Beholden
by: Koala
Rated NC-17
SUMMARY, THIS PART: At 22, Buffy finds herself an ex-Slayer and college graduate in search of a normal life. For years, Giles has been reluctantly playing the role of a father for her, but when her mother suddenly remarries, Buffy has a real father figure in her life. Meanwhile Giles, who is unemployed, injured, and aware that Buffy is slipping away from him, is spiralling into serious depression. But a single event is about to change everything...
SPOILERS: Season 3, then branching into AU.
RATING: NC-17 for adult content, mature themes, violence, and language.
DISTRIBUTION: Koala's Tome, Gabi's B/G FanFic Archive. Anyone else, ask and it's yours!
DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and concepts are copyright ©1997-2000 20th Century Fox, WB Television, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy. I just borrowed them to put them through a little hell. The story and all other characters are mine.
Part 1: End of the Line
Moonlight touched the rain-slicked streets of Sunnydale like a gentle caress of a lover's kiss. Rupert Giles looked down at those streets, three floors below the marble terrace of Grayson Hall, and contemplated, in all seriousness, if such a fall were high enough to guarantee a broken neck. After a lengthy pause, which an observer, had there been one, may have mistaken for indecision, Giles scoffed at the notion and withdrew from the handrail. With his luck, he would probably just break his other leg, thus reducing himself to be even more dependent on the rest of the world.
Tightening his grip on the cane in his left hand, he drained the alcohol from the champagne flute held in the other, then placed the glass on the balustrade beside his growing collection of empties. Several more glassfuls would no doubt help to dull the ache in his injured leg, and, if he drank enough, the ache in his soul.
Before him, through open French doors lavishly adorned with white lace and roses, a wedding reception was in full swing, the cheery interior lighting presently pushing an unwanted triangle of brightness up against the familiar dark and solitude of his terrace. He should go back inside. He should smile cordially, mingle with the other guests, and pretend everything was fine. But the silhouetted terrace better suited his present mood, the moonlight cultivating the despair in his heart, and the raindrops, so recent, falling in lieu of his own unshed tears. When had the world of light and laughter grown so in contrast to his life of obscurity and gloom?
With a scowl, Giles glanced down at the invading patch of light, just inches beyond the toes of his polished black shoes. It was odd, these days, to feel such an affinity with the darkness, to be so comfortable in the night, considering he had spent the better part of his adult life fighting the creatures and demons that dwelled within it. But his time as Watcher had passed, the Sunnydale Hellmouth sealed for good. The vampires and demons, which had been partly responsibility for bringing him to California so many years before, had literally packed up their bags and left for greener pastures. Evil, in all its many guises, was now fought elsewhere in the world, by those more capable and better suited to the job.
'Those more able-bodied,' Giles thought grimly. 'Those who don't hide in the darkness, wallowing in self-pity.'
Turning back to the moonlit street, he tugged at the collar of his tuxedo in a vain attempt to loosen it. Bloody rented monkey suit, he couldn't wait to get home and shed it. But the Summers-Holbrook wedding was a formal event, and required black tie despite personal discomforts. Until the evening was over, he would just have to make do, if he wanted to save face.
With a maudlin smile, he gave up on his collar. It was not the first time since sustaining the life-altering injury to his leg that Giles had considered ending it all, nor the first time that a social gathering, such as this, had inspired it. Nothing like a personal demonstration of how bloody worthless one's life had become to induce thoughts of suicide. The incessant pain was another inducer; pain brought on three years ago, after an encounter with a gang of over-enthusiastic vampires, in particular with one wielding a sledgehammer, had left him with a shattered left femur. Living with that pain was unpleasant, true enough, but it was the loss of mobility that had enforced the unwelcome changes. Like the way he had given up his cozy, Spanish-styled condo for a boring single-story home, when the simple task of climbing the stairs to his loft became a near impossibility. Like the pity he now saw reflected in the eyes of others, how Buffy and her friends obviously considered him to be a waste of space.
And they were right. He had not even been capable of holding a part time position at the college, teaching history, when getting out of bed in the morning became too much of an effort. He had no job, no friends beyond his small circle of over-tolerant young people, who themselves were going their own ways in life, no direction. In fact, the only thing Giles did have going for him, was his steady downward spiral into deep depression.
A cheer went up inside the reception hall. At least out on the terrace, the cacophony of happy-sappy wedding music was blessedly subdued. Giles shook his head in abject amazement. Who would have thought that Joyce Summers would actually marry that pompous antique dealer? What was his name; the chap with whom she had been arguing, incessantly, for the past two years? Yet, here they were, as of a few hours ago, husband and wife.
Yes, indeed, here they were. Tonight, Joyce took a new husband, and Buffy gained a stepfather.
Half turning, Giles parked himself on the marble balustrade next to his collection of empty champagne flutes. Indifferent to the precarious nature of his perch, he contemplated Buffy, and his waning role in her life. At 22, Buffy had seen more death and destruction than most people saw in a lifetime, yet through it all, or maybe because of it all, she had developed a strong maternal streak, which to Giles' surprise, had led to a desire to work with children. Kindergarten, preferably, and to achieve this objective, upon graduation from UCS she had taken a part time job at her mother's gallery while she pursued a formal teaching degree.
It was also a period of physical adjustment for Buffy. She had recently lost her Slayer strength, permanently and irrevocably this time, as a natural part of the Slayer equivalent of 'old-age retirement'. That, in itself, should have been cause for celebration, if only for the simple fact that Buffy had cheated the odds and survived long enough to retire. But her adjustment was proving to be a difficult one, as she faced life, with all its mundane little problems, sans the finely honed skills and taken-for-granted strength to which she had become accustomed. Unofficially, she had served longer than any Slayer in recorded Council history, and it angered and saddened Giles that such a wonderful achievement should be the thing to bring them both so much grief.
As if Buffy needed to deal with more changes in her life, now she had a new father figure, a role Giles had been playing for years, despite the wail in his heart. It was how their mutual friends regarded their relationship, even though, in actuality, that relationship defied standard categorization. Having left behind the official liaison of Watcher/Slayer, Giles and Buffy had progressed through being so much more than 'just friends', moved slightly to the left of father/daughter, yet still remained a long, long way from becoming lovers.
Rubbing his hand over his brow, Giles sighed despondently. No matter what they meant to each other, he would always be there for her. Case in point: his attendance tonight. It was only because Buffy had literally gone down on her knees and begged him. Moral support, she said. So she didn't have to attend her mother's wedding with only her mother's friends for company, she said. Yet earlier, while watching her flirt with one of her mother's said male friends, it had been quite clear that she did not actually want or require his support, moral or otherwise. Right then, Giles suspected her invitation had come from pity, a kindly act to help relieve the boredom of his bleak little life.
And as if to add insult to injury, Philip What's-His-Face, the berk who had gained her favor, looked to be in his late forties. His age, damn it!
'Jealous, old man?' his conscience asked.
"No," Giles said to the darkness. That was insane. A 'father' did not become jealous of his 'daughter's' choice of men. That prerogative belonged to lovers. Disapproval, then. 'Friends' disapproved. Yes, that was it. He strongly disapproved of the prat.
'And if the bastard so much as even looks at her in a lewd manner, so help me I'll... '
Giles sighed again, reining back the errant emotion. Over the years, he had watched Buffy fall in and out of love with more worthless cretins than he could count. But she was an adult, and it was not his place to interfere with her love life, not even when she gave herself to those undeserving pillocks, heart, body, and soul. It always broke his heart whenever one of them broke hers.
The truth of the matter was that Buffy no longer needed him. She had moved on, or was attempting to, anyway. She had taken his well-intended 'fatherly' advice to put vampire slaying behind her and try to live a normal life, and was pursing that goal, without him. Only a fool would stay, and Giles foolishly had. For a life without Buffy was one not worth living, no matter the role he was reduced to play, or the screaming ache buried deep in his heart. It was why he had not returned to his native soil when his official Watcher duties had expired, and why taking a header from a third story balcony was not a bona fide solution.
Only Buffy kept him tethered to that elusive world of light and laughter. Only Buffy kept him from plummeting all the way into the deep, dark pit of total despair...
"Thought I might find you out here."
Giles looked up, tucking his melancholy thoughts behind a ready smile, as the object of both his joy and his misery strode out onto the to rain-washed terrace. As always Buffy was a vision of loveliness, absolutely breathtaking.
"I'm sorry," he said, shifting his seat on the balustrade. Looking down, he dug the tip of his cane into the marble by his shoe. "I didn't mean to be a--"
"--party poop," Buffy cut in gleefully.
He couldn't keep the grin off his face; she just had that affect on him. Buffy Summers was every bit as intoxicating as the fine champagne he had consumed. "If you say."
"I say," she returned. With a lopsided smile to prove she was only teasing, she pushed another full flute into his hand, unaware of his collection of empties or the buzz he was already working on.
As she raised her own glass for a swallow, his eyes took an involuntary wander. Her golden hair hung free and unrestrained over her bare shoulders, and her satin gown hugged her shapely curves in a most provocative manner. The way she moved, the way she smiled; she exuded sex appeal. Whether or not she intended it, Buffy presented herself as enticing package to be unwrapped and enjoyed. It was no wonder she had men flinging themselves at her feet.
"What?" she asked self-consciously, noting his stare.
Giles raised his glass, hiding his definitely-not-paternal appreciation behind the action. "Nothing."
"You missed them cutting the cake."
"I'm sorry," he said again.
"No, you're not." She stopped before him, and looked into his eyes--the only woman, ever, to possess the ability to look right through into his soul. "What're you doing out here anyway? All by your lonesome? When there's dancing and good times to be had."
"I was... just thinking."
"Brooding, more like it."
"Buffy... "
"Admit it. You're out here brooding, while I'm stuck in there fending for myself." She took another sip of alcohol, then smiled outrageously, giving Giles the distinct impression that this was not her first glass of champagne, either. "That wasn't the deal, y'know."
Stung by the memory of her recent flirting with a man close to his own age, Giles squared his shoulders, feeling oddly defensive. "You didn't look as though you needed, or wanted, my company."
Buffy frowned, but it came out as a pout. Yes, indeed, she was well on the way to being soused.
"Philip Mac--Monk--Mancuso," she said, stumbling over his surname, "is precisely the reason I brought you along. You're supposed to be my date. You were supposed to rescue me."
Swallowing champagne, Giles cocked an eyebrow at her choice of words, and let his look say it all. Just last night, she had reiterated, yet again, that their attendance together by no means fell into the category of 'a date'. Oblivious to his non-verbal rebuke, Buffy upended her glass and chased the last drop with her tongue. Inexorably drawn to watch, Giles suddenly forgot what they were talking about.
Finally spying the empty flutes beside him, Buffy broke into giggles and reached around him to add hers to the collection. "You've been a busy boy out here. Naughty Giles. Now who's gonna drive us home?"
Rescuing her glass before the whole lot ended up on the street below, he grinned drunkenly and said, "Of the two of us, I suspect you're correct in assuming that someone is going to wake up tomorrow morning feeling abysmal, but from experience I know it shan't be me." Her expression, as her inebriated brain attempted to process what he just said, amused him further. "Buffy, I do believe you're smashed."
"Am not," she protested. Then she smiled, leaning into him. Since Giles was already seated on the marble balustrade, she ended up between his legs with her hands flat against his chest. Eye to eye, nose to nose. "Not totally anyway." Shying away from the closeness she had inadvertently created, she said, "Ooh, look! Cake!"
Buffy darted inside, as a circling waiter, this time bearing slices of wedding cake rather than champagne flutes, passed by the French doors. She was only gone for a moment, then swaggered back out onto the rain-washed terrace with her cake plate in hand, triumphantly eating a forkful of her prize.
Still sipping the champagne she had brought him, Giles playfully asked, "Don't I get any?"
"Sure you do." Innocently returning to her previous position between his legs, she surprised them both by lifted her laden fork toward his mouth.
Their eyes met over a hefty lump of cake topped by fluffy white frosting, their gazes caught and held by the sudden intimacy of the moment. Hesitantly, Giles opened his mouth to accept the forkful of cake, oblivious to crumbs dappling the front of his rented tux, and the blob of frosting left at the corner of his mouth. His whole attention was riveted to the sensual way Buffy's lips and tongue mimicked his as she fed him.
She smiled, her eyes dancing with devilish delight as he swallowed, her empty fork in one hand, her cake plate still in the other. Noting the errant bit of frosting at the corner of his mouth, she leaned in closer, without conscious thought to her actions or the repercussions, and diligently licked it clean.
Something, more potent than anything Giles had ever felt before, broke free of restraint and stirred into life, quickening his heartbeat and making his blood roar through his veins.
Withdrawing slightly, Buffy met his gaze in the moonlight of the terrace. The significance of what she had just done was not lost on her, and Giles abruptly realized that, right now, as insane as it may be, she craved the very same thing he did. Time slowed for them, until the undisguised lust in her eyes made his breath catch in his throat. He wondered if Buffy could see, in his eyes, just how much he mirrored the emotion.
Since neither of them had a free hand, they simply leaned toward one another, inexplicably drawn by their mutual and unexpected need. Had either given thought to the implications of what they were about to do, then both would have stopped immediately. But this was not a time for rationalization. This was a stolen moment, a precious, illicit instant when 'want' and 'desire' were the only things that mattered.
Giles met her halfway this time, still too much a gentleman, despite the alcohol, to not give her the opportunity to back out if she changed her mind. But Buffy didn't back away, and he witnessed, at close range, the delicate way her lashes fell closed on her cheeks, and the slight tilt of her head, an instant before he, too, closed his eyes in sweet anticipation. Their lips touched, lightly at first, testing each other for the very first time, before settling more firmly into a deepening kiss.
She tasted sweet and tart, of sugary vanilla frosting spiced with the fruity tang of champagne, and it didn't take long for him to begin devouring the erotic flavor of her. Buffy reciprocated, hungrily drinking him in, her tongue seeking his as a partner for a passionate dance. Since their mouths were their only point of physical contact, Giles thought to free up his hands and gather her into an embrace. Letting go his cane, he blindly sought purchase for his champagne flute on the balustrade... but instead knocked over the entire collection of empty glasses. They scattered like crystal bowling pins, and the noise of them crashing, sequentially, on the concrete below instantly shattered the amorous spell they had both fallen under.
Breathless and flushed, they parted, embarrassed, as reality kicked back in. Buffy bowed her head, unable to meet his gaze, and busily stirred the frosting-cake mixture on her plate into an unpalatable mess. Giles floundered, frustrated, having no clear explanation to offer for his wanton, and totally inexcusable, behavior.
"Buffy, I--"
"Don't say it." She still refused to look at him, and instead pointed a forkful of cake-mess at him in an accusatory gesture. "I don't wanna hear you say you're sorry because you kissed me."
"But I--"
"No!" she insisted. Finally, she looked up, shaking with emotion. "Just... don't. Okay? Just forget it ever happened."
Beseeching, he held her gaze in the moonlight, his heart pouring out of his eyes. He didn't know what else to say, except apologize for his momentary lapse of sanity. What in God's name had possessed him to kiss her like that?
"Buffy," Giles began again. He reached for his cane and pushed to his feet. The touch of his hand on her shoulder brought her reluctant gaze back to his, and he was appalled to find her almost in tears. He shook his head, searching for words that would magically return their prior status quo, and make everything all right again. But no power in Heaven or on Earth would ever make him forget that kiss.
She shrugged away from under his hand, still holding his gaze and breathing hard. In one brief instant, with one brief act, they had torn down the barriers of 'father/daughter', crashed right on through the roadblocks of 'just friends', and were now careening, wildly out of control, straight towards...
When she turned and fled, his whole world turned upside down.
"Buffy!"
But nothing would ever be the same between them again.
* * *
Buffy's heart raced, pounding the blood and desire through her veins at such breakneck speed that she thought she was about to do one of those girlie-girl things she had missed between the ages of 16 and 22, and actually faint.
'Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.' She had kissed Giles! And not just kissed, but kissed, kissed! She couldn't wait to tell Willow!
Pulling up short as she reached the tables in the main reception area, Buffy took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. It was better than the alternative, the collapsing dead away under the impact of Giles' kiss, and then having everybody in the place ask her what was wrong--including her mother.
Tell Willow what? That she enjoyed kissing Giles? And that she wanted to do it again?
No, that was crazy! It wasn't that it had been a bad experience, quite the opposite actually, rather that it had put her into this tailspin of emotions that she never, once, saw coming. All she had seen was the truth in Giles' gentle green eyes, felt his tender yet passionate response to her, and caught a tantalizing glimpse the forbidden fantasy, if she were to succumb to him completely...
Okay, now she was having decidedly naughty thoughts as well. Definitely too much champagne for Buffy...
Realizing she was creating a bit of a stir with her heavy breathing and restless stance, Buffy headed across to the table where she had been sitting, seeking privacy. Maybe rushing to tell Willow she had kissed Giles wasn't such a good idea after all, at least not until she figured out exactly what that meant, and where it was going, if it was going anywhere at all. She had told him to forget it, and it was with a lance through her heart that she wondered if he would.
Beside, Willow had enough 'man troubles' of her own, what with Xander having joined the army. He was presently in Georgia, at Fort Benning to be precise, and what Willow related of his daily woes only convinced Buffy that every thing she ever heard about Boot Camp was true. Willow missed him, but Buffy missed them both, since Willow was presently living in San Francisco. She had moved there last summer, after nailing a job writing software code for some big conglomerate. What she really wanted to do was become a Watcher, although Buffy couldn't, for the life of her, understand why.
Sitting alone at her table, Buffy put her plate of now completely gross cake-mess aside, and sighed, suddenly despondent. From their frequent phone conversations, it was obviously that Willow missed Xander terribly. She didn't mean to be, but Buffy couldn't help from being jealous of that relationship; the closeness and devotion you got when you fell in love with your very best friend.
"Why so glum, cara mia?"
She looked up, surprised. It was Philip Mancuso, charming, handsome, Italian, friend or acquaintance of her mother's, or her new stepfather's--she wasn't sure which. He pulled out the chair beside her and sat with his hand covering hers on the white linen tabletop, just as the band tuned up in preparation of a new set.
"I was just thinking," Buffy admitted truthfully, the champagne having loosened her tongue, "that love really bites."
Philip laughed. "I understand, precisely, what you mean."
The band began to play an irresistible Latin rhythm, immediately encouraging dancers out onto the hardwood floor in the center of the room.
Philip tugged on her hand, trying hard to pull her from her suddenly blue mood. "Dance with me?"
"Oh, I don't think--"
"Come," he said with a sexy smile. "I will teach you all you need to know."
With a flush, Buffy allowed him to pull her to her feet, wondering if he talking about dancing or... other things. Philip was Giles' age, not that that bothered her, and if she danced with him, if she closed her eyes while he held her in his arms, maybe she could pretend she was dancing with Giles...
* * *
Giles fought with his conscience, whether or not to go after Buffy. Should he let her be, with the hope that in the morning she would remember none of it? Or should he give chase now, when they were both still obviously under the influence of too much champagne, and pursue the matter further? Would that make matters better, or worse?
They had shared a kiss. Not a friendly peck on the cheek or quick smack on the lips, either, but a real kiss, one reserved for lovers only. It meant something--it definitely meant something--but Giles was at a loss unraveling what. So far, he could only be certain of one thing; kissing Buffy had brought consequences neither of them was ready to deal with.
The very memory of her lips against his left him breathless. How many nights had he awoken, sweating, from illicit fantasies of kissing her? And more. Lord, so much more. He had never before let himself hope that she had done the same, but now he had good cause to wonder. Had his ever been the face to come to her in her dreams? But Buffy's reaction seemed more in keeping with a nightmare rather than a dream come true. Did he really repulse her that much?
By the time Giles decided to seize the moment and to go after Buffy, he found her, once again, taking refuge in the arms of another man. Philip Mancuso no less, whose Mediterranean good looks and Italian accent had obviously helped charm many a woman off her feet and into his bed. But tonight Mancuso would strike out where Buffy was concerned. Giles would see to that.
Luckily, the clinch Buffy and Mancuso currently shared was on the dance floor rather than in a cozy corner, so it could be excused as perfunctory, as opposed to romantic. But as Giles reached the edge of the hardwood dance floor, the mood shifted dramatically. The overhead lighting lowered, subdued to match the slow love song the band began to play. Couples instantly melted into each other, relishing the intimate contact in such a public place.
Watching Buffy fall into Mancuso's waiting arms made Giles seethe with something he did not stop to identify. Limping purposefully between the closely swaying bodies blocking his path, Giles muttered rough excuses to those he inadvertently disrupted, and headed steadfastly toward the similarly embraced pair on the other side of the floor. Buffy, her head resting against Mancuso's arm, spotted him coming. Her eyes widened at his approach, as if suddenly fearful of his intent.
Aware, then, that he wore the look of Ripper-in-predatory-mode, Giles endeavored to school his expression into a more genteel one, even if it was at odds with all-out jealousy churning in his gut. He stopped, leaning on his cane, and tapped the other man's tuxedoed shoulder. "May I cut in?"
Turning with Buffy's hand held possessively in his, Mancuso frowned, and sized up Giles with a single glance. "And you are... ?"
"Her date," Giles said, with a pointed look at Buffy. He was satisfied at the way the man swung back to her, stunned and looking for confirmation, but Buffy glanced down, obviously embarrassed. Like a slap in the face, Giles realized that she had not even seen fit to mention him.
Bowing out gracefully, Mancuso back-stepped. He gently shook her hand he still held, trying to snag Buffy's attention. It worked, and she shyly looked up.
"May I call you, cara mia?" he asked politely.
"No," Giles said emphatically.
"I'd like that," Buffy answered with a hesitant smile.
In one last proprietary act, Mancuso lifted her hand and gallantly kissed it. Giles rolled his eyes, but bit back a scathing comment. 'What a git.' With a charming smile for Buffy, and a disparaging glare for Giles, Mancuso backed into the crowd of dancers, heroically parting them like Moses did The Red Sea. 'Bloody great poof.'
Putting his cane forward, Giles quickly slotted himself into the other man's place. He smiled at Buffy, feeling enormously pleased with himself for having squashed that little tryst before it even began.
Hands going to her hips in a gesture of defiance that no amount of alcohol could subdue, Buffy looked up with a scowl. "Well, that was slick, Giles. Whadda you do for an encore? Drag me back to your cave by my hair?"
Annoyed, he frowned. "You just told me to come and rescue you from that pillock. No good getting pissed because I obeyed your commands."
"That was before we--" She stopped herself, but she didn't need to say 'before we kissed' for Giles to understand the connotations. The Kiss had changed all the rules. "Before," Buffy concluded stubbornly.
"Put your arms around me," Giles ordered softly, suddenly aware of they were collecting the unwanted attention of the wedding guests around them. These people were all friends of either the bride or the groom. Giles didn't personally know any of them, and could care less what they thought of him, but for Buffy's sake, he did not want to cause a scene.
"Excuse me?" Buffy asked incredulously, as if she hadn't heard right.
Giles motioned discreetly at their audience, most of who were staring and/or exchanging unfavorable whispers with their partners. In the same lowered tone, he said, "Unless you want to bring your mother and new stepfather running to find out what all the commotion is about, then I suggest you shut up and dance with me."
Pouting again, she stepped into his embrace, loosely clasping her hands at the back of his neck. Even though it had been his idea, Giles instantly regretted his foolhardiness. Very aware of touching her, he tentatively put his free hand on her hip, and kept an acceptable distance between them. In what he hoped would be perceived as an unassuming manner, he directed her into a slow but sensual sway with him. After a moment, they both relaxed, their hearts following the words of love and bittersweet melody toward the fantasy place where their bodies so wanted to go. It was easy, in the dimmed lighting, in the warmth of each other's arms, to forget where they were, and, more importantly, who they were. Watcher/Slayer, father/daughter, friends or lovers, it mattered not, because for the moment, they were simply just a man and a woman, finding comfort and companionship. And perhaps even love.
That, of course, was true enough. It was no secret that Giles loved Buffy, and had for many years. But there were many different types of love, from that of close friends, to two people who had shared so much of themselves through sacrifice and triumph, to the simple, intrinsic way a father loved a daughter. Giles had always believed his affection for Buffy fell into the latter category, but after The Kiss, the definition no longer seemed appropriate. Perhaps, it never truly had been...
As if to affirm this idea, Buffy took her arms from his neck, and instead wound them around his waist. With a small shiver, which had nothing to do with the current temperature, she laid her cheek against his chest, and slowly slid her hands inside the jacket of his tux. Only the thin cotton of his dress shirt kept her hands directly off his skin, but even so, the heat of her leisurely caress left a burning tingle in its wake.
Instinct made him draw her closer, until the feel of her small body pressed to his threatened to strip him of all remaining common sense and leave a knot of raw desire in its stead. There had been parties and social gatherings attended together in the past, so it was not the first time they had shared the closeness of a slow dance, or the embrace of a caring friend. But this time, after having kissed her, after having felt Buffy return his passion with equal fire, this time the friction of their bodies moving against each other meant far more than it ever had before.
Giles stifled a gasp into her honey-blonde hair, struggling with the abrupt realization that he had been fooling himself for years. His was no 'father's love'. Not at all.
Her hair felt like soft spun gold beneath his cheek, making him long to touch it, to run his fingers though the silken strands and lose himself in it--in her. But the still-rational part of Giles knew that his amorous, and seemingly uncontrollable, emotions of the moment were the direct result of his over-indulgence. The alcohol had broken through his well-maintained walls, released him from his inhibitions, and, when partnered with the romantic atmosphere of the wedding itself, had bought desires to the fore that were better left buried. Perhaps it was the same for Buffy, too, since her rapid shifts from 'ardent want' to 'cold rejection', then back again, confused him no end. Perhaps she, too, was fighting to keep the inner truth at bay.
Buffy sighed, her breath a hot and moist whisper against the front of his shirt. She moved her hands again, either deliberately or involuntary, until the heat they were generating between them turned molten and fused every nerve ending in his body. Just when Giles thought he was to become the next statistic of Spontaneous Human Combustion, the love song ended and the house lights came up. When they parted to arms length, he immediately missed her warmth, her nearness, as if something vital to life itself had been taken from his grasp.
"Buffy... " Giles began, seeking approval, or disapproval, or something--he wasn't entirely sure what he was after. But the point became moot when Buffy skillfully avoided his gaze.
An unexpected, but mercifully short, fanfare accompanied the announcement that "Mr. and Mrs. Colin Holbrook" were about to leave the building. Drawing in a breath that looked as shaky as it sounded, Buffy hedged a glance in Giles' direction, before moving off to bid farewell to her mother and new stepfather.
The newlyweds were leaving tonight for their honeymoon, and so they had reappeared wearing ordinary street clothes. The formally attired wedding guests congregated with them in the foyer of Grayson Hall, whereupon there was the traditional removing of the garter by the groom, and the bride's toss of the bouquet.
Hanging back from the festivities, Giles allowed Buffy, and just about everyone else, to chase the happy couple down the red-carpeted stairwell and outside into the street. The reckless surge down the steps would do nothing to relieve the ache in his lame leg, and he certainly did not want be called to explain the smashed champagne flutes on the Hall's front path. So instead he milled in the foyer, awaiting Buffy's inevitable return, both anxious and dreading what would happen when she did.
* * *
Buffy's heart sang with unexpected happiness as she threw another handful of rice over the departing bride and groom, who somehow managed to escape the crush of well-wishers and into the back of her new stepfather's personal limousine, without looking too much like a walking advertisement for Uncle Ben. That was one good thing about her new step-dad, Colin. He certainly knew how to impress a woman, and he had the cash to back it up.
'Two good things, then,' Buffy amended cheerfully. Because after a chauffeured limo ride to the airport, the newlyweds had two first class seats to Fiji, for ten gloriously fun-filled days, and no doubt nights.
Buffy grinned wryly. Fiji, wow! Beach, sun, aquamarine water, hot male bods in even hotter male swimwear. She hadn't known the exact location of the south sea island, and felt all of twelve years old when Colin caught her looking it up on a map. But he had been real nice about it, minus the initial thirty seconds of merciless teasing. That was Colin--a nice guy, once you got past the fact that in the two years she had known him, he and her mom had argued just about every time Buffy saw them together.
'Must be love,' she decided. For her mother's sake, Buffy truly hoped that, this time, it was. Her mom deserved to be happy, to be loved by someone who worshiped and adored her for simply being 'Joyce'. Someone who gave without question, and expected nothing in return.
"Love you, Mom," she called. "Have a good time!" With a quick wave and a cheeky smile to her mother through the car window, Buffy watched the vehicle pull away, trailing soggy paper ribbons and a string of empty aluminum cans that were totally beneath the dignity of a real stretch limousine, even if it was traditional. She threw one last handful of rice, as, through the back window of the car, she watched her mother and Colin lean in for a kiss.
Why couldn't she find a great guy like that? With her Slayer years now behind her, Buffy was just like any other young woman, in search of a man with whom she could share her now ordinary life, and be loved a little in return. Well, okay, be loved a lot in return! If only she could find someone who would be there for her, no matter what, and add more to her existence than just provider of the muscle now needed to open stuck jam jars.
Buffy chewed her lip, remembering lunch today, and how she had almost come to tears over said stuck jam jar. If anyone had told her the adjustment to civilian life would be this difficult, then she would have fought much harder to remain The Slayer. Unlike the Cruciamentum, when she had temporarily lost her strength as part of the Watcher Council's stupid 'rite of passage' test, this time her prowess was gone for good. She used to be Buffy the Vampire Slayer, feared by vamps, demons, and the minions of Hell, revered by mere mortals and the men of the Council--even if they didn't like her style. She used to be a legend in her own lifetime. Now she couldn't even make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without help. It was pathetic.
Thank God for Giles, her resident lifeline and sanity keeper. Although, even his well meant suggestions that she try to find her life again, that one she had prior to discovering she was The Chosen One, sometimes made her angry, and a little sad. Was he really so blind to the fact that that self-centered little girl was well and truly gone?
As the limousine slipped from sight, Buffy turned from the curb, and headed back toward the foyer with some of the other lingering guests. Couples, she noted, watching them fall into pairs. They were all couples. Somewhere, out there, there had to be a guy for her, too. She just had to find him.
Someone like Philip Mancuso, maybe. Even though she seriously doubted Philip, whom she had only met a few hours ago, would actually turn out to be her elusive Mr. Right, she was willing to give him a chance before totally writing him off. He was nice, in a nice-older-guy sort of way, clever and charming, and kind of fun to be around. That's why she had given him her phone number earlier, when he asked--well, her mother's phone number, since she had agreed to house-sit while the newlyweds were away. When they returned, Buffy fully intended to move into a place of her own. Meantime, if Philip did call and ask her out, she decided she was going to say 'yes'. After all, Colin Holbrook hadn't started out as her mother's dream date, either.
Still, there was an obvious obstacle with Philip, and it was not their twenty-seven-year age difference or the way her mother would have kittens if they ever became romantically involved. Rather, it was that they didn't seem to have anything even remotely in common, apart from a mutual physical attraction; a flaw that had stymied true conversation from the get-go. Flirting was one thing, but building a solid relationship with a man took far more than just good looks and witty dialogue...
Abruptly, Buffy stopped, forcing the couples to part around her. Her shoe crunched on something underfoot, something she didn't have to pick up to identify as a tiny piece of shattered crystal from the dropped champagne flutes. Guiltily, she looked up at the marble balustrade fronting the silhouetted terrace above. Her thoughts immediately turned to Giles, and the sweet, longing way he had kissed her in the moonlight.
She still had no idea what that had been all about. Or why, when she danced with him, she had the insanely passionate desire for him to kiss her again.
Kissage... and more.
Betrayed by her own heart, Buffy closed her eyes, and fortified herself with a gulp of cold, damp air. No, that was just too totally weird. This was Giles she kept fantasizing about, ex-Watcher, friend-and-mentor, nose-stuck-in-a-book Giles. Okay, to be fair, she admitted they had come a long way from the early days of tweedy-British-high-school-librarian Giles, who, back then, displayed all the passion of a cement garden gnome. But Giles was... well, Giles.
Except he wasn't. At least, not anymore. Having done some major growing up in the past few years, Buffy now understood that beneath the exterior of good, old-fashioned dependability she had long ago painted on him, Giles was a man, with manly wants and needs.
And desires. Definitely desires. Ones she would dearly love to satisfy--
"Stop!" she said aloud, admonishing her rampaging hormones. Embarrassed, she glanced about to see if anyone had heard her shouting at herself, but the other guest had all returned inside and she was, thankfully, alone.
Buffy chuckled, and concluded that if nothing else, Giles was, as usual, right. She was far too blitzed to be having this conversation with herself. The champagne had allowed her to participate in something magical, but totally stupid, out on the terrace, and again on the dance floor in the warmth of his embrace. But it wouldn't--couldn't--ever happen again.
Putting both the terrace and the dance floor out of her mind, she skipped up the steps and into Grayson Hall. When she woke up tomorrow, sharing bigtime smoochies with Giles would seem like nothing more than a dream--although an unexpectedly nummy one at that. Tomorrow, things would be comfortably back to how they were before, and she and Giles would revert to being... well, whatever it was they were to each other. That subject was just too complex for her inebriated brain to get into right now.
Breath catching, Buffy stopped in the foyer. Her stomach turned over as she spotted the broad line of his tuxedoed shoulders. Giles stood with his back to her, unaware of her scrutiny as he admired a jade vase on a waist-high Greek pillar. Idly wondering if he had any idea how scrumptious he looked in that tux, she donned an expression of false confidence, and started across the checkerboard tiles to meet him.
Yep, tomorrow things would all be cool, their brief encounter forgotten.
Provided, of course, she could first get through tonight.
* * *
With the wedding officially over, the attending guests began to gather their belongings, and bid farewell to friends and acquaintances. Fighting down a streak of impatience, Giles frowned at the decorative vase on the pillar before him, and wondered, not for the first time that minute, what the devil had become of Buffy. He was certain that all of the other guests who had chased the bride and groom to the car had already returned. What on earth could she be doing out there by herself?
At least he could breathe easy, knowing she hadn't accidentally run into Philip What's-His-Face again. While waiting, he had seen the sodding berk leave with an attractive blonde, not much older than Buffy. At first he thought it was Buffy, since her back was to him, then he spotted the flowers she carried and realized she was the young lady who caught the wedding bouquet. Still, Giles had been in half a mind to intervene on her behalf, let her know exactly what she was getting into with a philanderer like Mancuso... until he realized his reaction was out of pure and simple spite. He did not know the other man personally, his background or his track record with the opposite sex, and so his rush to pass harsh justice seemed, perhaps, a little unfair. Still, it nagged him to know that, had he not intervened when he did, the young woman going home with Mancuso could have been--
"Hey," came a familiar voice from his behind his shoulder.
The unexpected touch of her hand on his back startled him. He would have thought, given their growing familiarity over the years, that he would, by now, be comfortable with and accustomed to the exchange of physical contact, but after the terrace, everything seemed blown out of proportion. His senses were on Full Alert, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. This condition was not the fault of the champagne he had consumed, but attributed, rather, to the stunning revelation that he was completely, unequivocally, in love with her.
Giles swiveled on his cane, burying his affection beneath a scowl of irritation for her tardiness. Until such time that they sat down, with clear heads, and discussed The Kiss, or until he was certain Buffy reciprocated the emotion, he thought such a tactic for the best.
"Are you ready to leave?" he asked, a little terser than intended.
Buffy frowned, instantly picking up on his sour mood. "What's your rush? The night is still young."
"Buffy, it's after midnight."
"Well, in Australia it's still young, I bet," she countered, testing the waters with a cheeky smile.
Giles glared a moment longer, then he broke into a sheepish grin. He was never able to stay miffed at Buffy for very long, especially not when she smiled so radiantly at him. "Actually, I believe it would mid-afternoon, not evening."
"Show off."
Raising his free hand, he flicked some grains of rice out of her hair. "I suppose we could stay a tad longer, if you wish."
"No, that's okay," she said, capturing his hand and giving it a friendly little squeeze. She yawned in a way that seemed completely spontaneous. She was coming down from her champagne high, fatigue settling in its place. "I'm actually kinda tired. Let me get my purse, and we can go."
* * *
The drive to the Summers residence lacked conversation, with Buffy, usually one to ramble in a sticky situation, remaining remarkably zip-lipped. Not that Giles blamed her, for the situation was, indeed, a sticky one.
In the course of what little dialogue had been exchanged, they both skillfully managed to avoid the subject of The Kiss, even though it was clearly a topic they very much needed to discuss. Giles needed to know what it meant to her, if indeed it meant anything at all, because when he pulled up in front of 1630 Revello Drive and looked over at Buffy's profile bathed in the dimness of the dashboard lights, he suddenly, desperately, found himself wanting to kiss her again.
Looking past her toward the house, Giles cleared the emotion from his voice and said, "Perhaps you should have left a light on."
Buffy glanced out the window, at her house sitting in total darkness, before looking back at him. "I meant to. Guess I forgot, in the chaos that was my mother acting like a lunatic this afternoon. You'd think she'd never been married before."
Giles chuckled. "No matter," he said, turning in his seat to open his door. "I'll go in with you."
Buffy jumped as if she had been stuck with a pin. "No, that's okay!"
Hand on the door handle, Giles paused to throw her a frown.
Awkwardly, she added, "I mean, it's late. You must be tired. I know I am. We should just probably just go to bed." Eyes widening, she corrected, "I mean, your bed. I mean, you... in your bed. I mean--"
"Buffy," he said with an understanding smile to put her at ease. They really did need to sit down for a serious discussion about what had happened between them. "Yes, I am tired. And yes, I intend to go to straight to bed... when I get home. But I shall sleep far better knowing you're safe. At least permit me to escort you as far as the front door."
That said, he climbed out of the car before she could protest. The path was still wet from the rain shower earlier, and the damp lawn and garden helped permeate the air with a fresh, earthen scent. Crickets, busy with their concerto of night music, played in accompanied as they headed toward the house; Giles limping on his cane, and Buffy slowing to keep pace.
He purposefully kept a discreet distance between them, a separation of few feet, which seemed appropriate and placed her just out of his immediate reach. But, when he struggled to mount the steps onto the porch, Buffy shattered all his good intentions by taking his arm to offer help. Without meaning to, Giles once more found himself with his arm around her waist.
They stopped on the WELCOME mat in front of the door, both hyper-aware of each other in the darkness of the overhang, and tried, desperately, to reestablish some of that unintentionally lost space. Slowly, Giles turned to face her, his free hand reluctant to leave its place on her hip. Buffy's own helpful hands lingered on his arms, which put them an almost-but-not-quite embrace.
She was a golden-haired goddess, and he wanted nothing more than to lay with her in the moonlight and shadow, worshipping her until dawn chased away the magic of the night. Buffy's chin lifted toward him, allowing him to see, in her eyes, a passion mirroring his own.
"I, um... " Giles began, hastily breaking eye contact. Quickly, he reclaimed his hand. "Perhaps you should go turn on some lights."
But Buffy stepped toward him, rather than toward the door, and slowly slid both arms around him, her hands inside his jacket again. Her touch was tentative, featherlike, but the heat from her body roused him in ways he had never imagined possible.
He moaned, unable to call it back.
"I changed my mind," she said huskily, rubbing her cheek against the roughness of his shirt. After a moment's hesitation, she tilted her head back so that he could look into her eyes again; so he could see there was no mistake about her decision. "I want you to come in."
Entranced, Giles gazed down at her, his hand rising of its own volition to caress her face with the backs of his fingers. Buffy closed her eyes, melting against his touch and purring like an affectionate kitten. She pressed a gentle kiss into his palm before seeking his gaze again. There seemed nothing more natural, now, than to kiss her tenderly, so he slowly lowered his head toward her waiting lips.
But the moment was not to be.
Struggling with his morals, Giles pulled back. It was the champagne, he kept telling himself. They had both had a little too much to drink. This wasn't right. Not like this.
Buffy's wounded expression made him turn away, rather than face the rejection in her eyes and know he had been the cause. Cold, night air sucked the memory of her warmth from him. He screwed his eyes shut, as his heart screamed in pain, waging a war of emotional turmoil that ripped his insides apart.
"Giles?"
He said nothing, his throat too constricted to even breathe.
"Don't you... want me?" The note of desperation in her tone cut him to the quick.
"Buffy... " he managed hoarsely. With every last shred of self-control he possessed, Giles turned to face her in the moonlit shadows. "Please believe me when I say that nothing on this earth would give me greater pleasure than to... stay. But it would be completely unforgivable of me to take advantage of you like this." Watching tears well in her eyes, he fought hard to keep the quiver from his voice. "In the morning, you'll see it was for the best."
He willed his leaden feet to move, to take a step away. God help him if she touched him now, if she rushed into his arms and begged him not to go.
"Please," he said, his voice thick. "Please go inside. I shall wait here, until you turn on a light and I know you are safe."
Buffy's lower lip began to tremble. She looked so hurt that he could hardly stand it, could hardly stop himself from giving in to what they both so badly wanted. The solitary tear that rolled down her cheek made him turn his back again.
Giles felt his resolve slipping; he couldn't take much more. "Buffy, for God's sake, GO!"
He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, so callous and uncaring, and when Buffy turned and fled from him for the second time that evening, he wondered, despondently, just whose arms she would seek comfort in this time...
* * *
Buffy hummed a merry tune as she watered the houseplant in the corner of the living room, having actually remembered to do so. Two days and counting, and nothing had died, burned down, blown up, overflowed, or just plain broke while in her obviously excellent care. She was really quite pleased with herself, even if there was still another eight days to go before her mother and Colin returned from their honeymoon in Fiji. Glancing around at the mess, however, made her frown. Despite her efforts, she was definitely going to have a major house-cleaning the day before they came home. Filling in full time at the art gallery, then taking her classes at night, didn't leave much time for life's little essentials--the necessary eating, sleeping, and three hours spent talking to Willow--much less for picking up her laundry and washing dirty dishes.
Willow. Willow was her friend and confidant, but considering Giles' no-nonsense refusal of her invitation to... come in ... the other night, she had been too embarrassed to confess anything about kissing him, or the dreams she'd had since, let alone even get around to blaming it on too much champagne. Instead, Buffy mentioned Philip, when Willow asked how the wedding went, which at least made conversation easy and allowed them something in common; commiserations over their respective 'man trouble.' Buffy just wasn't sure who she was commiserating about. Philip... or Giles.
The phone in the kitchen rang. Buffy straightened with the water can, and pulled the slice of peanut butter toast she was eating for dinner from her mouth. She tensed, as seemed her new custom these days whenever it rang, and prayed to God it wasn't Giles. Again. He had called her yesterday, just as she dreaded he would, the morning after she had shamelessly thrown herself at him and he had resolutely rejected her.
What a disaster. They spent the entire ten-minute phone call grunting and sighing at each, solely in an effort to relieve some of the embarrassingly awkward silence. When he finally worked up the courage to suggest they get together to talk in person, she told him she had an appalling headache from the champagne, which was only half a lie, and hung up on him, her nerves completely shattered. She had been letting the answering machine screen her calls ever since, fighting down a hearty dose of The Guilts whenever she heard Giles' voice and pretended she wasn't home.
'He must think I'm so the local slut,' she thought dejectedly, listening as the machine picked up on the sixth or seventh ring. It was certainly the picture she had painted for him; first shamelessly flirting with Philip Mancuso, then him--not to mention the other dozen or so guys who had passed though her life over the years. She couldn't blame Giles for the fatherly lecture he obviously intended to give, the one she so rightly deserved for her disgraceful behavior. Nor could she blame him if he never wanted to have anything to do with her again.
And that hurt. Bigtime.
"Good evening, cara mia, I was hoping to catch you at home. Alas, the loss is entirely mine."
Buffy's heart leapt her throat. Philip! Accidentally sloshing water from the can onto the rug, she hastily ran for the phone. She lifted the receiver, just as he told the machine he would call back another time. "Hello?"
"Ah, Buffy, hello to you, too. Am I... interrupting something?"
"Um, no. I was just getting ready for class." She held her breath without realizing it. Philip Mancuso had called--he had actually called her! "It's a thing I do three nights a week," she babbled. "Go out. Learn stuff."
He chuckled lightly, a low, throaty rumble that reminded her of Giles. "May I ask what time this class is over, and if you would care to dine with me for a late supper?"
Buffy gushed with excitement, butterflies fluttering into life in the pit of her stomach. He was asking her out on a date! "Nine-thirty, and I'd love to."
"Benissimo! Then, perhaps, we could learn a little more together," he said, with a lewd inflection that made her blush.
They chatted another ten minutes, reestablishing the pleasant companionship they had first found at the wedding reception. His Italian accent gave her chills, the same way Giles' British tones did, whenever he spoke so passionately about his books, or some such thing. Buffy gave directions to her mother's house--twice, when Philip confessed to being too distracted by her to remember what she told him. They were to meet there after class and go for dinner, until she realized that if she didn't get off the phone, she would miss her class altogether.
Seconds after hanging up, the phone rang again. Such was her dreamy mood, Buffy instantly snatched it up, without waiting for the answering machine. "So, what do I have to do?" she teased. "Draw you a map?"
There was a long pause, in which Buffy's good mood came crashing down from cloud nine. The caller was obviously not Philip.
"Buffy, um, hello... "
She tensed, her muscles seizing up into a tight knot, cursing her haste for not screening the call first. "I'm sorry, Giles, but I can't talk now. I'm late for class."
Hand shaking, she lowered the receiver back toward its cradle, but when she heard the urgent, tinny sound of his voice, she reluctantly lifted it back to her ear.
"I understand, I won't keep you, but... Buffy, we need to talk. Can I... drop by your house later? After your class?"
"No, I'm... I have plans later on. Sorry. And tomorrow, I'm working the whole day at Mom's gallery again. Probably be so beat when I get home, all I'll want to do is sleep."
"Buffy," he said bluntly, "I do believe you're avoiding me."
She blushed, embarrassed that she had been so obvious. Defensively, she said, "I'm not avoiding you. I just don't seem to be able to find the time to talk to you right now. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Sure. Look, I gotta go, Giles. We'll talk... sometime. Bye."
She hung up on his protest, and chewed her bottom lip when she was flooded with an unexpected sense of inner doubt. No question about it; she had gone from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, to Buffy the Total Bitch.
* * *