DISCLAIMER: The Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel characters are the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, Lazy Dave, Kuzui, and Fox Studios. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2005 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.
Siren Voices Floating Round Thee
by Djinn
The glare of sunshine on the
beach nearly blinded Buffy as she walked, sunglasses in her hands rather than
on her eyes. She knew her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. A combination of
crying and drinking were to blame for that. More drinking, actually, than
crying. Well, and not caring about how she might look in the morning—she should
have used tea bags. Tea bags and Preparation-H to shrink the swelling. Only...not
together, Cordelia used to tell her that. First the tea, then the ointment. Cordelia—who
was dead. Poor, dead Cordelia.
Buffy kicked sand as she
walked, little rocks coming up with the fine grains. The beaches here weren't
like the California ones. The water here was calmer, warmer. You could swim
here and never get cold. Never had to come flying out of the water, into
waiting arms that held out a towel that was pink but turned white in the
moonlight. Strong arms that held you, the terry cloth between you. Strong arms
of a strong man who was dead now, too. Angel was dead, had been dead for some
time, but not as long as Cordy.
Buffy had mourned Angel. She'd
wept and wept and then finally she'd stopped crying one day and had picked up
the pieces of her life and moved on. But during the time of endless crying, the
Immortal had grown weary of her grief. Not that she'd cared. She'd cried as
long and as hard as she'd had to.
"Cara. Cara, come
out," the Immortal had said one night, pounding on the heavy wood of her
apartment door.
She'd gone to it, leaning up
against it, her hand on the knob but unable to open it to him. This was her
time to mourn. Her time to grieve.
"Go away," she'd
whispered and heard the words echoed by a deeper voice.
"You don't tell me what
to do," her lover had said.
And she'd heard the tones of
Ripper. Heard the Giles that only came out when things became very, very dark. "I
do today. Leave her alone. Let her be."
The Immortal must have seen
something that scared him. It was hard to imagine. Something that scared the
Immortal—something that had been Giles.
"Buffy?"
Sighing, she turned, saw Giles
stomping after her, wearing the wrong kind of shoes for walking in the sand. He
had a determined look on his face.
"Giles, I'm in Sorrento.
Crying over lost love. You're supposed to be in Rome taking care of the
slayers."
Rome—where the Immortal was. He'd
never told her his real name. He'd let her call him any number of sweet
nothings, but he'd never trusted her with his name.
She should have known they
were headed for splitsville, right then.
Turning away from her
watcher, she put on some speed, calling over her shoulder. "Go back to the
Eternal City."
But she could tell he was
still following her, so she slowed, letting him catch up with her.
"You look ridiculous,
Giles." He was in tweed, too much of it for how warm it was. And he wore
dark, sensible shoes that were probably filled with sand.
"I just came from a
meeting with Ernest."
Ernest. The successor to
Quentin. The new head of the newly reconstituted Watcher's Council. A man who
liked Giles and her even less than Quentin had.
"Lucky you. How is
Mister Stuffy?"
"Stuffier than usual. But
don't change the subject."
"Did we have a
subject?" She tried to give him the smile of Sunnydale Buffy. Of a Buffy
from that time when high school was a place that hadn't blown up yet. A place
that she and Giles hadn't blown up yet. She failed with the smile, could tell
from his expression that she wasn't fooling him.
"Buffy, Willow told me
what happened with the Immortal."
"Yeah. He broke up with
me. Told me my heart was already given, and he wasn't going to wait around. What?
Like he was getting any older?"
Giles laughed softly.
"I can't help that I
still love Angel. I can't help that I mourned longer than my new guy
liked." She looked up at Giles. "Why do they always want to own all
of me, Giles? Why can't they take what I can give?"
"I don't know. Perhaps,
it's that they feel they'll never come first?"
"I guess. But they
would, if they'd stop picking at my feelings and what they mean and how strong
they are." She sighed, kicking a little at the sand again. "Is it me?
Is there something wrong with me?"
Giles gave her a sympathetic
glance. "You love fiercely. And part of you will always love, long after
you've moved on. And there's nothing wrong with that. You have a big heart,
Buffy. And despite the real estate Angel—and maybe even Spike—owned, there is
still plenty to go around."
She laughed, the sound mostly
a soft exhalation. "Where were you when I was explaining this to Mister
'I've Lived Forever but I'm Still a Dumb Twit'?"
"Sadly away." He
took a deep breath, gazing out at the sea.
"Sadly? You never liked
him."
He walked next to her in
silence.
"Never, ever liked
him," she said, prodding him a little with her elbow until she saw him
smile.
"No, I never did."
Wrapping her arms around
herself, she moved closer, letting some measure of Giles' presence warm her. He
walked awkwardly, stumbling a little in the sand.
"Giles, at least take
your shoes off." Sitting, she pulled him down with her, watching as he
unlaced his shoes, pulling them off. "Let me," she said, taking one
of his shoes from him and dumping the sand out. "It's illegal to make off
with antiquities. And this sand is very old, you know."
"Like me." He
grinned at her, and she realized his smile was a bit sad. Had it always been? Had
she just never noticed?
"You're not so
old," she said.
"Perhaps because you're
older."
"Oh, yeah. And so much
more mature. Witness me crying over a man who liked to play name games. What did
I think I was going to be? Signora Immortale?"
He laughed.
She took the other shoe he
offered, dumping the sand with great ceremony. "I return thee to
Italia."
He smiled, gazing again to
the sea. "Do you like it here, Buffy?"
"You mean Sorrento?"
"Yes."
"I do. It reminds me of
Sunnydale, somehow."
He shot her a look.
"Okay, 'reminds' may be
a little strong. But compared to Rome, it's quieter. Older." She shot him
a glance. "It's not on a hellmouth is it?"
Laughing, he said, "No."
"Good." She nodded
at his feet. "Socks, too, Englishman."
He pulled his socks off,
shoving them inside his shoes. Then he buried his toes in the sand, smiling as
he closed his eyes. "Have you ever noticed how cool it is
underneath?"
She buried her feet, too. It
had been a long time since she'd just sat like this. "Feels good."
"You've been
crying."
"Yes, because that's
what you do when you break up with someone." She glanced at him, immediately sorry she'd said it that way. It had been awhile since Giles had been in a position to break up with
anyone.
"Don't look at me with
such pity, Buffy."
"You used to date
people."
"Yes, and they used to
die or become terrified of my life and run off. This is easier."
"What is? Taking care of
us?"
He nodded, not meeting her
eyes.
"Aren't you
lonely?"
"I have you. I have my
duty."
"Duty doesn't keep you
warm at night. I know this." She got up, pulling him with her. "There's
a cafe I like. Just up ahead."
He nodded, following her.
"Do you swim,
Giles?"
"I know how."
She laughed, trying to
remember if she'd ever seen him in the water. "But I've never seen you
swim."
"Buffy, there are many
things you've never seen me do. And that's probably for the best."
"Maybe." She waved
to the owner of the cafe as she led Giles to a table that was just off the
beach.
"Signorina. Cara mia." The host kissed her hand, making much of her. He
was as warm and open as Sorrento. She loved it here.
"Carlo, this is Giles. I
mean Rupert." The name sounded all wrong coming out of her mouth.
"Any friend of the
signorina is a friend of mine." Carlo winked at her. "Grappa?"
"Of course. How else
does one get over the end of amore?"
"Ah, amore. My Giuliana
broke my heart, and it was grappa that saved me."
Giuliana stuck her head out,
yelling at Carlo in Italian. Buffy laughed. "Fortunately, the two of you
made up."
"Fortunately
indeed, as she is a very good cook and I am not. I will bring you some treats—she
has been experimenting."
"Grazie."
As Carlo left them, Buffy
realized Giles was watching her with a fond look. "What?"
"Nothing changes. You
charm everyone."
"Not everyone. Remember
Snyder?"
"He didn't count. He was
a strange little mole of a man."
"He was not one with our
mission, that's for sure." She set her sunglasses on the table and pushed
them around the blue-checked tablecloth for a moment. "Why did you ask me
if I like it here?"
"Because Ernest knows
someone who has land between here and Naples. Inland a bit, but lovely,
apparently. He's willing to let us build on it. A compound of sorts."
"Slayer central?"
"Yes." He met her
eyes. "Or we can go back to the States, if that's easier. Or wherever you
like."
"You're assuming I don't
want to stay in Rome."
"Do you?" He took
off his glasses and rubbed them with a handkerchief he pulled out of his
pocket.
"No."
Glancing over at her, he
said, "I do know you, and how you think. I know what you're likely to
do."
"And your Buffy radar
says I'm gonna run?" She sighed. "Nice
image."
"I didn't say you were
going to run. I thought you wouldn't want to stay in Rome. I expect you'll walk
away, though, not run." Grinning, he put his glasses back on, then
shrugged out of his jacket. "Better?"
"You still look like
formal English guy."
"What shall I remove
next?"
"Tie. And loosen that
collar." She studied him as he did it. "Sleeves. Rolled up."
Sighing, as if it was a great
effort to indulge her, he did as she said. "Better?"
"Can I get you to roll
up your pants?"
"I would do almost
anything for you, Buffy. Except that." His look defied her to try to
change his mind.
She laughed. "Why did
you come here?"
"Because I knew you'd be
upset."
"I was upset when Angel
and Spike died. You didn't show up then." But he'd been in her hallway
that day, warning the Immortal off. Had he been there all the time? Watching
her—watching over her?
"Spike and Angel were
worth your tears. He's not." There was an odd look in his eyes as he met
her gaze, then he looked away. "So what do you
think? The Amalfi Coast as a base of operations, then?"
"What do you
think?"
"It's not central to
much of anything."
"Well, no, but I'm sure
there's a hellmouth close by, isn't there"
He nodded. "Several
actually. Small ones. Very old. Sealed up so many times they're nearly
dormant."
"Nearly dormant. That
sounds good."
"I thought you might
like that." He leaned forward. "Ernest was quite clear about one
thing. Once trained, the slayers won't stay here."
"They go where the
Council sends them?"
Giles nodded. "If we
want his funding."
"What's he going to do
if we say no? Open up a rival slayer's home?" She laughed, imagining how
long they'd keep the slayers at Tweed Incorporated.
"The girls do need to
fight where they're needed, Buffy. You don't need an army, anymore."
"I know. And I guess
they do need to go. But not alone, Giles. Let them go in pairs."
"All right. I'll tell
him that's a condition. No one fights alone, anymore."
"Good. Yes." She
sighed, hating what she was consigning the girls to, but knowing it had become
their fate the minute Willow did her spell making all the potentials into full
slayers.
"We'll always have new
ones to train. And the older ones can come back here. The injured ones, and
those who are burned out. This can be...a sanctuary, of sorts."
"You've thought a lot
about this?"
"I want it to be all the
things I could never give you." He leaned back as Carlo set down some
plates and a bottle of Grappa with two glasses. "Grazie,"
he said, sounding better than Buffy did. But then he always did.
She poured them both glasses,
held hers up and waited for him to match her gesture. "To the Slayer
Sanctuary." She threw the grappa back.
His eyebrows went up, but he
did the same after saying, "Here-here."
She expected him to cough, or
make a face. But he didn't. He just set the glass down, smiling ruefully as she
poured more.
"We should go
easy," he said, not looking at her.
"Why?"
"Because grappa's
powerful."
"So am I." Laughing,
she picked up her glass. "You make the toast this time."
He started to say something,
but then closed his mouth.
"Spit it out, Giles. No
fair holding back."
"Fine." He lifted
his glass a little higher. "To seeing the last of the Immortal." His
eyes dared her not to drink.
"Yeah. Who needs
him?"
They threw the drinks back.
"Why didn't you like
him, Giles?"
"I don't know. I just
didn't." He took a piece of pastry from the plate, ate it slowly, making
happy, tasty-food noises.
She took some, too, eating it
and another piece before asking, "He bugged you?"
"Yes, and I'd say it
exactly like that." He seemed to be looking around for Carlo. "We
should get some water."
"Why? We have
grappa."
"Yes, and we'll also
have hangovers. First rule of drinking, Buffy. Lots of water with your poison. Keeps
you hydrated."
"Funny how you never
taught me these lessons earlier." She frowned. "When I was underage—never
mind." Then she leaned forward. "Maybe I wouldn't have gone all cave
girl on that bespelled beer if I'd known the water trick?"
"Well, you'd have transformed
much more slowly, at least." His grin wasn't sad this time; it was a
little bit wicked.
"Drink up, Giles. I may
get those pant legs rolled up yet."
"Not a chance." He
looked up as Carlo came over. "Aqua. Con gasso."
"Si, signore." Carlo
hurried off.
"Remember how I thought
it meant gaseous water when we first got here?"
He smiled. "You've
changed since we've been here."
She reached over, touching
his hand. "The weight of the world is a lot less when you share it with
every other possible slayer."
He pulled his hand out from
under hers, not meeting her eyes as he said, "Yes, I imagine it is."
"You have an aversion to
touch?" She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest.
"No. It's just...we
don't. As a rule."
"We don't touch?"
"No." He poured
himself more grappa, then just stared at the glass.
Carlo brought their water,
setting the bottle and two big glasses down on the table before leaving them
quickly.
She poured more grappa into
her own glass. "Drinkey, drinkey."
He sighed, but then he threw
it back and set the glass back down hard on the table. She set hers down with
less force.
"What's wrong?" she
asked.
"Nothing."
"Look me in the eyes
when you say that. Is this about Ernest? Does he want something else?"
Giles met her eyes. His were
unreadable, and she was almost sorry she'd asked him to look at her.
Finally he looked away. "He did have some additional
suggestions."
"Can't wait for
this."
"More watchers. Here, I
mean. Working with the slayers."
She rolled her eyes. "I
hate to admit it, but it probably wouldn't be a bad idea. You can't do it
all."
"Being so old and
feeble, you mean?"
"Giles, please. This is
my pity party, remember? What else did he suggest?"
"He suggested I come
home."
"Well, you told him to
go to Hell, right? Only in some really English way?"
He looked away.
"Giles?" When he
still wouldn't answer her, she said, "Did you come here to say
goodbye?"
She remembered him leaving
her the first time. When she'd come back to life and needed him and didn't know
how to live anymore. And he'd left her, to make her stand on her own two feet. He'd
left her and thrown her right into Spike's arms.
"I haven't decided if
I'm going to go."
"I need you. You can't
go." She pushed the glasses out of the way and grabbed his hand, noticing
that he flinched at her grip. But she was barely holding him. She hadn't hurt
him. What was wrong with him? Letting go of him, she asked, "What did
Ernest say?"
He reached for the water
bottle, and she realized she was very thirsty, too. The grappa was doing
nothing to quench a thirst made more intense by the salty pastry, but it was
making her a little dizzy. When Giles poured her some water, she sucked half of
it down before putting the glass back on the table.
"Giles, what did Ernest
say?"
"He said I'm too close
to you."
"We've been through this
with Quentin. So what if you think of me as your
daughter?"
"That's not how I think
of you, anymore. I mean..."
"You mean that's not how
Ernest thinks you think of me?"
"Right." He drank
his water almost desperately. "Well, I believe I've had enough sun."
"Giles. You've barely
been out here." She grabbed him as he started to rise.
"I've had enough, Buffy.
Now let go." His eyes were Ripper eyes. His voice low and dangerous.
Then his expression changed. Became
less filled with anger, more one of...desire?
She didn't let him go, felt a
little sick. "How long?"
"Buffy, for the love of
God..."
"How long have you had
these feelings?"
"Not long. Not when you
were a child, I swear that. I know this is wrong. I know that I can't be around
you anymore."
"You can't?"
"Buffy. I hated the
Immortal because he was with you. For no other reason. And that's wrong. We're
very different, ages and tastes and what we've been through." He tried to
smile; the expression was more like a grimace. "And how would you say it? I'm
old and icky."
"Sit down, Giles."
"I really think it best
that I leave." But he quit trying to get up.
"Is that why you came to
Sorrento? To leave?"
"I came to make sure you
were all right." He pushed his glass away. "I did not come here to
drink grappa and spill unpleasant truths."
"How is it some watcher
you barely know can see how you feel about me, and I can't?"
"Perhaps I hide it
better around you." Giles voice dropped. "Or perhaps you never wanted
to see it?"
Closing her eyes, Buffy shook
her head. "So, you're just going to leave?"
"I'm going to leave
Sorrento. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to leave you."
"Oh." Stung, she
stood up, fishing in her pocket for money she'd forgotten to bring with her.
"I've got it." He
hurried away from her, to Carlo, handing him some bills. Then he walked back,
his eyes downcast, bare feet very white on the slate-covered ground. She didn't
think she'd ever seen him walk barefoot before, unless it was to answer the door
in the middle of the night, when there had been some crisis and she'd needed
him.
He'd always been there when
she'd needed him. Except when he'd left her. And now he might leave her again.
She didn't want him to leave.
"Walk with me on the beach some more."
"Buffy, no."
But she took his hand,
picking up his shoes with her other. "Grab your jacket. Unless you want to
leave it here, which would be a tragedy."
He laughed, but it was a
nervous laugh. "Buffy, I really think—"
"Giles, shut up and walk
on the beach with me."
He shut up and walked on the
beach with her. When she was sure he wasn't going to run away, she let go of
his hand.
"So," she asked. "How
long?"
"I don't know. It's been
since we've been in Rome. I'd blame it on the Italian air if I could."
She didn't say anything, just
moved toward the surf, grabbing his arm and pulling him with him. "Your
pants are going to get wet."
"I'm not rolling them
up."
"Suit yourself." She
pushed him. Hard. Too hard.
He nearly went down, had to
take several steps to steady himself. Steps into the water. His pants were
soaked up to his knees.
"Yes, well," he
said, looking down at his legs. "There we are, then."
"You're so damn
English." She brushed back a tear. She was crying, and she wasn't sure
why.
"And so damn old."
"I like older men. Or
haven't you noticed." She yelled the last part at him.
"Buffy, your older men
have all looked young. And they've been your equals." He sighed, walking
slowly out of the water as if unsure if she'd be throwing him right back in. "Even
Riley could keep up with you."
"Tell me you love
me." She could feel something uncoiling inside her. Something dark and
angry and hurt.
"I have always cared for
you, you know that."
"Tell me you're in love
with me." She sniffed, knew she probably looked like a little girl. The
little girl he'd had charge of. "Tell me."
"I don't know that it's
that. I'm just..."
"You're just what? Attracted
to me? Lusting after me? Do I figure in your fantasies? Do you lie in bed at
night and wonder what it would be like to hold me?"
He took a step back, into the
surf. "Yes, if you must know. Yes, I do." His voice went up, volume
rising, tone dropping. Then he turned, walking away from her.
She didn't call him back.
##
She sat in the moonlight,
watching as Giles walked up the path from the beach, his shoes still in his hands,
his coat back on, but his tie hanging half out of his jacket pocket. He saw her
and stopped, then turned to go back the way he came.
"Don't." Her voice
was calm. She'd had a long time to think. To wonder. To plan. To un-plan. To
plan some more.
And after all that time, she
still had no clear idea what she wanted to do. She only knew the anger inside
her was gone. Or had boiled down, anyway.
This was Giles. He'd never,
ever, done a thing to her that could have been seen as improper. He was no
skanky old man; he was her friend, her father figure, but not her father. She
had one of those, even if he hadn't been in her life for a very long time. Giles
had been her teacher, but now was more a partner.
That was the thing she'd
thought about most as she'd waited for him. How they'd teamed up to train the
new slayers. The Immortal hadn't been a part of that. He'd tried, but she'd
shut him out. And as she'd thought about it, she'd realized Giles had
encouraged her in that. He'd wanted that for himself. Wanted her for himself.
Moving very slowly, he walked
over to her.
"Sit."
"Buffy, I—"
"Don't make me make you
sit."
He sat. "You see. Right
there. That's why this can't work."
"I didn't say I wanted
it to work." She turned away, staring out at the sea.
"Oh. No. You didn't, did
you?" He set his shoes down. "I've had a lot of time to think."
"Me, too."
"And my head hurts from
the grappa."
She smiled, still not looking
at him. "Mine, too."
"And I deeply regret
that I even told you this."
"Do you?" She
turned to him, curling herself up in the chair so she could watch him. "What
would your excuse have been for leaving if you hadn't told me?"
"I don't know. I hadn't
gotten that far."
"Well, there's the tried
and true, 'You need to grow up, Buffy, and you'll never do that while I'm
here.' I can tell you from past experience, that one's a gut wrencher."
"Growing up isn't the
problem, Buffy. You've done that. Quite well."
"Yay me." She took
a deep breath. "I need you."
"Around. You need me
around. Or you think you do."
"Don't tell me what I
think."
"Why not? You'll no
doubt tell me what I think if this goes on long enough. You think you know me,
Buffy, but you don't. I believe I proved that this afternoon."
"You sure did." She
decided to take another tack. "Are you good in bed?"
"I beg your
pardon?" He was blushing. Even in the moonlight, she could make out the
dark flush.
"Is that a no?" She laughed, suddenly enjoying seeing him so
flustered.
"I can't really say. It's
rather a subjective thing, now isn't it?"
She laughed again.
"Stop that. It's quite
vexing."
"You're sounding really
British, you know?"
"I am really British,
you silly bint."
She could feel her jaw drop—he
sounded so much like Spike saying that.
"I didn't mean
that."
"Yes, you did. It was a
really good Spike imitation."
"Oh, yes, that's just
what I wanted to hear. That I remind you of him."
"I said you sounded like
him. It would take a lot more than turning one of his phrases for you to remind
me of him."
"Well, thank goodness
for small favors."
He sat scowling, and she
watched the moonlight play across his face. When he finally turned to look at
her, she smiled at him. It was the smile of partners. The smile she gave him
when their new slayers did something particularly good.
"Buffy, I have to admit
you've got me very confused right now."
"Only fair. You've got
me very confused right now."
"I didn't mean to do that.
I'm never drinking grappa again."
"I don't think it was
the grappa. I think you wanted me to know."
"Why would I—"
"Because I'm free. Right
now. Here. But I might not be for long. I might find someone new, and then
you'd lose your chance." She leaned forward. "I've had a lot of time
to think about this while I was waiting for you to finish your sandy
constitutional."
"I didn't come to
Sorrento to tell you."
"Maybe not consciously. But
that pesky subconscious could have spurred you on. I did take psych that short
time I was in college, Giles. Maggie Walsh may have been a mad scientist, but
she knew her stuff."
"Damn meddling
woman."
"Yeah, you called it. I
should have listened." She smiled. "Were you jealous of Riley?"
"No." His answer
was so immediate she knew he was telling the truth. "I felt sorry for him,
though. I could have told him the two of you weren't going to last."
"Why not?"
"I don't know exactly. You
didn't have the rapport you had with Angel. Or even with Spike."
"Or with you?"
"Our rapport is quite
different." He sighed. "Buffy, I am fully aware of how wrong what I
feel is. I was a caregiver. I should never have allowed my feelings to go this
way."
"Could you have stopped
them?"
He closed his eyes. "I
don't know." He got up. "I think the best thing for all concerned
would be for me to go work with Ernest. In London."
"I don't like that
plan." As she said it, she knew that she couldn't lose him again. "Come
on," she said, pushing herself out of her chair and holding out her hand
to him.
"Buffy, we're not going
to your room."
"You're damn right we're
not. In your dreams, maybe, but not in reality." Laughing, she pulled him
back out to the beach. The moon shone on the sea, making it look like there
were mermaids on the waves where the light rose and fell.
"Do mermaids
exist?" she asked, as she took his shoes and dropped them on the sand.
"I'm not sure."
It was an un-Giles answer,
and she frowned up at him.
"I'd normally say no,
Buffy. But tonight. Here. I can almost believe in them. Fey creatures that lure
you to the depths suddenly seem very real, for some reason."
"I'm not luring
you." She bent down and rolled up his pant legs. As he started to protest,
she said, "Not one word, Giles."
When she'd finished her
masterpiece, she took his hand. It lay limp in hers. "For this to work,
you have to try."
"For what to work?"
"Just trust me,
Giles." She felt his fingers slowly close around her hand. His hand was
bigger, felt solid and warm. Not bad. She looked up at him.
"And now...?"
"We walk." Leading
him out into the sand, she sighed as the waves rushed over her legs, then
laughed as the sand fell away under her feet, following the waves back out to
sea.
"Buffy, what are you
doing?"
"When you buy a car, you
test drive it. When you buy furniture, you sit on it. When you buy clothes, you
try them—"
"I get the idea. And how
far do you plan to carry the analogy?"
She stared up at him. He was
watching her, a strange look in his eyes. One part anger. One part
helplessness. One part amusement. One part pure lust.
"This far," she said,
pulling him down to her, his face to hers, his lips to hers.
He didn't resist, and she had
a feeling he was doing this to humor her. And maybe because he thought it would
be the only chance he ever had to do it.
He was a good kisser. That
surprised her. He didn't push too hard, but he wasn't tentative, either. He
didn't try to grope her as he was kissing her. His mouth opened only once hers
did. His tongue didn't attack, but caressed hers.
When they pulled away, she
smiled. "Get gone with your bad self, Giles. You've been holding out on
me."
He looked rather pleased with
himself.
"So, was it what you
thought it would be?" she asked.
He didn't look away as he
said, "It was. And more."
She touched his face and felt
a strange conflict, like the old Giles was rushing away from her. "Can we
go slow?"
"Of course."
"I mean, possibly
glacially slow. I don't want to lose you by rushing into this and finding out
it was the wrong thing."
"Yes. I understand that
fear."
She felt him touch her hair,
his fingers rubbing gently at the nape of her neck, causing shivers all the way
down her spine. "That's nice," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
He looked very pleased with
himself again. "It is, isn't it? I wasn't sure if you'd like it. Not
everyone does, though I can't imagine why not."
She laughed in relief. He
sounded exactly like her old Giles—gawky and gentle and very, very British.
"You have to promise me
one thing," she said.
"And what, pray tell, is
that?"
"That if this doesn't
work, you won't leave me."
"Buffy..."
"Hey, Xander managed to
hang despite a major jones."
"Was that even
English?"
She punched him playfully. "Yes.
And you understood it. You are fluent, by now, in Buffy-ese."
"I am." He let her
take his hand and pull him along. "I might point out, however, that Xander
was a sixteen-year-old boy. His heart was very resilient. Mine, being much,
much older, is far more fragile."
She looked up at him. "Then
I'll just have to be careful with it, won't I?"
"Yes, you will."
"Promise me you won't
run away if this doesn't work, and I'll promise to be very, very gentle telling
you it doesn't work. Deal?"
"Deal." He drew her
to him, letting go of her hand and tucking his arm around her.
It felt good. Odd, but good.
She leaned her head back,
gazing up at him.
Smiling down at her, he
asked, "How slowly, again? Glacially, did you say?"
"Well, maybe not that
slow."
He bent down, kissing her
gently. But she could sense that he was holding back. That there was some of
the Ripper fire under the British respectability. When he finally backed off,
they were both smiling.
"So, Giles. Mermaids? Real
or not?"
"We've seen too much for
me to say they don't exist."
"What about the sirens? Every
rock around here is claimed to have been their resting place." She leaned
into him, glad that he was holding her, but also glad that he wasn't trying to
do anything else.
This would take some time. Time
to switch over. Or time to figure out that switching over was a really bad
idea.
"Women that lure
innocent men to their doom? Again, how could I question that?" His look
was different than before, when he'd answered about the mermaids. It was light
and teasing and sexy—even if it was a little gross to think that.
Giles...sexy? Giles...kissing
her?
It really was odd. But...in a
nice way.
"Brave new world,"
she murmured as they walked on, into the moonlight.
FIN