Title: On Nights Like This
Author: Sweetdoggie (stirling_summer@yahoo.com)
Pairing: B/G
Rating: FRT
Summary: Giles muses about his life while shadows play
Spoilers: Post season 7 and then some

Disclaimer: No permission has been granted to use the characters. They are owned by their creator, Joss Whedon, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB, and Mutant Enemy. This story is non-profit and is intended solely as entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended.

On nights like this, when the wind blew gently through the rustling trees and the memories of other nights just like this one filled his head, he looked into the flickering light cast by the fire in the grate and wondered what she was doing now? Watching the shadows spill across the room as the fire flickered, he thought about her. That first meeting had been so explosive, her response to his identity so totally unexpected that he hadn’t known what to do.

He smiled faintly now to think of it; how impossibly naïve he had been, how eager to prove himself. Remembering his younger self made him shake his head. How bloody young he had been.

The crackling of the flames made him remember another time, another fire. She had saved him then, pulled him from the blaze against his will, had knocked him down and then held him tightly in her arms while he wept. He had cared about her before, but after that bloody night was done, she owned him..

The Council had warned him: do not, under any circumstances, become emotionally involved with your charge. Her sole duty was to fight and die and his was to train her enough to make that sacrifice acceptable. He knew it and had accepted it, then he met her, learned to admire her, cherish her, love her, and everything he had been taught about maintaining professional detachment had flown out of the window.

Leaning forward a bit, he poked at the fire, sending a few sparks into the air, up the chimney. The light flickered again and cast shadow pictures on the wall behind him.

They had fought side by side for years and in that time, she had grown up and he thought that perhaps he had grown old. Battle after battle, he had seen the toll the constant flood of death had taken on her. He’d watched her eyes change from those of a happy girl on the cusp of adulthood, to the haunted orbs of a battle-hardened soldier.

She had died. Oh, bitterness on his tongue even now. How fragile she had been when she was returned to him. It was eventually more than he could bear to see her so wounded and he left her, left his heart and his life and scurried back to England, seeing her in every shadow for nearly a year.

When he did return, she had changed. Grown again, or maybe had finally accepted her destiny. It had nearly broken him to see her, hardened and blank as the girls depending on her faced their own deaths. Her injuries in that final battle had been severe, though he hadn’t known at first. It was only when she staggered as they looked into the canyon that had been their home for so long, that he realized she was mortally injured. Holding the red scythe in her hand, he watched as the wound closed, her healing super-accelerated.

She had left him then, left them all except her sister and had traveled across the globe. He didn’t know what she was searching for, and maybe she didn’t know either, but they both knew that she didn’t find it in Spain, or Paris, or Rome and a year after her departure, she returned to him. They had both worked hard to rebuild the love and trust that had been so battered in their last years together. It took time and patience and forgiveness on both their parts, but finally, they succeeded.

She had come to him on a night much like this one and had taken his hand. Explaining that she loved him, not as her friend, or her Watcher, or her father: she had asked him if he could return her feelings. Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her. When he pulled back enough to look down into her eyes, he had simply asked her what took her so long?

He felt the draft as the door into the study opened. As it blew across the smoldering logs, it spurred the flames to one more burst of life. The shadows grew long as two slim white arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Brooding again, Rupert?”

“Not brooding, beloved. Simply taking stock of my life and how very lucky I truly am.”

“Ah, not so lucky as your wife.”

“I’m pleased that you think so.”

“Why don’t we go to bed now and show each other how lucky we really are?”

“A wonderful idea, love.” He carefully stood and banked the fire, pulling the screen across the opening to stop stray sparks. The shadows were muted now, held at bay by the light from her lovely eyes. “Have I mentioned today, how much I love you?”

“Maybe, but it never hurts to remind me.” She leaned in towards him again. “I love you too.”

~end~