrugged. "Sorry. You didn't show up for assignments this morning, and I told them that you weren't feeling well. I told them that you'd be well enough to do today's assignment."

He took the pants and began pulling them on, knowing that he didn't have time for modesty. She didn't seem particularly bothered by his near-nudity, so he decided that it wasn't worth the extra time it would take to seek privacy. "And that assignment would be. . ."

"It took some pretty wily negotiating on my part, but you're looking at the Raineyville day trip tour guide." She gestured with a flourish, then pointed at him. "And her trusty sidekick, otherwise known as the man who drives the bus."

He paused, his shirt half-buttoned. "Me?"

"Your application said that you can drive a bus," she reminded him.

"You filled out that application!"

"It's too late to argue about the details," Buffy dismissed him, gathering up Giles' wallet, keys and shoes. She thrust them at him, and he gaped at her, his head spinning. He didn't consider the fact that he had never driven a bus a mere detail, but she was right about one thing. It was too late.

He had barely gotten situated in the springy seat of the luxurious bus when people started boarding. The director, or Kevin, as he had recently invited everyone to call him, spoke to Giles through the driver's window.

"Don't forget. Leave the bus unlocked for the shoppers. Try to stay somewhat available to the guests, and most importantly, Be. On. Time. Ms. Summers has the itinerary." His words came out all in a rush, and he rapped on the window when he was done, for effect. Then he was gone, and suddenly, Buffy was behind him, smiling at him in the mirror, and the seats were full of passengers waiting to begin their journey.

Giles turned on the ignition, pleased to find that it worked, and the bus roared to life. He figured that it had best run for a few minutes before starting, and took those few moments to get directions from Buffy. They'd be taking the guests to the small town of Raineyville where they could spend the day antique shopping and sightseeing. He released the clutch slowly, giving it a little gas. The large vehicle sputtered and quivered, and when he gave it a little more gas, they lurched forward, on their way. He ignored the cries of the passengers every time he jerked them along, and before long, he felt fairly confident handling the bus.

When they arrived in town, Giles managed to get into the parking spot after only eight precarious attempts, and the guests hurried off to shop. Some of them shot him annoyed looks as they exited, but most of them just looked grateful.

Giles went limp in his seat when they were all gone. His muscles ached from remaining so tense during the entire drive. He stretched and groaned, not even able to think about the trip home. Those tiny, winding roads had been barely large enough to accommodate the bus, but every time another car approached, he had thought that one of them were surely going to end up off in a ditch.

"You did good." Buffy voice had been a constant encouragement for the past hour; over his shoulder she'd kept watch over the road. Never mind that the words of praise had been interspersed with sharp inhalations and long periods of holding her breath until they were safely past whatever danger she seemed to see. Or the fact that she was the one who had gotten him into this situation in the first place. Or the fact that during one tight squeeze on a winding curve, she'd frightened half the bus with her cry of "Oh my God!"

Despite all that, he'd been more confident with her near him. They were partners, which meant benefiting from the good, and tolerating the bad in his Slayer.

"Thank you. Now let's get some fresh air."

Together the walked up and down the main streets for hours, window shopping and talking. After several hours, they came across a shady storefront with a porch swing.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Please, let it be about food," Giles pleaded, looking heavenward.

She pointed at the porch swing. "Food, then sit."

"Why don't you rest here, and I'll bring us back some sandwiches?"

"I'll save you a seat," she replied, hopping up and sighing with an exaggerated sound of contentment. "Hurry back." She watched him walk away, wondering over the fact that she had spent the past four years living alongside this man, and had just now seen him for what he was. Trying for a moment to see him as the man who she had thought he was, boring and unnecessary, she found that she couldn't. Then he turned and smiled at her before disappearing around the corner, and she was hit as she had been so many times this summer by the shockwave of unexpected feelings for the man.

When he returned, they began eating their sandwiches, watching people stroll by. He had brought one large bottle of water for them to share, and they passed it back and forth when they were done eating. All of the events of the summer were coming down on her, all the things that she'd felt or said or even thought about her Watcher were finally taking a definite shape, and it had everything to do with her heart, which she realized belonged to him.

"It's not fair, that I keep you here like this," she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder in an act of securing him there, just in case he should take her words seriously, and agree.

She could feel his breath on the top of her head, warm and full of wanting. "I'm where I want to be," he said, using a low, intimate tone that he so rarely used. She felt as though she were under the safety of the apple trees, shaded and sheltered, inhaling the sweet scent of the night. His arm came around her and held her to him. "I don't have a choice in the matter. I haven't for a very long time, Buffy."

Her eyes closed, shutting out the rest of the world until nothing else existed but the man holding her and their bond, whatever it may be. She wanted to say that she didn't feel anymore that she had a choice, either, but she didn't. For the first time in over a year, she felt a peace. People would come and go, but Giles would always be with her, and her heart would belong to him.

She wanted to seal this revelation with some kind of promise, but knew that she had nothing to offer him. Not right now. So she let her hand wander upward, and her fingers gently stroked his temple, then down his cheek. She hoped to convey some of what he meant to her in this gesture. That her touch would say, I love you, and her silence would say that it was too meaningful for words. And she was convinced, when she looked up through suddenly shy lashes at him, that she could see in his eyes that he understood.

End

A sequel is in the works...