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It was afternoon in the fall of the year, that time when the light takes on a magical, golden glow that seems to both obscure and illuminate at the same time. The dying sun angled its rays into the high windows of the large room, causing dust motes to dance in its path. It was a cavernous space, formerly crammed with decades of useless junk. Now, it had been cleaned and cleared, save for a study area at one end and a variety of wall lockers at the other. The floor was littered with exercise mats and odd weapons... stakes, a mace, two quarterstaves. A carrying case lay open, its contents catching the last sparks of daylight. Two beautifully carved swords, complete with handmade silk cords hanging from the hilts, gleamed with just-polished splendor.
The person in the room was not utilizing the generous space for exercise at the moment. The slender, petite blonde-haired girl had a damp white towel slung around her shoulders, evidence of her earlier activities, but now was sitting cross-legged on a faded couch near the desk. Her lap was completely covered with an ancient, leather bound book. She was bent over the pages, her long hair obscuring her face as she read. Whatever it was, it absorbed her completely.
A slight shuffle of feet caused her to raise her head. The tall man paused in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with easy confidence. He, too, sported a sweaty towel around his neck, and his steel gray T-shirt was darkened with perspiration. She smiled happily up at him, and he returned the smile briefly before his face relaxed into its carefully neutral expression.
"Did you find something of interest in Cereous' writing?" He took a long draught from the chilled water bottle in his hand, gulping the cool liquid for a few seconds as he waited for her reply.
"Yeah, I did," she agreed, the smile never leaving her face. Her eyes danced with excitement. "It was just like you said, Giles. He really understood her better than she thought. If I hadn't read her diary first, I would've thought he was a real jerk, but he was right a lot more than he was wrong." She shook her head in amazement. "And he was older than you when she became the Slayer, but he still figured her out."
Giles gave a sigh of satisfaction. "The so-called generation gap exists mostly in one's mind, I'm afraid."
She nodded thoughtfully, then grinned more widely again. "Except for music, of course. 'Cause, face it, Giles, old guys just can't handle the cool stuff any more."
"Oh, of course not. And those of the "younger generation" simply insist on trying out a new form of auditory insult at every juncture."
"Auditory insult? That's a good one! You're a laugh riot."
"I try." He tossed her an unopened bottle of spring water, and she caught it easily, twisting her wrist slightly so that it was upright as she did. "Nice catch."
"Thanks." Silence reigned for a few moments as she eagerly drained the plastic container. She gave a sigh of relief when she finished. "Really, thanks, Giles. That hit the spot."
"My pleasure."
"Sure, you love waiting on me hand and foot. Now, come and sit down for a little while. I'm not finished with ol' Serious'es journal."
"Cereous," Giles corrected mildly, crossing to sit opposite her on the sofa. "Where have you gotten to?"
She shifted slightly, turning the huge volume so he could see if he wished. "Just after the brush with the Master. Wow!" She tossed her hair, amazed that something written almost one hundred years before could effect her so deeply. "She went through so much of the same stuff I did! It's just... unbelievable."
"And yet, there it is. Evidence that you are, indeed, somewhat normal. For a Slayer, that is."
She laughed softly as she turned the fragile page. "Me, normal? Yeah, right. Oh, look, that's all there is of this one. Where's Volume Two?"
Giles cleared his throat, sounding ever so slightly uncomfortable. "I didn't bring it today. You can look at it some other time, if you like."
"I like. When I said I wanted to learn about the other Slayers... the ones that went before me... I had no idea it would actually be interesting."
Giles said wryly, "When you see volume two of Cereous' journal, you'll think interesting! More like 'shocking'!"
"Really? No way. Not ol' Seriously Stuffy, here!"
"Yes, way," he said easily, making her giggle. "Cereous and Angelica were a rather, um, controversial pair. Highly successful, though. I'm studying his techniques for some of our future sessions. He was one of the few Watchers who continued his Slayer's training into her twenties. She lived to be twenty-five, the second-longest-living Slayer on record."
"Cool." She looked at the last few words on the wrinkled, yellowed page in front of her. "Who was the first? Longest, I mean."
He ignored her question, pointing instead to a sentence in the next to the last paragraph. "See, here? Augustus refers to Angelica as 'too stubborn to die and too beautiful to live.' I always thought that was a lovely sentiment."
"Don't change the subject. Who was first?" She wasn't giving up.
His smile was almost melancholy. "Must you know that, right now?"
"Giles." Her voice was firm, her dark blue eyes fixed on his green ones. "I need to know everything right now. You know that. Not only am I totally impatient," He snickered briefly. "but the clock is always ticking. I wanna be ready for anything."
He nodded. She deserved to know how he felt. "You will be first, Buffy."
Her eyes widened. "Me? You meant me?"
"Yes, because you're going to live long enough to retire and spend your declining years playing with your grandchildren. I intend to see to it."
Her face became a kaleidoscope of emotions. He watched, one arm braced on the back of the couch, as she settled on being flattered, and scooted slightly closer. "Aw, Giles. That's so sweet. Thank you."
"Once again, my pleasure."
She tilted her head to one side and stared at him, her eyes thoughtful. "Maybe."
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. She leaned her head against his outstretched arm.
"Are you finished with the journal, Buffy?" His voice was soft and persuasive, as it had been during their earlier training sessions... he kept her focused with his smooth, unhurried tones. Encouragement, instruction, reprimand... all delivered with such single-mindedness and love.
Love...
She snuggled against his arm, deliberately rubbing her cheek against the cooling skin in the crook of his elbow. He'd spent the last half of their workout sparring with her, and had done surprisingly well. All that running had paid off. He was in great shape. His muscles bunched under her cheek as he pulled her closer.
"Are you through with the journal?" he asked again, just as softly. His fingers found their way into her hair, stroking softly.
"Mmmm. Read the whole thing. All done."
"Good girl." He slid the book off her lap and moved to massage her neck and shoulders, using both hands to aid him in loosening her muscles. "Any questions? Something on your mind that you need to tell me?"
Her head slid along his arm until it rested against his shoulder. "Urrrrrrgggghhhh."
"I'm sorry, what was that?" His voice grew lighter, teasing her.
Her voice muffled against his chest, she finally responded, "You know I can't form coherent sentences when you're giving me a massage."
"Ah. I see. What excuse do you have for the rest of the time, then, hmmm?"
She dug her fingers into his ribs, and he yelped involuntarily. "Nobody likes a smart ass," she growled.
He chuckled, then resumed his careful probing, his fingers sinking into her muscles at exactly the right pressure points to turn her into complete mush. "But, you do like me, don't you?" He kept his words soft and soothing as she relaxed against him again, responding in spite of herself.
A low moan answered him.
"Buffy, you didn't answer me. That makes me feel rather... insecure."
"Hmmm?"
"I need a bit of... reassurance." He whispered the last sentence into her ear, and she shivered involuntarily. His hands pulled her against him as he increased their pressure, digging into her weary muscles, finding hidden soreness and drawing it out with measured strokes.
She lifted her head until she was breathing on his neck, exhaling roughly each time he found a particularly tender spot. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to mask his reaction in deep breathing. Nothing drove him crazy like her soft, warm breath against his skin.
Satisfaction spread across her face at his desperately controlled gasps. 'Works every time', she thought naughtily. "You were asking me something, Giles...?"
"Was I? Oh. Yes. Right." He took another calming breath. "I was asking if you like me, despite my being a 'smart ass'."
"Well, you're a cute one."
He barked a laugh in response.
"And the smart part is really major. So, if you are an ass occasionally, I guess it's better to be a smart one than a dumb one."
He was laughing again as he pulled her into a warm hug. "You are delightful, love."
"I bet you say that to all the Slayers."
He pulled away just enough to look deep into her eyes. "There's only one."
"One Slayer?"
"Oh, no." He tilted her head with a bent finger under her chin, and kissed her soundly. When his lips released hers, he whispered, "One Buffy. One... beautiful... Buffy..."
She melted against him then, finding his mouth again and expressing her appreciation of his words without using any herself. She succeeded in removing his glasses, mussing his hair, and untucking his shirt from his jeans before he even knew what was happening. Her hands danced across his stomach, aiming for his chest.
The sun was completely gone when they came up for air. In the twilight that remained, they sat and gazed at each other, overwhelmed by the newness of their relationship. Finally, as if satisfied with the message his eyes had delivered to hers, she relaxed, allowing him to turn her until she was leaning back against his chest.
He cradled her comfortably, stroking her arm with one hand while his other rested against her stomach.
The front door bell jingled, effectively interrupting their quiet moment. They sighed in concert, rolling their eyes as they disentangled themselves from each other and the sagging couch. They were both reasonably presentable by the time their little interruption made herself known.
Dawn looked at her older sister and the Watcher with thinly veiled impatience. "Can we go home now? I don't like it here. There was a dead guy here, and besides, this place is just... dusty."
Buffy grabbed her purse and handed Giles his glasses at the same time. "I have an idea! You can dust everything yourself and quit griping..." She threw her towel at Dawn, who caught it with difficulty.
"... or, go home after school and stay out of my hair. Then you won't have to deal with dust."
"Mom won't let me stay home by myself, or I would, Miss Smarty." Dawn made a face at Buffy, then followed her out to Giles' new car. Somehow, she doubted there'd be anything cool on the radio on the way home. Giles always made her buckle up, too, which was totally parental.
Buffy mouthed an apology to Giles as he drove, and he favored her with a temperate smile and a pat on the hand. If Dawn noticed, she certainly didn't mention it.
At the house, Giles pulled up to the curb and waited while Buffy let Dawn out of the car. Joyce's Cherokee was parked in the driveway, indicating that she was home from work. Dawn started towards the house, then looked back when Buffy wasn't following. She saw her big sister get back into Giles car, and yelled, "Hey! Mom's gonna wonder why you didn't come in!"
"We have a few errands to run. I'll be back before supper." Buffy climbed back into the little red convertible and belted herself in.
"You're gonna get in trouble!"
Buffy waved jauntily as they drove off. She sighed heavily and put her head against the seat. "Deliver me from baby sisters, please, God."
Giles chuckled. "You poor thing. It must be terrible, having a sister."
"I guess it's not all bad." She frowned, feeling she'd said something wrong, but she didn't know what it was.
Giles turned the corner at the end of the street, and said conversationally, "You haven't told me where we're going."
She rolled her head until she could look at him, smiling sweetly. "Your place. You need to finish my massage."
"Ah."
"Is that okay?" She was afraid she might be presuming too much, with their feelings being so new.
He grinned widely and took the next turn. "More than okay."
********
"Hi, honey!" Joyce gave the slender teen a quick kiss on the forehead. "How was school today? Did you ace the math test, like I said you would?"
"I guess." Dawn grabbed an apple, tossing it experimentally as she climbed onto a barstool. "Buffy took off with Giles again. She supposed to be back for supper."
"Oh, okay. I ought to let Mr. Giles feed her for a week or two. He'd be glad to bring her home early, then."
Dawn giggled. She couldn't imagine Giles in an apron, cooking. "More food for us!"
"Way more." Joyce turned to take a dish out of the refrigerator and said firmly, "Now, young lady, upstairs, do your homework, and no TV until you're done. Scoot."
"Aw, Mom, you sound just like Giles."
Joyce straightened at that. "What do you mean?"
Dawn took on a snooty expression, and intoned, "Dawn, don't play with the battle ax!. Dawn, put down that crystal! Dawn, leave the radio alone! Dawn, fasten your seat belt!" She sighed dramatically. "He treats me like a kid."
"He's watching out for you. And, you are a kid." Joyce ruffled the child's dark hair affectionately. "A kid who needs to do her homework."
"I'm not a kid!" She ducked the unwanted caress, and started dragging herself off the barstool. "Besides, Giles doesn't treat Buffy that way. He yells at me, but Buffy's perfect... Buffy's special. Buffy never does anything wrong!"
"Honey, Buffy's the Slayer. That is special, whether she likes it or not, and it's not an easy thing to be. He treats her differently because she is different."
Dawn snorted. "He doesn't treat her like a Slayer. He treats her like..."
The resentment in the girl's voice caused a warning bell to go off in Joyce's head. "Dawn..." Her voice was firm. "Don't be mean."
Dawn dashed for the stairs, flinging her last words into the hall. "He treats her like his girlfriend!"
Pause