TITLE: The Watcher: Absolution pt.1 - `Til You Loved Me 1/7
AUTHOR: vatwoman
RATING: NC17 (for the love scene, the violence and the deaths)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN etc own Giles and anyone else in the Buffyverse, Anna and everyone I invent are mine.
SUMMARY: Fourth story in The Watcher series. A story of love and sex: having it and not having it. This is the first part of a two-part story.
FEEDBACK: Will be gratefully received on list, or at: vatwoman@yahoo.co.uk
DEDICATION: To Sally, Susan and Antonia – my writing support system. And to Anya - fellow civil servant, fellow holder of a `Kiss The Librarian' mug - the `lurrrrrve scene' is all yours. I don't ever want to know what you intend to do with it now that you've got it!

The bell above the door, jingling energetically, announced his entrance. Heads turned and conversation stopped.

He could almost feel their eyes on him, checking him from head to foot for areas of exposed skin. Does he have his coat on? His gloves on? His scarf on? Why the hell can't he cover his face?

"Mr Barry."

"Hello, Michael." He turned and smiled at the young man behind the checkout. "How are you?"

"Ok. You?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

Two elderly women, the only other people in the shop, stood and stared. They dropped their gaze as he stared back at them, turned to each other and whispered. He knew what they were saying … what they were remembering. `It's him, isn't it? Adam Barry. Do you remember the Wilson girl? It must be … what … ten years ago?'

He picked up a basket and retreated to the back of the shop. He had a list. Things he needed. He'd get his shopping and be gone. Just like always. Just like every other day of his life.

He was laden down by the time he made it back to the checkout. The shop was busier: it was mid morning now. The chatter of so many voices made his head hurt, his punishment for lying in bed an extra hour this morning; he was normally safe home by now.

"That'll be £10.95, please."

Adam blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"£10.95. Your shopping."

Michael was smiling in the easy way he had. Adam looked at the checkout and saw that not only had the boy rung up his goods, but had bagged them as well. "Sorry," he apologised. "Head in the clouds."

"There are plenty of them to get your head into!" Michael tossed his head, indicating the shop-front windows.

Adam turned and saw that it was raining outside, hard. He turned back and smiled. "So there are. How much did you say?"

"£10.95, please."

Adam fished out his little money purse and opened it, his fingers fumbling because of the thick gloves. The coins created a split- second colourful cascade before they hit the floor and bounced and rolled off crazily in all directions. There was a moment of near- perfect stillness before Adam and Michael, who'd dodged out from behind the checkout, dropped to their knees to pick up the money.

The bigger coins were fine, but the tiny five pence piece stubbornly refused to lift up off the floor. Adam wasn't thinking when, embarrassed by this whole scene, he removed his glove to pick up the errant coin. After rising, Michael spotted another coin and bent to retrieve it just as Adam moved to stand up. The crack of heads was like a pistol shot and Adam wasn't thinking, was just reacting, when he reached out and with his bare hand grabbed the boy to stop him from falling backwards to the floor.

The immediate lightning shock threw Adam back on his heels, dragging Michael towards him. He could feel the boy trying to pull his hand away, screaming in terror, but Adam, muscles frozen, couldn't let go, couldn't *not* see. His body shook. His mouth fell open in a rictus grin. His hand tightened claw-like on the boy's. Disjointed images filled his mind like something from a drug-induced nightmare, but more real than anything even the strongest pharmaceuticals could conjure.

Colours. Blinding flashes of light. Throbbing beats of sound. Heat. Cold.

Then nothing.

Trust. Pressure on bodies. Like hands. Then not hands.

Then nothing.

Quiet. Breathing. Heavy, foul breathing. Fear. Sudden fear. Betrayal of trust. Screaming.

Then nothing.

Screaming.

Then nothing.

Darkness. Wetness. Whimpering cries. Screaming agony.

Then nothing.

Tears and blood and piss. Tears and blood and
pisstearsandbloodandpisstearsand
bloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstears
bloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstears
bloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstears
bloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstearsbloodpisstears
blood ……

And nothing.

Adam forced his eyes open and saw, past the excruciating pain in his head, that he had let go of the boy, who was now backing up across the floor. "What did you see?" The boy asked, trembling, rivers of sweat pouring down his face and neck. He was as white as a sheet. "WHAT DID YOU SEE?"

The boy's scream galvanised the crowd of other shoppers. They helped him to his feet, holding him steady on shaky legs. Adam looked up at him, said nothing, and watched as the boy began to cry.

"Oh, Jesus, I'm going to die, aren't I? That's what you saw. I'm going to die." Michael shook himself free of the onlookers and took a step towards Adam. "Tell me! Tell me that's what you saw! I'm going to die! That's what you saw isn't it?" Lightning quick, he bent down and grabbed Adam by the front of his coat, half hauling him up off the floor. "Tell me!" He shook him. "Tell me, you fucking freak!"

The first punch crunched into his cheekbone, knocking Adam back to the ground. Then the blows rained down on him and all the while the boy was screaming at him to tell him what he'd seen. There was no point. The boy knew.

"Enough, son, you'll kill him." Still dazed by the attack Adam lay motionless and looked up into the eyes of the man who had pulled the boy off him. "You'd best get going, Mr Barry." The man's voice was almost gentle, but his eyes were flint-hard and neither he nor anyone else made a move to assist.

Adam crawled across the floor, got the door open and fell out into the wet street. His momentum carried him onto his back and as he lay there, rain falling softly onto his face, he saw the boy and the others lined up at the windows silently staring at him, judge and jury. His stomach clenched violently. Desperately, he rolled over and vomited. Eventually, soaked and shivering, he gathered his strength, pushed himself to his feet and staggered away, blood and bile washing into the gutter behind him.

>>>>>>

He walked into the police station a few hours later to face a barrage of indifference and from the older officers, outright hostility. The young constable assigned to take his statement took it with due diligence, watched him sign it and then dismissed him with barely concealed contempt.

He knew that they would file the papers away - only that - and Michael Grove's fate would be sealed in that act.

>>>>>>

"Giles?"

Anna pulled the key out of the lock, stopped just inside his front door, waited for an answer, got none, and carried on into the flat. There was music playing quietly somewhere. She followed the sound to the living room and found him there, stretched out on the long sofa, book cradled on his chest, his glasses hooked carelessly into the `v' of his open shirt, apparently fast asleep. She'd rarely been given the opportunity of just looking at him, so she took it, greedily.

Relaxed face. His eyes showing much less blue under them. He'd been too tired for weeks, sleeping badly, she knew. His break with Buffy hadn't gone well with him and there had been days when she knew that that was all he could think about. On those days she'd made sure that she'd picked up the phone to speak to him, just to say `Hello,' but otherwise, knowing him now, had left him in peace to work through the darkness of his thoughts.

Their phone calls to each other were a constant delight of their relationship. They might have been out and said goodnight to each other only ten minutes before, but one or other would pick up the phone to talk about their day.

Tousled hair. One arm flung over his head, he slept like a child abandoned to his rest. Was this what he'd been like as a boy? Before the cares he now faced daily were thrust upon him?

She came into the room properly, dropped the envelope she'd been carrying onto the coffee table, gently removed the book and glasses from him, kicked off her shoes and stretched out next to him. He half- woke, just enough to roll onto his side to give her more room and to wrap his arms around her.

"Go back to sleep," she whispered.

"Hmm-mm."

He relaxed against her and she could feel his warm breath steadying on her face and neck.

She loved this easy time between them - the way they were hovering on the edge of becoming lovers and neither of them in any rush to get there - the way they spent lazy mornings with breakfast and newspapers and lazy afternoons, so often lying together like this, talking, reading, just being with each other.

She wondered sometimes if they'd always been like this, or if circumstances had made them so. She couldn't really remember now what she'd felt, what she'd been like, in those early months with Neil. They'd both been so young when they'd met and still young when they'd married. Maybe this willingness to wait, need to wait, came with age?

But then they'd both lost someone too. He didn't talk much about Jenny - once or twice when they'd shared memories of the people in their lives - but when he did it was with an air of wistful sadness in his voice. Something that was echoed in hers every time she spoke about the people gone from her life. Perhaps there was fear, then, in this waiting, the fear that with greater intimacy comes greater peril to the heart?

"What are you thinking about?" His voice, laced with sleep, was soft and deep in her ear as he nuzzled the side of her face.

"Us."

"And what conclusion did you come to?"

"That this is a good thing."

She could feel him smiling. "Hmm, I think so too."

She rolled further into him, pushed a leg between his and an arm up under his shirt to rest it on the warm skin of his back. "What have you been doing?"

"Reading."

Anna leaned back so she could look at him. "Gosh, and it looked so much like sleeping!"

Giles laughed. "Alright, but do you blame me? It's a Watcher's diary: I've said it before and I'll say it again, `bunch of pompous windbags' "

"Present company excluded, of course," she deadpanned.

He raised a decidedly haughty eyebrow. "Of course. I am the epitome of short, sharp, and to the point."

She glanced back over her shoulder at the book now lying on the coffee table. "Is it research?"

"Yes, Jules wanted some help on a prophecy he's working on. He's got half the watchers in the Council helping him. He's given us assignments." He rolled his eyes. "It's like being back at school."

"What do you get if you find the answer?"

He grimaced and barely suppressed a shudder. "I don't know. I don't think I want to know!" He settled her more comfortably against him and snatched a kiss as he did so. "You're back late. How was London?"

A feeling of comfortable lethargy washed over her. She gently stroked him under his shirt and was pleased when he stretched slightly and pushed his body against her hand. "I am a very wealthy woman, a very sought after woman, a very well respected woman, oh, and did I say a very wealthy woman?" She caught his quizzical look and sighed. "Sorry, I'm having an `accountant' moment. I'm in the very privileged position of never having to worry about money ever again - so I don't worry about it - my accountant, however, still has a way to go to get with the program."

"I thought you were seeing your lawyer?"

"I did. The accountant was after I'd seen the lawyer."

"Ah hah, and how was that?" Anna gave him a look. "Least said?"

She sighed again. "Something like that. It never ceases to amaze me the lengths you're forced to go to protect your name when you've made something of it." She deliberately shook herself. "I … ah …" Another glance over her shoulder, this time at the envelope she'd brought with her.

"What is it?"

"Let me up, please?" He released her immediately. Anna sat up and picked up the envelope. Giles joined her a moment later. They sat side-by-side looking at the large, brown envelope that she turned over and over in her hands. "I wasn't sure about this … giving this to you … I wasn't sure if you'd want it. Then I realised that if I *didn't* give it to you that I was making the decision for you and that wasn't right." She looked across at him and caught his puzzled smile. "I'm not making much sense, am I?" The smile broadened and he shook his head. She reached up, held his face in her palm and kissed him, leaning into him to deepen the contact between them. She broke off, stroked her hand down his neck and handed him the envelope. "I found it today, finally. I have a secure vault in town. I've been searching in it for weeks." She explained as she stayed his hands for a moment from opening it. "Since … well … since we met."

Giles frowned slightly. "I don't understand."

"Open it."

He put his glasses on, turned the envelope over, pulled out the flap and reached inside. It was a photograph,10 x 8, faded a little with age. His father. He took a long look at it before gently laying it on the table in front of him. He took off his glasses, put them beside the photograph, got up and strode out of the room.

Anna watched him walk into the kitchen. He half closed the door behind him making her lose sight of him, but within seconds she heard the tap running at the sink. He came out moments later with a glass of water in his hand. His face was pale and the hair around it slightly damp. He sat back down beside her, took a long drink, and put the glass down.

"I didn't realise you still had it." His voice was very slightly rough, as if he was holding something back and it was fighting to get out.

"I wasn't sure I had, either. I've had to look through virtually every single photograph I've ever taken."

"Tell me about it?" He didn't look at her; his eyes were fixed on the picture.

She picked it up and turned it over so he could see the writing on the back. "This indicates the date - 7th March 1981 - the subject, Marcus Giles, the type of film I used and the camera settings."

He reached out and ran a finger across his father's name. "Can you remember the sitting?"

Anna turned the picture over again and looked at the face of the man, father to the man sitting quietly at her side. "Not really …" She touched Giles's arm and smiled at him when he turned to look at her. "… I've been trying to. I think he said he was going to give the photo to Francesca for her birthday."

Giles nodded. "That would make sense, Mum's birthday was later in the month."

"Other than that …" She shook her head and shrugged.

"1981. He was 62. He died the following year." His eyes were fixed on the photograph once more. When he spoke it was in a strained whisper. "You'd just made him laugh."

"What makes you say …" The sentence trailed off into silence, then she gasped. "Oh my God … yes!" She turned in her seat to face him, drawing him around to look at her. "How did you know?"

"Because you captured it perfectly …" They both looked at the picture. Marcus Giles wasn't even smiling, but now that she'd been reminded she could see the smile in his eyes, "… the smile in his eyes." Anna stifled a surprised sound as his words perfectly echoed her thoughts. "A smile I never managed to put there."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Bringing all this back."

He smiled sadly. "It never goes away."

"The rawness of it, then."

"It isn't just something like this …" He gestured to the picture, lying once more on the table, "… that opens the wound." He ran his hand down his face. "I hear him sometimes, in my voice, in things that I say, and I *hate* it. The way he was, hard and cold? I remember I swore, again and again, that I'd never be like that. I would prove I was a better man than that."

"You are a better man than that!"

"You sound very certain of yourself."

Anna shook her head, "It's more a case of being very certain of you."

"My own private cheerleader?" His mouth twisted in a wry smile that took away any suggestion that his comment was a flippant one.

The smile she offered in return was a sweet one. "Think of me as the positive voice in your head that balances your not so positive one."

He pulled a face and scratched his temple. "Voices in my head? So I'm a good man, but an insane one?" Anna thought about that for so long that Giles eventually nudged her, laughing. "Hey!"

Anna caught his head in her hands and held him there, staring deep into his eyes. She watched the laughter disappear from his face and when it had gone spoke to the solemn air that settled between them. "You are *not* your father."

The look went on and on and somewhere it changed, became a different beast altogether, one charged with the sexual tension that had been building between them for weeks. She could see it in his eyes when he realised it, felt it in her body when she knew it too.

It was Giles who spoke. "If I asked you, would you please take me to bed?"

The request, the way he'd put it, made her smile. She nodded. She ran her hands down his face, let him go and stood, holding out a hand to him. "Come with me."

Their fingers caught and held. He rose to her and swayed, feeling suddenly light-headed. He let go and swallowed hard. He wanted this, he really did, but … "I need to shave." The words came out in a headlong rush.

She raised an eyebrow, "It's ok, you're not too stubbly."

"Ah … no … really I … ah … my mother told me that one should never give a girl stubble-burn on a first …" He couldn't quite put a decent name to this so he stopped trying to.

"Your mother told you?" Anna was desperately fighting a smile.

He caved in under her gaze. "Well, alright, she didn't, but that doesn't mean that I don't think it's the polite thing to do."

Anna narrowed her eyes and pinned him with a look, "Giles, are you nervous?"

He blinked. "Perhaps …" he confirmed hesitantly, "… are you?"

"No." Her voice was calm and even around the smile she was still trying not to let him see.

"Oh."

Anna reached out and rubbed his chest soothingly. "Do you need some time?" He nodded, gratitude showing on his face. "Then go and shave. I'll check and make sure the doors are locked. Ok?"

"Ok … and you can call me seven shades of stupid while you're at it."

She gave him a firm kiss. "Go and shave. I'll meet you in the bathroom."

NEXT