It was hard to say what would have been worse, having to go to school while everyone was wondering where Buffy had gone, or this bleak, empty hollow of summer vacation, in which they had nothing to do but sit around and ache.

Willow had decided to take a summer school class just to keep busy, and today she walked across the all-but-deserted courtyard toward the main building of Sunnydale High. The day was too bright and too hot, the afternoon sun beating down on the stone and light shirt Willow wore.

Her class was done, and she walked down the hallway toward the library. The double doors were silent and still, guarding the lair where Buffy's Watcher had taken refuge. The library was not normally open during summer vacation, and was not now, not officially. The "closed" sign on the door was to keep out interlopers. She knew it was open to her and the others in their small group.

She pushed the door open and it squeaked loudly in the quiet of the hallway and the room into which she entered. The venetian blinds were drawn on the far window set high in the wall, turning the library into a darkened cave where a creature of despair lived.

"Giles?" she said hesitantly, hugging her laptop to her chest. Maybe he wasn't here. Sometimes he went out to get something to eat.

He appeared on the upper level from out of the shadowed stacks, his face only partially illuminated by the slats of light from the blinds. He held a book in his hand, and Willow wondered how he could have been reading up there with no light. "Um, do you mind if I stay here for a while?" she asked. "To study?"

"No, Willow," he said. "Go ahead." His voice was gentle, but distant, and he disappeared again as she went to the central table and turned on the light there, making an oasis of warmth. It was unnerving to be here, and although it was much cooler than outside or at home, it would not have been her first choice of a study spot these days. But she came, and stayed, for him. They were all worried about how Giles was handling Buffy's absence. Every few days, he would leave without a word, following a lead that only he knew about. Then, a day or so later, he would return alone, looking haggard. His eyes, once full of the warmth and amusement his English reserve would not allow him to express, were now cold and hurt.

He wasn't going to be able to endure it much longer. A Watcher and a Slayer were two halves of a whole, bound for life. Nobody knew what would happen when his control -- or his hope -- ran out.

He came down from the stacks about fifteen minutes later, as if the light had drawn him, and put a book down on the table to lean over it, reading silently. She glanced up at him, but he didn't seem aware of her presence.

"Have you...have you heard any word from Buffy?" Willow asked quietly. The Watcher raised his head to her, his eyes haunted, and he shook his head silently. "Oh." He went back to reading, and she went back to doing homework for her C++ programming class on her laptop.

Willow started violently at the sound of a book being slammed shut, and Giles pushed away from the table to begin pacing the room. She just watched him, afraid to speak even though she wanted desperately to do something to calm him. Even so, she wasn't sure she had the right to do that -- to try to tell a Watcher that everything was okay when his Slayer had run away from him.

"I don't know what else to do," he said, his voice a hushed whisper of despair. He gestured with his open hands as he paced. "I don't know where else to look. All the leads I had are dead-ends." He stopped at the edge of the table, slamming both hands down on it and making Willow jump again. "I can't feel her," he hissed. "I should be connected to her, I should always know, but I don't feel anything." He ran both hands back through his hair. "I don't know where she is."

"She'll come back," Willow said, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself. "I know she will. She just needs time to sort things out."

"I'm her Watcher!" Giles roared. "She's supposed to come to me when she needs to sort things out! She's supposed to trust me to listen, to understand." His voice trailed off painfully.

"She's upset because of Angel," Willow said softly. "Maybe she's afraid you wouldn't be sympathetic...because of what Angelus did to you and to Miss Calendar. Maybe she just didn't want to hurt you."

Giles gave a bark of laughter.

"Didn't want to hurt me?" he repeated weakly. "She left me, Willow. How could she hurt me more than that? What could she possibly say to me that would be worse than letting me know that she does not trust me and does not want me, and that she can't even tell me to my face? I came to Sunnydale for her. I exist only because of her. If she doesn't come back...if I can't find her...I have no reason to live."

He left the library, distraught, finding no solace in Willow's presence or his books, and went home with a weight on his soul that was increasingly hard to bear. Darkness was closing in, and he went to sleep that night with an unvoiced sob in his throat.

* * * * *

The sun was killing him, blinding him in light and heat, merciless. He stood in the desert, arms open to the sky, surrendering himself to his fate and his anguish.

"She's gone," he called out hoarsely, the arid wind and dust choking him. "I can't find her! It hurts, it hurts! Oh God, please...I can't do this alone. I can't be alone. She's all I have..."

The sun flamed, hotter still, and then began to writhe and shriek. A creature was born of it, a bird of flame. It dove for him out of the sun, straight for his heart, and he closed his eyes to let the death come.

The firebird impaled him, filled him with flame, and he cried out in agony and need. Not death, but rebirth. Renewal. He burned, consumed, the ache of his service unfulfilled destroying him in an inferno of wretched grief.

He woke himself with his own cry, tears wet on his face and pillow. His blood was on fire, his gut clenched terribly and he could practically hear his own heart pounding in his chest. Gasping, he sat up, overwhelmed by the pulse of the Call. He'd known it once before, when Buffy's first Watcher, Merrick, had died. He'd been awakened in the middle of the night, summoned by a force no one could explain or assuage, to cross the sea to her in California. Tonight, now, it seized him again, urging, wanting, torturing him with the unbearable need to find her, to go to her.

But where? Where? He held his head, panting, fighting down the nausea of being so far away from her and not being on the move to join her side.

Sun. Desert. Heat. Firebird. Death and rebirth.

"Phoenix," he whispered, and tore the covers away to get up with flame in his heart.

* * * * *

When Willow came to school the next day, the library was locked. She was surprised for a moment, then knew that he had gone again in search of Buffy. The familiar mixture of hope and resignation ached in her chest, and she went home feeling more empty than usual.

She and Xander went to the Bronze, but they didn't feel like dancing. They huddled on a couch against the wall and sipped drinks and ate tortilla chips.

"I guess Giles went off again looking for Buffy," Xander said.

"Yeah," Willow said. "I hope that's why he left."

"Either that or he really is Super Librarian and he never told us," Xander said.

"When I talked to him yesterday..." Willow said. "Xander, he was scary. He looked so angry and so hurt. He said...he said if he can't find her and she doesn't come back...he has no reason to live."

"Oh Jesus," Xander whispered, the words barely audible in the noise of the Bronze.

* * * * *

Giles gave silent thanks for the fourth or fifth time that day that he had decided to buy a new car last month. The Citroen would not have made it to L.A. The white Oldsmobile had done just fine, and he vowed to have the poor thing washed and waxed when he got home.

In the middle of the night, LAX looked remarkably like a big, spotlighted spacecraft resting in the middle of Los Angeles, or possibly the home of the Jetsons. It was not deserted, even at this ungodly hour. People with long layovers, international connections, and people stuck because of unexpected incidents all had taken up temporary residence in the terminals, observation dome and the mezzanines in the International Terminal. The first thing he did was get an airport map at the one of the Travelers Aid booths. The blasted place was bigger than Disneyland.

Southwest was the only airline running flights to Phoenix anytime soon, and the next one wasn't until 7:00am. He was forced to hang around the airport for a couple of hours after buying a one-way ticket. He'd taken minimal time to pack, drawn as he was by the painful summons, and had been forced to drive northwest to get to Los Angeles. His mind knew this was the fastest way, but the Calling told him only that he was going in the wrong direction, and had been through sheer force of will that he had fought the urge to change course.

He'd taken the time to shower before leaving, but realized as he sat on the mezzanine in the Tom Bradley Terminal -- in a rather comfortable chair -- that he hadn't shaved yet. He took his carryon bag into the men's lavatory to tend to this, and felt immensely more civilized afterward.

A few minutes later, he was sitting on the mezzanine again with a cup of cafe mocha and a cheese croissant, watching people and airplanes go by. It really wasn't so bad, and he managed to catch a quick catnap before taking a shuttle to the terminal of his departing flight.

* * * * *

The plane was a small one as jetliners went, a Boeing 737, but wasn't full, and after the plane took off, everyone moved to take advantage of the empty seats available. Giles wound up in a whole row by himself. He took out Buffy's picture again, looking at it. She had looked very happy when it was taken -- it had been at her sixteenth birthday party, and Willow had given it to him to help him on his trips. He wondered if she was all right, and he felt his throat tighten. He took off his glasses to rub his eyes.

"Your daughter?" said a low voice from across the aisle. He glanced up in surprise to see a middle-aged woman regarding him kindly. She had a compassionate look. Giles cleared his throat slightly, shaking his head and putting his glasses back on.

"No," he said. "A friend. A student at the school where I work. She's run away from home and I'm looking for her. I think she might be in Phoenix."

"I live in Phoenix," the woman said. "Can I take a look?" Giles handed her the picture and she looked at it for a few seconds. "Hmm, no, sorry. Don't think I know her. How long has she been gone?"

"About a month," Giles said. The woman showed the picture to her seatmate, who also didn't recognize the girl.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help overhearing," said the man sitting in front of her. "I live in Phoenix, too. Can I see?" The woman handed the picture to him, but he, too, didn't recognize the girl. "What's her name?"

"Buffy Summers." The man chuckled.

"That's a California name, all right." The man got up out of his seat suddenly. "Hey, amigos, anybody on this plane actually live in Phoenix? We're lookin' for a runaway girl over here."

"I'm from Phoenix," said an elderly man from two rows forward, and the picture was passed up to him.

"So am I," said the woman in the row behind Giles. In another few minutes, everyone on the plane wanted to get a look and the picture was passed around. Even the flight crew was based in Phoenix, and they all wanted to look. One of the flight attendants took the picture up to the cockpit in case the pilots had seen her.

Unfortunately, no one had, and the picture was given back to Giles with only fingerprints and regrets.

"Thank you, though," Giles said, truly amazed by this outpouring of compassion. He gave a soft laugh. "You know, Americans have a reputation for being uncaring about such things, especially in California where I live now. Thank you, everyone. I appreciate your concern."

"I hope you find her," said the man who'd stood up. "Hey, what's your name, anyway?"

"Giles," he said. "Rupert Giles." They shook hands.

"Arturo Macias Ruiz. Pleased to meet you."

"Jane Struss," the woman across the aisle said, also shaking Giles' hand.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, both of you," Giles said sincerely.

They chatted for the whole flight, and for a while Giles was able to forget about his despair. They were both intrigued to learn he was a librarian. Struss was a biochemist and Macias Ruiz was a copper wire salesman. When they landed in Phoenix, Struss gave Giles a hug and wished him well.

"Give me a call if I can help while you're in Phoenix," she said, giving him a business card. Macias Ruiz hurriedly dug into his pocket and also handed over a card.

"Me, too," he said. "I mean it. Day or night. That's my cel."

"Thank you," Giles said, moved by their sympathy. He left the airport feeling better than he had in several days. The Call was strong, fire in his gut, telling him he was in the right city. Maybe this would be the day he found her.

* * * * *

Phoenix was too big a city to search on foot, so he had to rent a car at the airport. He found a Motel 6 not too far down the highway, and took a room to establish a base from which to work. It was the middle of the afternoon, and hot enough to melt the tar in the asphalt. His shoes made a faint sticking sound as he walked across the parking lot to the first floor room he'd paid for.

The room was mercifully cool, but he turned on the air conditioner to keep it that way, and let his carryon bag fall to the floor heavily. The Calling told him she was nearby, but not her precise location. A shower and a change of clothes were in order, and then he would take to the streets.

By nightfall he'd had no luck. Tired, hungry and his blood burning, he returned to the motel and laid down on the bed in sheer exhaustion. Another shower and a sandwich from a deli down the road left him feeling almost human, and then he went out again. This time he took the sheathed sword he'd brought with him. The airline had made him check it at the reservations desk instead of letting him take it on the plane with him, but a Watcher answering a Calling late at night in a big city went unarmed at his own peril.

He'd reasoned that perhaps if he went over the city in a methodical fashion, he would be able to feel when he got very close. So, he had a street map, and had plotted out the city block by block. He would remain for as long as it took to find her. He drove to the first section and parked the car, intending to do this part on foot.

The Phoenix police were a vigilant bunch, and Giles went to some effort to avoid being seen, since he was carrying a sword on his back. He did not, however, fit the physical description of a suspicious person, and was largely ignored because he was white and obviously not homeless or drunk.

He felt hot, hot in some way that wasn't the desert, which had begun to cool off slightly now that the sun had gone down. Every breath seemed to bring the scent of his Slayer, his gut and chest aching for her, needing her. She was here somewhere, in this vast city. He knew it with certainty.

No one bothered him that first night, perhaps knowing from the look in his eyes that he would accept any excuse to vent his agony. The more observant noticed the black hilt of the sword over his shoulder, and avoided him in favor of a more suitable target for a mugging or an offer of drugs.

He covered the area he had promised himself, marking off each block on the photocopy of his map. He did not find her, and did not feel any change in the Calling inside him. It thrummed urgently, keeping him moving during the night when his body had long since demanded to rest.

He went back to the motel at dawn. He slept restlessly, part of him wanting to still be out there, looking, feeling for her. No helpful dreams came, and in the evening he cursed and started the process over again.

* * * * *

"There he is again."

The two vampires watched from the nook next to a liquor store as the man they had heard about walked past them in the near-darkness. He wore a sword on his back and moved with purpose and threat, dressed darkly and avoiding the pools of light like someone used to hunting in the night.

"Who the Hell is that?" the other vampire muttered.

"I don't know. Soryung and I saw him last night, over on Twenty-Third. He was marking off the whole district, one street at a time."

"He's human," the second vampire said, sniffing slightly at the blood-warm wake the man had left. "Marking off the district, huh? He's looking for something. Or someone."

"Yup. Wonder who?"

"Let's follow and see."

* * * * *

Giles kept to his map, fighting the urge to move randomly in the desperation to find her. His nose was full of her imagined scent, something ephemeral that cut through the smell of the streets, warm pavement, car exhaust and the stink of dumpsters in alleys. His need for her went beyond the Calling; it had since the moment they'd met. He was bound to her, first by duty and then by loyalty. His service to her as her Watcher was his entire life. All his actions and thoughts revolved around it. She was a magnificent Slayer, and more than that, she was a good person and he loved her with all his heart. It hurt him to not be with her, and he wondered if she needed him, if she were going through something he should be there to help her with.

He finished the next section that night, still empty-handed and alone. When he got back to his motel room and closed the door behind him, he heard himself make a strangled sound, and tears spilled onto his cheeks. He was surprised in spite of himself. He hadn't realized he was holding so much inside. He sat down on the bed, head in his hands, letting himself give in to the grief for a few minutes because it felt so good to let it out.

It relieved part of the burning ache inside him, but the rest was much deeper, still summoning him to his Slayer. He wiped his nose with tissues and shouldered out of the strap that held his sword on his back, letting the weapon fall to the bed.

"God, I'm pathetic," he muttered with a humorless laugh. "All those years of training and discipline and being so Godawful English and I'm totally undone by this." He sighed heavily, wishing he had someone to talk to. Then he remembered he still had the business cards of the two people he'd met on the plane flight. The first one he found was Macias Ruiz's. After a minute of turning the card over and over in his hands, he finally dialed the number.

It rang for a long time before being answered by a sleepy man.

"¿Hola?"

"Hello, um, I'm terribly sorry to wake you. It's Rupert Giles. We met on the airplane the other day."

"Rupert," the man said in recognition. He made a grunting sound, as if sitting up in bed. "Hey, no, it's okay. I said day or night. ¿Que pasa? Did you find her?" There was the sound of another person in bed with him asking a muffled question, and Macias Ruiz's voice was turned away from the phone for a moment. "No, it's nothin', amada, just a friend of mine. Go back to sleep. Sorry about that," he said to Giles. "My wife. So did you find Buffy?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Giles said wearily. "I was wondering, Mr. Macias Ruiz --"

"Please, Arturo."

"Arturo...I was wondering if you might have some idea where she might go in Phoenix. Where she might be living."

"Depends," Macias Ruiz said thoughtfully. "How much money does she have? What kind of background's she from? Does she have friends or family here?"

"She's upper middle class," Giles said. "She might have...oh, about a hundred dollars on her. No credit card. I don't think she has any friends or relatives here. She's responsible and hardworking. She was a good student."

"Then she's probably in the TANF program or already renting on her own. The welfare laws are really strict in Arizona and if she can work she wouldn't qualify for public assistance except for maybe a really short time."

"Not if she could help it," Giles said. "She'd get a job, doing anything as long as it paid. She hates charity."

"Renting, I'll bet, then. I can tell you where the most likely places are, and you could go to the welfare office and see if she's in the system..."

* * * * *

After about a two-hour nap, Giles went out later that morning and spent another hour stalking back and forth in front of the welfare office waiting for it to open. They were initially reluctant to tell him anything, since Giles could not establish that he was a relative of hers or that he had any legitimate right to her whereabouts.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Giles, but you have to understand that we can't just give out that kind of information to any random person who walks up," the women at the desk said.

"I know, I know," Giles said with a sigh. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes under his glasses. "I know it sounds absurd, but I'm probably the closest thing she has to a father. Her parents are divorced and I'm...well, I'm the librarian at her high school." He exhaled frustratedly. "I've been looking for her for over a month. Her mother's out of her mind with worry but can't leave because she has to work, so I've been searching for Buffy during my summer holiday. Please, Miss, can you tell me anything, give me some idea where to look?" The clerk looked at him for a moment, clearly uncertain.

"You got a driver's license?" the clerk asked finally. "Yes," he said, fumbling for his wallet. He showed her his California license and she looked at it for a moment.

"Where the heck is Sunnydale?" she murmured.

"Out in the middle of bloody nowhere," Giles muttered. "On the coast south of Los Angeles." The clerk pushed the driver's license back across the counter to him and turned to her computer.

"Just a second." The clerk typed quickly. "How do you spell her name?" A jolt of hope shocked Giles out of his depression and he obliged quickly. "Age?"

"Seventeen."

"This her?" the clerk asked, turning the computer monitor slightly so Giles could lean over the counter to see. He let out a surprised breath.

"Yes, my God." He showed the clerk the picture of Buffy he had in his pocket.

"She's on record," the clerk told him in a low voice. "Registered for some living assistance on May twentieth but she went off of it a week later. Computer says she got a job here in Phoenix. That's all I can tell you if I don't want to get fired." She sounded apologetic, but Giles laughed with relief.

"Thank you," he said, reaching over to clasp her hand. "At least I know she's here. Thank you, Miss."

"Good luck."

* * * * *

He went to the planned housing apartments that Macias Ruiz had suggested. They were plain and abused; stark, rectangular structures with a dormitory look to them, but they seemed in functional repair. They were closed buildings, and he couldn't get inside without a key, so he stood at the entrance of each one, reading the intercom buttons to see if her name was on any of them, or perhaps a fake name that might be hers. A handful looked plausible, and out of sheer desperation he tried them, but no luck.

The afternoon went by in a numb haze, and Giles finally returned to the motel to eat and get some much-needed sleep, his blood burning but his heart empty.

* * * * *

The vampire Soryung joined his two friends at the end of Camelback Road.

"So you saw him again?" he asked. The shorter of his two companions, Ember, nodded slightly as the three of them began walking.

"Over on Red Elm," Ember acknowledged. "He marked off the district from Coalmine to Arques and from Portal to Route 10. He's definitely searching, but last night he didn't find it, whatever it is."

"That makes two nights in a row," Soryung said, "and I can't find anybody who's seen him in Phoenix before. There's easier prey on the streets than a crazy man with a sword, but we need to know what he's up to."

"I'm betting he'll start on the other side of Route 10 tonight," said Pascal, the third vampire. "What do you think? Near Tungsten?" Soryung nodded.

"If he's being methodical, I'd say yes. Let's go."

* * * * *

The three demons went to Tungsten and after a few minutes of waiting near the bus station, their quarry walked past, easily evading the wash of streetlight that illuminated the side of the brick building.

"That's him," Ember said. "Still got that damn map."

They followed at a distance carefully, separating so they didn't look like a group, Pascal jogging quietly across the street to flank the human. The smell of the man's blood was hot and vital, burning with a sweetness that their normal prey lacked. This mortal was brave and fierce, not like the bums and young kids and the hustlers.

Suddenly the man's body language shifted, and he paused on the sidewalk with his hand on the hilt of the sword he carried. Soryung froze, Ember nearly running into him from behind. The two vampires instinctively pressed up against the side of the nearest building. The mortal hesitated but didn't quite turn around, an inch of gleaming blade showing where he had almost drawn the weapon. Then he relaxed, slowly, and let go of the sword to begin moving again, wary but distracted. Soryung let out a slow breath.

"What?" Ember asked him anxiously. Soryung was almost three hundred years old. He didn't scare easily. Pascal was coming toward them from across the street, glancing in the human's direction but he wasn't seen.

"He's a Watcher," Soryung said. "I smelled it when he stopped -- he sensed us. He isn't a crazy man. He knows how to use that sword."

"There must be a new Slayer," Ember said, frowning. "He's answering a Calling. That's why he's here. A new Slayer's been activated here in Phoenix."

"Looks like it," Soryung agreed.

"Why's he looking for her at night?" Pascal asked.

"Because, you moron," Ember said, "we only come out at night and therefore so does the Slayer."

"Oh."

"If he's only just now answering the Calling," Soryung said, "then the Slayer's just born. She's weak. If we follow him, he'll find her eventually and we can kill her while she's vulnerable. It's an opportunity not to be missed, and I've always heard that Slayer's blood is the sweetest."

* * * * *

It was on the fourth night that Giles was walking the next part of his map, when he realized that he had been walking in one direction for several minutes instead of following the map's course. He paused under a streetlight to read, looking around, and discovered he was almost a half mile from where he should have been.

A wave of heat passed through him, as if a hand had closed around the inside of his belly, and he leaned against the lightpost for a moment to catch his breath. It was the Calling, pulling him. That was why he was going this way! She was close! He closed his eyes, trying to quiet himself for a moment to consciously find that summons that had tugged at him subliminally for the past few minutes. He found it -- a source of heat and strength and confusion so clear that he could easily have pointed in the direction where she was. His Slayer was hurting, too, her own pain weighing on her terribly. He swallowed hard and set off down the street at a run, following the pull on his soul.

* * * * *

It was Friday, and Buffy was walking home from her waitressing job, unconcerned about her physical safety but feeling sad and lonely as she had every night since she'd arrived in Phoenix. Her heart still ached for Angel and she didn't know if she would ever get over that gaping wound. She missed her friends and her mom. She missed Giles. Her gut clenched when she thought of her Watcher. How would he have felt if she'd tried to explain to him how much she missed Angel, the person who'd tortured him and killed someone he loved? She wouldn't ask him to be that understanding. She couldn't. She'd seen his eyes the night she'd rescued him from the fire in the factory and he'd wept in her arms for Jenny and for his failed revenge.

"Buffy?"

She whirled around at the voice, the sound of it ragged with hope and anguish. She knew the voice anywhere, in spite of its quietness in the night. Her Watcher looked haggard, like he hadn't slept or shaved in a couple of days, wearing a dark buttoned shirt and black dockers, leaning with one hand against a mailbox.

"Giles, oh my God," she said.

"Buffy, oh thank God," he said, moving toward her. He couldn't stop himself from taking her in his arms fiercely, quickly. "Thank God I found you." He let her go again before she could reply, holding her face in his hands. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said, her throat tight. "Yeah, I'm okay, Giles. I missed you so much." She hugged him again, not letting go for a long time, and he held her, feeling the Calling ease to a soft hum as she put her arms around him. Her touch was like fire, engulfing him in relief, and he sighed heavily.

"Oh God, I missed you, too," he whispered.

She felt something hard down his back -- a sword in a scabbard, she realized after a moment. She wondered about it briefly, but the sound of Giles' heart against her cheek quieted her. He smelled good, warm and male, like hotel soap and the Phoenix streets, and a faint scent of leather from the sword's strap across his chest. His embrace was desperate and close, his breath quick and shallow in her hair.

Reluctantly he released her and they stood there looking at each other.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"I was summoned," he said quietly. He was smiling, the joy of being with her again filling the emptiness of the past weeks. "I had a dream, about the desert, and a firebird. Phoenix. When I woke I felt you Calling to me, like the summons I felt that brought me to you in California when Merrick died."

"That's amazing," she said. "Just out of the blue like that?"

"I've been looking for you since you left," he said, "tracking mystical activity, traveling to cities where I thought you might be. It wasn't until four nights ago that I had the dream." She had looked away from him uneasily, as if listening to something. "What is it?"

"Vampires," she sighed. "Jeez, don't they ever take a break?"

"The Slayer goes where she is needed," Giles said. "Always." He reached back behind his shoulder and drew the sword that Buffy had felt when she'd hugged him.

"Why'd you bring that?" she asked quietly as she felt the vampires getting closer.

"Because I am your Watcher," he said, his eyes flickering in the darkness. She watched in horror and fascination as he turned up the sleeve of his dark shirt and put the edge of the blade against his skin.

"Giles, what are you doing?" she hissed, shocked. The sword cut into him, a quick slash on the back of his forearm, and he grunted against the pain as blood spilled darkly onto the sidewalk.

"The legends say that when a Watcher is Called to his Slayer in danger, and can fight to protect her, his blood becomes a poison to the demons," Giles said in a low, strained voice. He bathed the blade in his blood, coating the metal until it, too, was dark and wet. "Let's see if the legends are true."

The vampires materialized out of the darkness around them, silent as cats. There were five, more than usual.

"We don't allow your kind in this town," one of them said sarcastically, making no effort to disguise his predator's face. He was tall and broad-shouldered, clearly more experienced than the others by the easy confidence in his movements.

"She's the Slayer," Giles said.

"We know," the leader said. "Why do you think we followed you?"

"You may wish to think twice," Giles growled, in a voice Buffy had never heard from him. "I'm her Watcher and you can't have her." He showed them the scarlet blade with his blood on it. One of the other vampires laughed.

"Folk tales," the demon said.

"Care to find out for sure?" Giles snarled and lunged at him. The vampire dodged, since the attack was obviously intended to merely pierce rather than decapitate him. The blade slashed his shoulder, the Watcher's blood mingling with his, and his mouth opened in shock before he turned to dust and collapsed. Buffy, equally surprised, almost got cuffed by another vampire before she recovered and kicked him in the chest.

Giles fought like a madman, finishing the enemies Buffy tossed in his direction with sweeping arcs of the blood-poisoned blade. The sword flashed, cleanly separating a head from a neck, or slicing an inch into a stomach with equal lethality. Her Watcher was not particularly discriminating in choosing a part of the body to attack. She slammed the leader against the wall and he had about a second to contemplate the Watcher's burning eyes before the sword cleaved his head in half horizontally and gouged the brick wall with a clash. Giles swung around to face his Slayer, but there were no more demons, and they both stood there breathing hard for a minute or two before Giles sheathed his sword and leaned heavily against the building.

"We should get out of here before we attract any more attention," Buffy said, "and you're hurt." Giles followed her gaze to his shoulder, where one of the vampires had slashed him with razor nails. That and the cut on his forearm ached dully. "My place is close, come on."

* * * * *

The apartment was a tiny studio, with just one room and a small kitchen and bath. It was clean, however, and Buffy turned on the lights to reveal a plainly decorated bed with yellow and white sheets.

"Sit down before you fall down," she said, pushing on Giles' shoulders to make him sit in the secondhand easy chair by the foot of the bed. She slipped the sword from over his shoulder as he sat down with an exhausted sigh, and Buffy went to open the window to let in the cooler night air. There was no air conditioner; a big, square floor fan was the only circulation, and she turned it on low. "Take your shirt off and let me get some stuff to patch you up."

She came back to find him hesitating at the buttons of his shirt. "What?" she said, both hands full of first aid stuff. "You're not going to get all bashful on me, are you? You're already Sleepy and Grumpy."

"Yes, well, pardon me for having some semblance of modesty," he muttered uneasily.

"You're bleeding," she said in a more serious tone, and dragged another chair over next to him to sit down. "Come on, get that shirt off. Do the stiff upper lip thing if you have to." He sighed faintly and obeyed her by unbuttoning the shirt the rest of the way.

"I suppose that's what I get for trying to rescue you," he said as she helped him get the shirt down his injured arm. Aside from the self-inflicted cut on his forearm, he'd been slashed up near the shoulder, four gouges in his flesh still bleeding slowly. Buffy made a sympathetic face as she got a good look at it.

"Doesn't look too bad but I bet it hurts like a mother." She started cleaning it with a washcloth from the bathroom and Giles tensed. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he said after letting his breath out. "I've had worse." He had the ruined shirt in his lap and examined the rips the vampire had made in it, now stained with his blood. There was a long silence, neither one of them wanting to give voice to the emotions that howled in the void between them. "This was one of my favorite shirts."

"How do you think I feel half the time?" she said with a hollow laugh. "Wet Seal ain't cheap, you know." She had a bottle of alcohol and was soaking another washcloth in it. "Okay, now this part's gonna hurt."

"Nrrggh!" he protested through clenched teeth as she rubbed the wound to disinfect it, his hand clenching into the chair's padded arm. He swore luridly in a foreign language.

"Hey, watch it, potty mouth," she said. "I have delicate ears."

"Like hell you do," he replied, grimacing. "And you didn't understand any of that, anyway."

"I understand enough to know you weren't asking for directions to the American Embassy," she said wryly. He gave a half-shrug and rubbed at his eyes sheepishly. Buffy smiled. "Such a gentleman." She spread some ointment into the gashes. "Nice pecs."

"Um, thank you. Comes from having to throw you around all the time." She chuckled. "We need to get you home," Giles said. She glanced up at him, then returned to taping the first wound. More silence. A cold chill spread up from his belly. "Or do you not want to?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I want to," she said, still not looking at him. "But I didn't come all the way out here just because I was throwing a hissie." He didn't know what to say to that, so just watched her for a few moments, studying the way the muscles in her face made her look so much older when she was angry.

"I know," he said finally, "and I didn't come all the way out here just to be told where to get off." She glanced up at him for a few seconds and finally decided that was his English way of announcing that he was ticked off by the way she had treated him.

"I just needed some time to myself," she said, dropping her gaze again. "To figure things out. Figure out what I'm doing and where all this is going. I didn't want to burden you with any of it...not after what Angelus did..."

Giles turned in the chair to take her face in both hands gently, making her look at him.

"Buffy, I am your Watcher first and foremost," he said with quiet intensity. "That comes before everything else in my life. Everything. Of course I'm grieving for Jenny, and I'm angry because of what Angelus did to me, but the truth at the core of my soul is that nothing hurts as much as you leaving me like you did. Nothing hurts like knowing you'd rather be without me than tell me about your own pain. When I'd discovered you'd run away, you might as well have cut my heart out with a knife." He brushed her hair back softly, the touch gentle in spite of the bitterness in his voice. She looked down at her hands, toying with the roll of first aid tape. "I had hoped you would feel a similar obligation toward me," he murmured. "The bond is theoretically mutual in that respect as well as in others, but I keep forgetting that you're relatively new to your destiny as the Slayer, in spite of your exceptional ability. I think I was expecting too much."

"Not that you ever told me what you expected," she said, more sharply than she'd intended, and raised her glittering eyes to his. "We've never talked about it -- the Watcher-Slayer bond. You've explained it a little...let me read some of the Watcher Diaries, but we've never talked about us. You and me." They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Buffy turned away to get up, holding one of the washcloths. "Lemme wash this out so I can clean that cut on your arm," she muttered. She came back holding a glass of water like an awkward peace offering. "Bet you're thirsty. It's been a three-digit bakefest here all week. I keep expecting to see a big sandworm crawl out of the sewer."

"Thank you," he said gratefully, drinking down half the glass at once. She sat down to tend to his other wound, wiping away blood that had run down to his hand.

"That was freaky what you did back there," she said after another uncomfortable span of heartbeats. "You didn't even have to chop their heads off. Just your blood was enough to kill them. Have you always been able to do that?"

"I don't know," he said. "The legends suggest that it's closely tied to the Watcher's bond with his Slayer, but other than that, I can only guess." He winced again as she cleaned out his wound with alcohol, muscles in his chest and shoulders flexing.

"Can I ask you something?" she ventured.

"Always."

"Why didn't you have this removed?" She traced the black tattoo on the inside of his forearm; the Mark of Eyghon. She'd known he must have one, but had never seen it. He flinched at the light, almost ticklish stroke of her finger on his skin. "It wouldn't matter now, would it? Now that Eyghon's destroyed?"

"No, now that he's gone, it doesn't really matter," Giles agreed, not meeting her eyes. He paused. "I wanted to remind myself of who I used to be. The mistakes I had made and the consequences of them. It should not be forgotten. Every day I am reminded, not just of the past, but of the future to which I have committed myself." Buffy nodded in understanding, but said nothing for a few more moments.

"You think this needs to be taped shut?" she wondered, checking the depth of the cut. He pulled lightly at the edges of it.

"Maybe," he said. "Do you have closures for that?"

"Yeah," she said, producing three of them. She dabbed ointment into the wound and then closed the edges together with the tape. "Next time you want to poison some vamps, don't cut yourself so deep." He nodded wearily.

"My mind was on other things at the time," he sighed. She finished covering the cut with a gauze pad. Wide, waterproof tape held it in place on his skin.

"That's gonna feel good when you rip it off," she observed wryly, noting the tawny hair on his arm. She was quiet for a much longer moment after she finished.

"What is it?" he asked, turning a little in the chair.

"Just thinking that you got hurt like this because of me," she said.

"I take such wounds gladly," he said seriously, and their eyes met again.

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Are you, um, staying in a hotel around here?" she asked, looking away to gather up the remains of the first aid supplies.

"A couple of miles away," he acknowledged. "My car's not very close but we could walk back to it. The room's air conditioned and you might rather stay there with me."

"Don't be stupid," she said, going back into the bathroom to put things away. "You're not going anywhere tonight. It's two o'clock in the morning and you're injured and exhausted. You're staying here. The bed's big enough for both of us." She came back out into the main room.

"Buffy..."

"Don't 'Buffy' me, Giles," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Now get in bed. I'm gonna go change." She took clothes out of the dresser and went into the bathroom, shutting the door to leave him sitting in the chair, chastised.

His shirt was obviously not wearable, soaked in blood. He sighed and leaned over to take off his shoes. It was a warm night, and he would have loved to sleep nude, but circumstances forbade that. He left his shoes and socks and belt on the floor and turned on the bedside lamp before deadbolting the front door and turning off the main light. He climbed into bed wearing only his trousers, and was in the process of taking off his watch when Buffy came out of the bathroom.

"Ta da," she said, wearing a very long, oversized shirt, which presumably hid underwear. He tried not to stare, unaccustomed to seeing her like this, which on reflection was strange since he'd seen her wearing considerably less in public at school. She was very beautiful. He'd always been aware of that, but had pushed it into the back of his mind because it was not appropriate.

She came over to get in bed on the other side, and her sudden proximity made him nervous. As she got under the sheets, he climbed out, unaware of her mildly bemused gaze.

"I really should call your mother," he said, walking toward the kitchen divider where the phone was. "Let her know you're all right."

"Giles, it's the middle of the night," Buffy said. Giles turned to give her an odd look, and it suddenly slammed home for the first time how deeply she had affected the lives of the people around her.

"She would want to know," Giles told her quietly. Buffy nodded, feeling ashamed.

"Yeah. You're right."

* * * * *

Joyce Summers jerked awake when the phone rang, and she rolled over in bed to grope around on the nightstand for the handset.

"Hello?" she said sleepily.

"Ms. Summers? It's Rupert Giles. I found Buffy."

Joyce sat straight up in bed, wide awake now.

"You found her?' she gasped. "Where? Where are you?"

"Phoenix, Arizona," he said tiredly.

"God, is she all right?"

"Yes. Yes, she's fine. I'm going to bring her home. We'll be back in Sunnydale as soon as we can. I think she needs to straighten out a few things here first -- her job and her lease and whatnot. It may be a day or two."

"Oh, thank God. Do you need any help? Can I come get you or anything? Do you need money?"

"No, I can handle it. I flew out of Los Angeles so I've left my car there. We'll fly back that way and drive home. Don't worry, Joyce. I'll take care of her."

"All right," she said, feeling hot tears spill over onto her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Giles. Thank you so much."

"It's the very least I could do," he said gently, and she heard the promise of a much deeper explanation imminent when he returned. "Goodnight."

* * * * *

Buffy had watched him during the conversation, but only half-listened to his words as he talked to her mother. There was something riveting about him standing there shirtless with one hand in his trouser pocket. She had evaluated his body instinctively once upon a time, but had not given a great deal of thought to it after that. Now, she couldn't ignore it. The bulge of his biceps started a beautiful line down his arm to his wrist, and as he turned half-away from her, the definition of muscle across his shoulder blade and back made her exhale slowly in surprise. He was not overly muscular or athletic, but the pure maleness of him was unavoidable, stripped of the clothes and polite distance that had prevented her from considering him on a primal level.

She realized he had hung up the phone and was looking at her.

"So," she said. "My mom's okay?" Giles nodded as he came back to the bed.

"She'll expect us home whenever we can get things settled for you here and you're ready to leave," he answered, getting back under the thin covers. He reached out to set his glasses on the night table and then switched the light off. "I told her it might be a day or two. We can always call again if we need to."

"Yeah."

He stretched out on his back as Buffy flopped onto her stomach with the sheet half off of her. The floor fan by the bed made a low thrumming sound, stirring a tepid breeze in the room that was still better than the still heat outside in the night. Giles tried to tune out the dull throbbing of his wounds and slipped into a doze relatively quickly. It had been much too long since he'd been at peace knowing Buffy was safe.

He was roused by the shift of the mattress as Buffy rolled over to face him again. She snuggled up next to him in the bed, resting her head on his shoulder and her arm across his bare chest. He tensed, but didn't move to get up.

"Is it okay?" she whispered hesitantly. Giles relaxed, curling his arm around her shoulders.

"Of course," he said gently. His skin was hot, smelling faintly of clean sweat and something indefinably personal to him, the scent she always associated with his presence. "Just try to get some sleep. I'll be here."

He was lying there thinking about what they were doing, this so-far-reversible closeness. Her fingers were idly tracing patterns in the hair on his chest, so softly she was probably not aware of doing it. The Calling had stopped, but in its place the Watcher-Slayer bond crooned low to him, telling him that this intimacy was good. It was a dangerous, seductive thing, far away from Sunnydale in this strange city, with only the two of them. But she felt so good against him, as if neither of them belonged anywhere else but with each other.

"What's it feel like?" she asked quietly after a few minutes. "The Calling." He didn't answer for a long moment, and she wasn't sure if he were awake.

"It's like...a burning ember in your belly," he said, his voice barely audible. "Like an invisible thread connecting the Watcher and Slayer that tugs at certain moments. Sometimes it's easy to bear...when you're doing what you're supposed to...moving in the right direction to answer the summons. Other times it's like being gutted with a jagged blade, demanding, screaming at you to obey."

"To go wherever I am, you mean," Buffy said softly. She felt him shudder against her body.

"Yes."

"What about now?" she wondered. "Has it stopped now that you've found me?"

"Yes," he replied in the darkness. "It's gone now. Now I just feel...the bond I usually feel between us."

"How am I supposed to feel on my end? How's the Slayer supposed to feel the bond?"

"It's not my place to say," Giles said. "The bond...is. One can't say what it's supposed to be, not really."

"I missed you so much," she whispered, hugging him a little. "More than I thought I would. I didn't have anybody to talk to. I mean...I can talk to Will, she's my best friend. But it's hard to talk to her about Slayer stuff. She doesn't really understand. She can't give me advice about some things. And...and I just missed you..."

"Shh," Giles whispered, holding her with one arm. "I won't leave. I'll never leave you as long as I'm alive. That's why I'm here, Buffy."

"What's it like for you, Giles?" she asked. "What's the Watcher's bond like? Please tell me."

"If you Call me, I will come to you," he said gently, gravely. "If you tell me, I will do. If you need me, I will give everything. My life and my death are yours, Buffy." The words would never have been uttered in the daylight, in Sunnydale, but once spoken they brought no regret. "That isn't just the oath I swore when I became a Watcher, but one that comes from my desire to be your Watcher. You've earned that commitment from me and I will fulfill it or die trying."

"God," she said. "Oh God, Giles. My resume's not looking too good right now." He grunted softly, amused.

"Don't feel like you should be doing something," he said. "Other than not running away, of course." Buffy sighed, knowing she'd walked into that. "I'm here to teach you and guard you. I don't expect you to know everything already. If you did you wouldn't need me."

"Oh, way to make me feel inadequate," she said.

"You've done a great deal for me," Giles said. "You've saved my life more than once. You've respected me as a person and shown compassion for a stuffy old Watcher."

"Except for that part where I ran away from you," she murmured against his shoulder. "Giles, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking about anybody but myself. I'm not the only person who has problems and bad stuff happen to them."

"You learned from this experience, though, didn't you?" he said. "Beyond the obvious that running away from problems doesn't make them go away."

"Yeah. I...I told you a few months ago that I can't do this alone...that I needed you and I didn't want you to leave. You scared me so much...when we went to your house and figured out where you'd gone, all I could see was Angelus killing you. I was angry at you for doing that...for putting yourself at risk like that and going off without telling me. Then I turn around and do the same thing to you. I knew I wasn't in any danger...but you didn't. For all you knew I could be dead, or worse. That wasn't just selfish of me...it was cruel. Giles, I swear, I'll never do anything like this again. I never meant to hurt you."

"I know you didn't, luv. If I thought that, I wouldn't have remained as your Watcher all this time. Now go to sleep. We have things to do in the morning."

* * * * *

Buffy was alone in the bed when she awoke, which was normal so her subconscious didn't make an issue out of it immediately. She rolled over and let out a low sigh, stretching. She'd kicked off the sheet in the night, and it was already starting to warm up in the apartment. Fortunately her window faced south, and the morning sun wasn't too bad. The fan was still on by the bedside on the floor. Then she smelled coffee, and remembered what had happened last night, and who had slept with her.

"Smells good," she mumbled.

"Would you like some?" came the low reply. She opened her eyes to see Giles standing in the shadow by the window, watching her and sipping from one of her dark blue mugs. He looked oddly roguish wearing nothing but his trousers, rough whiskers on his face. It was a bizarre contrast to his personality and the way she was used to seeing him.

"Not yet," she said, sitting up and yawning. "Thanks."

"Good morning, by the way," he said wryly. "I hope you slept well."

"Yep. Loglike. How 'bout you?"

"Fairly well, considering," he said. He didn't elaborate, and she presumed he meant the heat and his wounds and the fact that he'd been uncomfortably dressed. "Are you expected at work this morning?"

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "I do work Saturdays sometimes, but not this week."

"In that case, we're not in any hurry to resolve things here in Phoenix," Giles said. "You need to notify your employer that you're leaving, and your landlord, but those are not terribly urgent. What do you want to do about all your furniture and possessions?" Buffy let out a noncommittal breath as she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

"I dunno," she said. "I hadn't really thought about it. I don't want to take it with me, and it's not worth selling, even if we had the time. Wonder if the landlord would let me just leave it furnished and we could drop off the rest at the Salvation Army?"

"That sounds like a reasonable idea, if your landlord can be persuaded," Giles agreed, responding since she seemed at ease talking through the bathroom door. "Right now I'd like for us to move to my motel room. It's much more comfortable in this heat and I want to shower and shave and get some decent clothes on so I'll feel at least marginally civilized. Um, I don't suppose you have a shirt I could wear out in public until we get there?" The toilet flushed and Buffy came out, heading for the dresser.

"Hmm, think so. I've got a couple of T-shirts that might fit." She rummaged around for a moment, then fished out a white shirt with a small Nike swoosh on it. She tossed it to Giles, who put his coffee down. The shirt fit surprisingly well.

"I suppose this would be my opportunity to actually be thankful for your generation's penchant for wearing clothes that are too big," Giles said dryly, tucking the hem into his trousers. "Pack up what you need to stay over for a couple of days and let's get out of here. You can shower at the motel and I want to get to the car before the day heats up much more."

"Roger that," she said amiably and grabbed her backpack to begin stuffing clothes into it. "We need to check your wounds, and I want to get some lunch after that. I'm totally in the mood for some chicken nachos."

It was a measure of Giles' pleasure in her company and his meager diet over the last few days that her suggestion actually sounded appetizing. He smiled to himself, watching her pack, knowing he wasn't going to get a decent cup of tea in this city, but not caring because it felt so good to be with Buffy again.

She had gone into the bathroom, paused, then just swept everything into a little zippered bag and tossed it into the backpack. Then, standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, she tried to think of what else she might need.

"Well, I guess that's enough," she said. "Lemme change and we'll bail."

"I don't see how people can think this is an appropriate climate in which to build a city," Giles said as they got back to the motel and climbed out of the car. The dry inferno outside assaulted them again as they walked across the shimmering parking lot in the baking sun, which was already threatening another three-digit day.

"This from the man whose country of origin invented Spam," Buffy replied as Giles opened the motel room door and they both went in quickly, savoring the cool shade. Giles put his sword against the wall, gesturing toward Buffy.

"You can put that down anywhere," he said, and she dropped the backpack into a chair. He switched the air conditioning back on and noted that the maid had tidied up the room and remade the bed. "I'm going to bathe," he announced, retrieving fresh clothes from his own bag on the floor. He put his wallet and keys on the table. "Feel free to take some money if you want to go buy today's newspaper or something out of the vending machines."

"Thanks," she said, faintly surprised by this generosity. "I'll probably just watch TV. Cartoons, you know." She smiled at his resigned expression and plopped down on the bed with the remote control as Giles disappeared into the bathroom.

A tepid shower was, at that moment, the most delicious thing Giles had ever experienced. He stood motionless in the spray, hands on the wall, savoring the coolness and hedonism of being naked in the water. His stomach growled as he began to wash himself, and he tried to remember the last time he'd had a decent meal.

He'd peeled the bandages off carefully -- wincing as some hair came with it -- and inspected the slashes on his deltoid and the cut on his forearm. Both wounds were healing well. He washed them thoroughly but gently, and was careful to keep them out of the direct spray.

He was humming aimlessly by the time he got out and was drying himself off. He laughed quietly on realizing it was "Tales From the Vienna Woods." He was happy, actually looking forward to the day in a way he hadn't in many weeks. He couldn't think of a better way to spend it than venturing out into the 108-degree heat to have lunch with his Slayer.

He would have preferred to be fully dressed before coming out of the bathroom, but his wounds were located in a highly inconvenient place. He was wearing trousers but holding his clean shirt in front of him uneasily when he emerged. Buffy glanced over at him.

"Hey," she said. "Feel better?" She tried not to stare at him, at the strength suggested by his broad shoulders and the soft line of muscles across his stomach.

"Yes, thank you," he said shyly. "Um, would you mind, uh..." He gestured, and Buffy's eyes lit up with comprehension. She leaned over the foot of the bed to get out the first aid stuff she'd brought with her from her apartment. "It's quite awkward for me to tend to it myself -- "

"Giles, it's cool," Buffy said with an amused smile. She waved him over. "Sit. Stay." Giles obliged gratefully, still shy. It was so cute, Buffy thought. "Wow, these healed a lot since last night," she said in surprise as she took a good look at his wounds. They were raw-looking, but already closed. "Do Watchers have some kind of special healing powers? It never seemed like you did before." She dabbed antibiotic ointment into the slashes first as Giles glanced at her.

"Not usually, no," he admitted. "I was rather surprised, too, when I saw them in the bathroom. Some of the Watcher Chronicles mention the possibility of the Watcher-Slayer bond giving rise to some special abilities for the Watcher, advanced healing among them. It's typically only seen when the bond is a strong one, or is under duress. I think both are true in this instance." Buffy nodded ruefully.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"I'm content to leave till later the conversation about who's at fault," he said quietly, and she was silent for a little while, cleaning the sword cut on his arm.

"I called my boss at work and told him I was quitting," Buffy said at last. "He wants me to come in sometime today and sign some tax stuff. I called my landlord, too. He said pretty much the same thing. Oh, and he'll let me leave the big furniture if I forfeit my security deposit. I told him that was cool."

"Well, that sounds like it worked out fairly well. Was your boss angry that you're quitting on such short notice?"

"I don't think so. Jamie and Kelly can pick up the slack until he hires somebody else. No biggie. There. All done." She'd bandaged the wounds more lightly this time, not even needing to tape the sword cut.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. He gestured toward the bathroom. "Your turn." Buffy bounced to her feet.

"Thanks." She gathered up a pile of clothes and sundries she'd already assembled and strode into the bathroom and shut the door.

When Buffy came out, she found Giles sitting in a chair at the table reading a newspaper. He looked up and she saw that he'd put his shirt on and shaved. He looked once more like the Watcher she knew, and the sight of it was calming to her. She'd had to do everything for herself since coming here in May. She'd had no one to depend on, no one to talk to or go to for help. She had never realized how much she had depended on Giles to be there for her...and how much he also depended on her.

"Anything going on in the world today?" she asked as she leaned over to brush her hair out.

"The stock market's up, murder rate's down, and Newt Gingrich's sister is a lesbian," Giles said deadpan.

"Old news about Candace," Buffy said. "Everybody knows that."

"I didn't."

The sun was an even greater force to be reckoned with here than where they lived in California, and Giles saw as Buffy stood bent over, brushing her hair, that she had a considerable tan. She was wearing a white tank top over pale jeans, and when she straightened to tie her hair back, their eyes met.

"What?" she said, tossing the hairbrush onto the bed so she could use both hands to fix her hair.

"Where do you want to eat lunch?" he asked, unable to give any explanation for why he was watching her so intently. "You said you wanted chicken nachos, and you're more familiar with Phoenix than I am."

"Hmm. Well, there's El Torito," she said. "They're pretty good. Or Chevy's. And there's always Taco Bell." She smiled at the expression of distaste that crossed Giles' face, and sat on the bed to put her shoes on.

"I'd sooner eat at a pig's trough," her Watcher said with disdain. "Either of the other places you mentioned is fine with me."

"Mariachi band it is, then."

* * * * *

They went to El Torito, which on Saturday at lunchtime was packed. They had to wait almost a half hour to get seated, the waiter got their order mixed up with someone else's, and the moment Buffy got up from her chair to leave, the power went out.

"Brownout," Buffy sighed as the restaurant was filled with the sounds of people groaning in dismay. "At least it waited until we were done."

"And at least you got your chicken nachos," Giles said as they left the restaurant. Buffy grinned.

"Musta done something right for a change. Cashing in some of my stored up good karma."

They drove to the diner where Buffy worked, and Giles waited in the car while she finished her business there. A half hour later, she and her landlord hashed out which furniture would remain in the apartment and what would not.

So, they located a Salvation Army, and went back to Buffy's apartment to methodically box up the things she wanted to get rid of, which was nearly everything except some of her clothes and the remainder of a box of cookies and two cans of soda. The rest of the food went into the dumpster. They had to make several trips since Giles' rental car would only take so much at a time, and they spent the rest of the afternoon in the heat cleaning out the apartment.

"Jeez, Giles, couldn't the Calling have told you to rent a minivan?" Buffy said as they began the third trip down to the car, both of them pausing to take long drinks from the bottled water that she had insisted they buy before getting started. He understood now why it was necessary.

Finally nothing was left but the stripped bed, dresser, chair and the night table. The aging, avocado-green refrigerator had come with the apartment, so it, too, remained. Buffy went back to the landlord's office and gave him back her keys and signed an early forfeiture agreement for her lease.

"It's weird to leave it like that," she said as they went down the stairs and out of the building. Giles ran his hand back through his hair. They were both sweating from the weather and the exertion. "It just looked so...empty."

"Is that how you feel? Empty?" Giles asked as they got in the car for a final time. Buffy made a rueful noise.

"I guess it's just hard to admit I made a mistake," she said. Giles smiled gently but said nothing, and they drove back to the motel.

* * * * *

"God, I need another shower," Buffy said as they took refuge in the haven of the cool motel room. "I can't wait to go back to Sunnydale where it's cooler."

"I second the motion," Giles said tiredly, flopping down into a chair in front of the air conditioner and reaching for an unread section of the newspaper that the maid had left neatly stacked. Giles turned the TV on and began channel surfing, having no idea what the schedule was currently like in Phoenix. His subconscious mind had long since tuned out the thought of Buffy naked in the shower.

Neither of them ever mentioned the possibility of getting another room with two beds. It would have been simple to arrange and the cost would have been negligible. But it never came up between them, and Giles simply accepted the fact that she would sleep in the same bed with him, and she seemed to expect it. In some sense it was a desire for the closeness. He'd felt desperately incomplete without her, his purpose in life stolen from him by her selfishness and confusion. Yet, from her reaction to his arrival in Phoenix, she obviously felt something similar although had not understood what it was. She didn't exist to serve him the way he did her, but the bond had a certain reciprocity inherent in it. It was a bond of trust and love, and what she gained from him wasn't just training and knowledge, but solace and sanity.

Buffy found the TV tuned to the Weather Channel when she came out in fresh clothes and her hair damp again.

"Ooh," she said. "Satellite radar. Riveting." Giles, who was actually engrossed in reading the paper, looked over at her with his best 'don't start with me' look, and Buffy giggled. Giles folded the paper loosely on the table and got up, eager to get out of his own clothes and into the shower, preferably warm this time.

"There's a peculiar film on channel five with what I believe is a very young Mel Gibson and a horde of thugs in stock cars rampaging across the desert, if you're interested," Giles offered.

"Road Warrior?" Buffy said, stealing the remote control. "I'm all over that." She grabbed the box of cookies they had rescued from her apartment, and Giles smiled to himself as he went into the bathroom.

* * * * *

"I have an idea."

Buffy glanced at Giles in surprise, hearing a pleasure and lightness in his voice that had been absent until now. He was wearing a white buttoned shirt and charcoal dockers, and she couldn't help staring at him this time as he put his glasses back on and ran one hand back through his damp, unruly hair. He was, bluntly, beautiful.

"Ideas always get me in trouble," she joked gamely. "So, what's yours?"

"Why don't we go out? You know, celebrate a bit. We could go to dinner, go to the movies..."

"Paint the town red, huh?" Buffy chuckled. "Around here that'll probably only take about two gallons of exterior latex. Not that Sunnydale's a bitchin' disco time, either. Actually that sounds pretty cool. I'd love to just do something fun instead of having to worry about going to work on Monday or doing my laundry...or sitting at home thinking about how much I miss you and my mom and the gang." Her voice quieted a little on the last sentence, and Giles went over to her easily, comfortable with her affection for once in his life.

"Let's go, then," he said with a smile. "The night's on me. Anything you want."

"That's sweet," she said, looking up at him and returning the smile. "What about your wounds, are they -- "

"They've healed enough that I was able to tend to it myself," he said. Buffy knew that it had to have been awkward as hell for him, but suspected he hadn't wanted to continue to surrender to the immodesty of having her do it for him while he was half-naked. That, too, was sweet.

"Okay," she said, getting up. "Let's go find some paint."

* * * * *

Buffy informed him that the place to go in Phoenix for steak was Durant's. They called to make a reservation and then drove off in search of it. Buffy surprised him by being a prime rib freak, smothering it with raw horseradish and downing several glasses of water and declaring the whole time how great it was. She even liked the meat rare, telling the waitress, "Just walk the cow through the kitchen and bring it on out here still mooing." Giles hadn't been able to suppress a laugh at that, and neither had the waitress.

"One day we'll have to find out if you like steak tartare," he said after the waitress had left. "Although it's rather different from a rare steak, since it's basically raw ground hamburger. Personally I find it disgusting." He grinned as Buffy made a face.

They went to the first movie theater they stumbled across, stood in front of the marquee for a minute or two, then decided to watch something fluffy and undemanding. This turned out to be the remake of Godzilla with Matthew Broderick.

The audience was rowdy, aware of how bad a movie they were watching, and finally Giles was persuaded to join in throwing popcorn at the screen and yelling out catcalls against the lineage of the producer, scriptwriters and other assorted lunatics responsible for the hideous thing.

"My God, that was an awful movie," Giles said, laughing as they left the theater.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed readily, also grinning. "Not even cool bad. Just bad bad. Somebody was getting out some kind of major, kinky Freudian issue with that thing."

"I think they recycled about half of that film from Jurassic Park," Giles mused.

"You saw Jurassic Park?" Buffy said, eyeing him. "You've never struck me as the type of guy to watch movies. You don't even own a TV."

"I go to the cinema by myself sometimes," Giles said. "To do something that isn't school or Watcher related. I like it, actually. There's something oddly liberating about watching a film in the dark, anonymously."

"Now that's kinky," Buffy declared with a wry grin. Giles snorted good-naturedly.

*****

They went back to the motel pleasantly sleepy and stuffed.

"One thing I can tell you," Buffy sighed as she sat down to take off her shoes. "I'm going to love sleeping in an air conditioned room tonight. The warm summer night thing has a certain appeal, but it's not as glamorous as it looks in the movies when Denzel Washington does it. Does it ever get hot like this in England?"

"Not like this," Giles admitted. "It's a bit farther north than most of the United States, and there's a lot of high country. It doesn't rain there all the time, despite rumors. It can be quite lovely in the summer, but a balmy one hundred and twelve degrees in the shade would be rather out of the question." Buffy laughed.

Giles went into the bathroom so they could both change clothes. They wanted nothing more than to go to bed, and worry about tomorrow when it came. He had asked her at dinner what she wanted to do the next day, and she had cheerfully replied, "Ask me later."

Buffy was already curled up in bed when Giles came out. She'd left the bedside lamp on for him and turned the AC unit down a little, which was fine with him since he didn't like it too cool. Feeling much more appropriate in black sweats and a navy T-shirt, Giles slipped under the covers with her and reached for the light.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" he asked after switching the light off and settling on his back with a sigh. Buffy made a soft, amused sound.

"Yeah, I did, Giles. Thanks. You're a good Watcher." He chuckled quietly, listening to the sound of her breathing as they both went silent.

The hum of the air conditioner lulled him into a pleasant, sated doze and he yawned gapingly. They were safe together, protecting each other in their own way, comforted knowing the other was at peace.

* * * * *

Giles wasn't sure what had awakened him, but as he lay there in the half-light from the parking lot outside, he heard a soft sound from Buffy. He rolled onto his side and touched her shoulder, realizing all at once that she was crying.

"Buffy?" he said softly. She rolled over and embraced him, pressing her face into his chest and sobbing. "Hey hey, shh," he said, holding her to him. "It's all right. I'm here. Shh." He let her cry, his heart aching, wondering if she had let any of this out before now. It sounded like it would kill her to hold it in any longer, and he pressed his face into her soft hair, wanting to take the pain into himself so she wouldn't have to bear it.

The sobs eased after a minute or two, and Giles stroked her hair slowly, rubbing her back. He let her hold him in silence for a while, then pulled away from her slightly. "Talk to me," he murmured. "Please."

Buffy rolled onto her back, wiping her eyes. Giles leaned away for a moment to get the box of tissues from the bedside table, and she accepted them with a choked thank you before drying her eyes and nose. She sniffled a few times, still not speaking for several heartbeats, and Giles waited, gazing down at her from where he had propped himself up on his elbow.

"The restoration spell..." she whispered. "It worked. Just as I was about to kill him, he got his soul back. But he -- Angelus -- had already taken the sword out of Acathla and the vortex was opening. He was Angel again, but I had to kill him. I had to send him to Hell to close the portal."

Giles and the others had never known if the spell had worked. It had seemed to do something, but whether the timing was right was a mystery, and Buffy had left before talking to any of them. Angelus had disappeared. Giles had assumed -- hoped -- that Buffy had destroyed him before he had pulled the sword and awakened Acathla. This truth was more terrible than he could have imagined. He had come to Phoenix with anger and confusion in his heart about why she had run away. Had it been his fault? Was it something he had done or failed to do? Now he started to understand why she had fled Sunnydale, and knew it really had nothing to do with him.

"My God, Buffy," he said softly, touching her cheek with the back of his hand. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry. Oh, I wish you had come to me, talked to me. I wouldn't have turned you away." Buffy's hand came up to curl around his and he gripped it firmly.

"Willow must feel awful."

"She's terrified you'll blame her for restoring Angel's soul," Giles said, hearing how hard it was for Buffy to talk to him about the personal bond between the two of them. A Watcher-Slayer bonding could be so complex, and theirs had depths they had never discussed. "We weren't sure it had worked, and we were afraid it might work in the wrong way. It seems we were right."

"It's not Willow's fault," Buffy said in a distant voice. She sighed. "It's my fault. It's because I had sex with him in the first place that he lost his soul and did all those terrible things as Angelus. If I'd just avoided him like you warned me to from the first, none of this would have ever happened, and Miss Calendar would still be alive."

"Buffy, you are not to blame for that," Giles said softly. "You didn't know that making love to Angel would cause him to lose his soul again. I don't think even he knew it, because he would never take a risk like that, knowing what he did about the evils he committed while he was Angelus. If anyone could bear the responsibility for that, it would have been Jenny, and she's already paid the price for her mistake." He sounded sad, but angry, too, and Buffy was quiet for a moment.

"You're mad at her, aren't you?" she said gently.

"She deceived us about who she was, even after becoming involved in our affairs," Giles said bitterly. "She kept information from us that would have prevented Angel from losing his soul. She placed you in the position of being the one who caused it and thus burdened you with guilt that was not rightfully yours. I was tortured because of it. She was murdered. But mostly I'm angry that her actions and her secrets destroyed your relationship with Angel and created a rift between you and me. She knew enough to know that a Watcher and his Slayer should not be so separated."

"And now that she's dead you can't even tell her how angry you are," Buffy mused softly. Giles sighed heavily.

"That's one of the problems with death. We can never rebuke the dead...or apologize to them." Buffy was silent, letting Giles stroke her cheek.

"Giles, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Angelus. About Jenny. About...about what he did to you..." She started to cry again and Giles bowed his head to her temple, brushing his lips against her skin and holding her. "I'm sorry..."

"Shh, it's all right. I don't blame you." He kept his mouth pressed to her forehead, holding her and soothing her as she wept. She smelled good, her hair like some kind of island fruit, her skin like warm soap. He hated the distance that kept them apart, the distance that had let her run from him because she feared his anger. He loved her so much sometimes he thought his heart would burst, and as she quieted beneath him now, he brushed her tears away with gentle fingers.

She was looking at him, her eyes flickering in the pale light from outside the window, silently searching his heart and soul with her gaze. He held her eyes, allowing her to see what he was, the grief and the protectiveness he knew was on his face just then. She reached up to touch his jaw, and the distance between them closed forever as he leaned down again to brush his lips against hers.

Her mouth opened, inviting him, needing him, and the kiss deepened quietly as her hand slipped around the back of his neck and he sought her tongue with his own. His hair was soft under her fingers, the smell and taste of him hot and male. A ball of warm lead had suddenly made itself known in the pit of her stomach, and she thought, /Oh my God, what am I doing?/ The thought that followed this immediately after was, /He tastes so good.../

Giles made a low sound in the back of his throat and wrenched himself away from her with a gasp.

"Bloody hell," he whispered in the darkness. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...Christ." He was out of the bed in the next moment, throwing the covers away to get up and pace across the room.

In another time and place, Buffy might have been more hesitant, but the sight of him leaving the bed brought a sharp stab of panic to her gut and she left the bed like a phantom haunting him. He was standing with both hands tangled in his hair, leaning forward against the wall as if wishing he could rewind the past two minutes. She put her hand on his warm back and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"I didn't stop you," she said softly. "It's okay. It really is."

"Buffy..." His voice was strained, filled with longing and guilt.

She used her strength to force him to turn around, pushing him up against the wall roughly to make him look at her. For an eternal second neither of them spoke, his brilliant eyes dark in the low light. She closed her hand around the waistband of his sweats, felt and heard him flinch.

"Come back to bed," she said, and pulled on his pants. He obeyed silently, trembling hard, and she threw him down onto the bed on his back. She climbed in after him, shoving him down when he tried to rise, able to see the desperate, terrified need in his face for an instant.

"Please," he whispered, and Buffy bent down to kiss him hard, hearing in his plea the heat of something unspoken; forbidden and buried deep inside the part of him that he never looked into. Even she was surprised by the soft whimper he uttered and the ferocity of his response as he welcomed her with his open mouth and embraced her with both arms like a starving man. One of his sleek, graceful hands slid into her hair and then gripped hard, holding her mouth to him savagely. The show of strength tore something loose in Buffy's consciousness and in the next instant the kiss became brutal. Her tongue dared him to fight back, to show her his passion, and he bit her lip sharply in reply, making her growl. She broke away to lick and kiss down his neck, sucking lightly and then nipping him. She was already straddling him, and now lowered herself to sit directly on his groin. "God," he purred. "Oh, God..."

"Flatterer," she said, amused, and devoured his mouth again.

He was tasting sweet, female heat in her mouth, her lust a scent that filled his belly with fire and suddenly made him achingly, completely hard. It was a delicious erection; undemanding but unquestionably ready. Buffy groaned into his mouth, a surprised, amused and eager sound. She must have felt it, his cock hardening under her. His loose sweats would not have disguised it even slightly, and on recognizing the closeness of a woman's heat, his hips rose involuntarily, seeking entry, making her feel his readiness for her.

"Is that a surface to air missile in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Buffy asked as she broke the kiss with a giggle. She saw his answering smile, shy and fleeting, and his hand was still on her neck as she sat up to regard him from a higher perspective above the bed.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Giles sighed, running his hand slowly back through her silken hair.

"Why?" she said, amused. "Because you're old enough to be my dad?"

"Thank you for reminding me," he said with resigned sarcasm.

"If you were sixty and I was forty, nobody would think it was weird," Buffy said. "Older men are always robbing the cradle. I mean, come on, Angel was more than two hundred."

"Yes, well, this geezer has some morals," Giles said, still wry. "You're a minor, for God's sake. I could go to jail, in California and Arizona."

"So who has to know? Nobody's damn business, anyway, if a Slayer and her Watcher want to fool around."

"This is more than fooling around for me, Buffy," Giles said softly, stroking her arm. "I can't wake up tomorrow morning and pretend this didn't happen."

"I can't either," she admitted, swallowing and looking away for a moment. "I wouldn't use you, Giles. I'm not like that."

"I know," he said, "but I want you to understand that I'm not going to be casual about this just because I'm older. That's not age-related. It has to do with how I value what I'm about to give you. This is a gift, Buffy, something we give to each other. I know you know that already, but I've usually been slow to grant it to others because it's so precious to me. I've regretted the times I was cavalier about it." Buffy reached down to touch his chest, rubbing through his shirt gently.

"A lot of things will change," she said, "but a lot of things have already changed between us...things that can't go back to what they were. I was thinking about it last night, while we were at my place and you let me sleep against you. Giles, there's nobody who could understand our relationship, not what it is or what it could be. I'm not sure if we really even understand it, but I want to know." She bent down over him until their foreheads touched, her weight resting firmly on his groin and he made a soft sound and arched against her reflexively. "I want this, Giles, I want you."

She put her hands down on his chest and kissed softly at his mouth, nuzzling him, licking gently as he parted his lips to meet her tongue with his. He reached up to hold her, one hand in her hair at the back of her neck, the other around her shoulder. She was passionate, more than he'd ever expected, more than he would have dared to believe from a girl as modest and sensitive as she was. He heard himself groan hungrily, wildly. He protested with a catlike yowl in his throat as she pulled away. "Take this off," she said, tugging at his shirt.

He sat up enough to grab it behind his back, desperate to obey her, to feel her hands on his bare flesh. She helped him, dragging it past his shoulders and off of him, throwing it carelessly on the floor. Her hands returned to him immediately, palms finding the curve of his pecs, fingers trailing through the light hair on his chest. "God, I've wanted to touch you since I saw you on the phone with my mom yesterday." He hummed softly at her caress, reaching up with his hands to touch her mouth and jaw lightly.

"You were staring at me," he said breathlessly. "I saw you. I thought...you were lost in thought about something else...home, perhaps. Your friends. You were really looking at me? Thinking about me?" She was running her hands over his ribs slowly, exploring, then trailing back up to his collarbone.

"Yeah," she admitted. "You were...you looked so good, Giles. You really did. Something about you that just made me want to touch you all over, feel you." His hands covered hers on his stomach, not hindering her, but following her caress with one of his own.

"I can feel it in your hands," he whispered. "How much you want to. How much you're enjoying it." She found one of his nipples and tweaked it lightly, quickly, and he gasped hard, his grip closing around her wrists.

"Sorry," she said, but he could hear her smiling. "Did that hurt?"

"S-surprised me...is all..." he panted, then swallowed tightly. "Felt it straight through my loins like a bolt of lightning, God that was sweet!" His outburst made her grin with delight.

She returned hesitantly to his nipples and began to stroke them softly, fascinated by the way he arched and gave a low purr.

"I didn't know men could be sensitive like this," she mused.

"I think I could be sensitive on my bloody elbow if it were you touching me," Giles sighed, smiling at her. He shifted his hips a little, taking advantage of the opportunity to rub his erection between her legs where she sat on him. She gasped softly and closed her eyes. "Like that, don't you?" he murmured, grinning.

"Well, I never...I mean, Angel wasn't like this," she confessed shyly. She wasn't sure it was wise to mention a previous lover while with him, but he just chuckled.

"Playful, you mean?"

"Yeah. It was always so deadly serious. He wasn't really the playful type."

"And you've never had the chance to really relax and experiment in your previous sexual experiences," Giles said, finishing her unspoken thought. She nodded, mildly uncomfortable, but her Watcher touched her mouth lightly. "If you're expecting me to be angry or shocked because you've had other lovers besides Angel, you've got a long wait ahead of you," he said, amused. "And maybe you didn't expect me to be a playful lover."

"I didn't expect you to be a rough one, either," she said wryly.

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's interesting," she qualified teasingly. She yelped as Giles rose up and suddenly flipped her over onto her back, pinning one of her wrists to the bed and straddling her thigh.

"We can go lots of directions with 'interesting,'" he murmured, and kissed her again, slowly, deeply, enjoying the dominant position above her. She ran her free hand up his arm, along the line and bulge of his lithe muscles. His teeth found her throat sharply, giving her an idea of his strength, and she gave a soft cry. He brushed his lips down the front of her nightshirt, grazing the edge of her breast.

She raised her knee carefully to nudge his testicles and the firm shaft of his cock in his sweats. He purred and shifted his body so he could rub himself against her leg aggressively, effectively masturbating. The hard proof of how wanton he could be made her shudder, and Giles smiled down at her. "You want to touch me, don't you?" he said, taking her hand and moving away from her knee so he could press her palm into his groin. "Go on. It likes to be touched."

She curled her fingers around the shape of his cock through his sweats, fascinated by its hardness and warmth, and by the way he bowed his head and pushed into her grasp with a soft groan.

"I think I like to touch it," she teased. He chuckled breathlessly, and then hissed softly when her hand moved back to cup his testicles. "Is that okay?" she asked anxiously, wondering if she'd hurt him. She knew that men were usually sensitive there -- she'd kicked enough vampires in the crotch to learn that.

For an answer, Giles covered her hand with his own again and gripped hard, much harder than she would have if it had been her decision. He growled softly and she felt his whole body tense in ecstasy. He bent down to nuzzle her throat, letting her hand go so she could fondle him freely.

"I like a firm touch," he murmured. "Don't squeeze too hard, but a general pressure is very nice. I want to find out what you like, though." She felt his warm breath through her nightshirt as he moved down her body, resuming his previously interrupted exploration.

"Oh, make something up," she said unsteadily. "I'm sure I'll like it." He chuckled again, then suddenly seized one of her nipples with his lips. Her shirt was between them, but she cried out in surprise and pleasure.

"I'll see how creative I can be, then," he murmured, grabbing the trailing edge of her shirt and pulling it ferociously up over her head, wanting it off of her. She let him take the shirt and throw it on the floor, but felt self-conscious under his gaze and tried not to instinctively cover herself. He recognized her embarrassment and stroked her stomach lightly. "A woman's body is a glory," he said quietly, seriously. "You're so beautiful." His hand was gentle and reverent, not the lewd grope she had half-expected. She wondered where that expectation came from. Angel, too, had been awed by her. Other boys she'd been with hadn't been as sophisticated, but they had also seemed amazed by her nakedness rather than lecherous. And hadn't she felt the same way about them? Amazed by their bodies and their masculinity?

Buffy reached for his face, caressing down his throat and across his shoulder, loving his warm, soft skin and the edge of his muscles. She held his neck as he bent down to devour a nipple luxuriously, the tip of his tongue exploring the soft nub, finding the edges and tickling lightly. She giggled even as she arched against his mouth, and he sucked gradually harder until she complained.

"Ow," she said, still laughing. He let go immediately.

"Sorry," he said, amused. "I'm trying to find out where your tolerances are."

"Ooh, that sounds like some kind of a challenge," she said, brushing both hands down his chest to his groin again. His cock flared into her touch eagerly and he hummed. He started when she suddenly dug into his sweatpants, seeking out the bare heat of his penis and cupping it curiously.

"Oh my God," he breathed, startled. "Oh, wait a moment, let me..." He pulled away from her so he could get rid of his sweats. They joined his shirt on the floor on the other side of the bed.

"Hey, good idea," Buffy said, and shed the rest of her clothes as well, kicking them out from under the bedcovers.

"Indeed," her Watcher murmured, straddling one of her muscled legs again to begin nuzzling her shoulder, taking in her scent. He grunted as her cool hand found his cock again, this time bare, and he had to kiss her mouth again deeply, searching for more of the sweet, private trust that he could feel in her grasp.

She pushed on his chest to stop him for a moment and he looked down at her.

"Um, we can't, um, I mean...I'm not on the pill or anything and..." She trailed off as Giles' fingers touched her lips gently.

"I know," he said softly. "It's all right. We don't have to do that. We can stop if you want to."

"No, don't stop," she said, touching his arms. "Please. I want to...just...we have to be careful and I figured most guys would, you know, go for the brass ring."

"Their loss," Giles murmured, leaning down to kiss between her breasts, "when there's gold all around for the taking."

"You sweet talker, you," she giggled. She gasped when Giles' mouth moved up suddenly to take her throat in a passionate, painless bite. She felt his teeth just graze her skin as he drew back.

"You are gold," he said in a fierce whisper as he half kissed, half licked down her neck. "And milk and honey and fire in my blood. My God, I love you."

"You love me?" she said, sounding faintly surprised.

"Yes," he hissed fiercely against her shoulder. He rose up on his knees to hold her face in his hands. "Yes." He bowed his head to hers. "Damn, yes."

"Giles..." she breathed.

"Shh, don't say anything. Don't answer. Just tell me if you want to make love, and that's enough from a Slayer to her Watcher."

"Please. Yes."

He kissed her softly, gently, on the mouth. More than the other ferocious, hard kisses, this one conveyed an emotion that made Buffy shiver; worship. She had never expected that from anyone, had never seen any evidence of it in her friends and associates. Admiration, yes. Pride. But there was something deeply, almost painfully private about what her Watcher's mouth told her without using words. He brushed his lips down the side of her jaw, not biting or even kissing, just feeling her, letting her feel his softness. His low voice broke the reverie after a few minutes.

"Mmm, Lord, I forgot. I think I'm supposed to demand to see a copy of your most recent tests for sexually transmitted diseases, but I'll settle for your verbal testimony." Buffy giggled.

"Nothing to worry about except for the pregnancy thing," she said. He was still nuzzling her throat. "And the fact that sometimes I laugh when I climax."

"Do you really?" He sounded intrigued.

"Yeah," she confessed. "Guys always think I'm laughing at them. But I'm not, I swear."

"I believe you," he said, chuckling. "It just means you feel good, and you trust the person you're with. I'll do my best to make you laugh. I'm clean, as well, although I think I'm safe enough from getting pregnant." He reflected briefly on how lucky he had been to come out of his youth with his health intact, all things considered.

"Don't you just hate sex in the modern age?" she sighed.

"Not as long as it means I get to make love to you," he said, realizing that he was not merely lucky, but blessed, to have arrived at this moment as a whole man, body and spirit, and when she grinned at him, he just laughed with contentment.

"Mmm, naked Watcher," Buffy said, contemplating Giles' extremely available state. She rose up to embrace him around the waist, and had her mouth around his cock before he could suck in another breath. All he could do was curl his body around her and hold her shoulders, breathing hard against the hot delight that filled him.

"If I'd known you wanted so much to see me naked, I'd've offered months ago," he panted when he could find his voice. She laughed in her throat but didn't let him go. He brushed some of her hair out of the way so he could watch her pleasuring him. It was hypnotic and deliciously gratifying. That she would so hungrily take this part of him and give him such unbelievable pleasure made heat flame up his spine. "Better slow down, luv," he groaned. She let go of his cock with a final suck, glancing up at him and then licking the crown softly.

"What for?" she teased. "We going for the Guinness Book record?"

"I want to savor this," he murmured. "It's been a long time and I'm fairly eager."

"So be eager," she said. "This isn't the last time we're going to be together, is it?"

"No, not if I can help it," he said fiercely.

"Then you can savor some other time," she hummed, returning to kiss the head of his penis, delving into the hole at the tip with her tongue. Giles moaned deep in his throat. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

"Christ, yes!"

"Then enjoy it, Giles. Enjoy it and just come when you're ready." She consumed him again and he gave a rough cry of joy, throwing his head back to thrust reflexively into her mouth. For an instant he was afraid he had choked her, but she just chuckled and held his hips. He put one hand out for balance, finding the headboard of the bed. He couldn't completely suppress the urge to thrust, pushing against her hands and seeking the warmth of her mouth with shuddering breaths.

"I'm sorry, I can't...can't be still..." he panted.

"I got an idea," Buffy said, letting go of his cock for a moment and pulling him with her. She sat with her back to the headboard, coaxing him to rise up on his knees in front of her, straddling her thighs. "Put your hands on the wall," she said. He obeyed, suddenly understanding, and she grabbed his buttocks to pull his cock to her mouth, where she took him inside again.

"Oh!" he gasped, bracing himself on the wall to push slowly against her sensuous tongue. She was teasing and nibbling him, flicking her tongue up the shaft, then turning her attention to his balls for a little while, nuzzling them, all the while fondling his ass. It took a minute or two for Giles to find coherent thought again, and he let out a long, deep growl. "Oh God, Buffy, that's sooo good..."

She was rubbing her hands over his buttocks, finding his ticklish spots, finding the spots that made him purr and writhe. She'd noticed that he wore a pair of trousers extremely well, and now was getting to feel why. Letting go of his cock for a moment, she explored his firm balls, the soft skin behind them where they joined his body. He seemed to like that and spread his legs slightly to allow her better access. She stroked his perineum, intrigued by its swollen warmth. "You can apply a little pressure there," he murmured, his voice rough. She glanced up at him and saw him gazing down at her, his eyes dark with pleasure. He was still rock hard, and as she dug her knuckles gently into his perineum, he moaned quietly.

"What's that feel like?" she asked, fascinated.

"Tickles my prostate," he replied, his eyes closing. "It's quite nice."

"I've read that men like that," she mused. She wasn't paying much attention to where she was stroking, and brushed her finger across his anus. He flinched violently and his breath caught. She started and withdrew, realizing where she had touched him. "Whoa, sorry -- "

"No," he panted. "No, go ahead. It's all right."

"You sure?" she said. He laughed.

"Quite sure, unless you'd rather not."

"Fingers are no big deal," she said, amused. "But if you want my tongue there, we're gonna have to negotiate." Giles chuckled.

"Fair enough." He shifted a little on the bed to make it easier for her, and her fingers returned to begin stroking him there again, curious of the silken quality of the skin. He gasped sharply, unable to stop himself from bucking. "Urrrmm, suck me, please?" he whispered. "Please?" Buffy licked quickly up the shaft of his penis before taking it in her mouth again, more than glad to oblige him. The sound he made was a mixture of amazement and raw bliss, tapping deeper and deeper into his soul.

* * * * *

She wriggled her finger gently, still sucking on him and enjoying the hard length of him in her mouth. He was thrusting slowly, making low sounds in his throat. "Mm, that's so sweet, Buffy. God, you have no idea..." She let go of his cock just enough to speak.

"You want me inside?" she asked softly. Giles nodded.

"Slow and easy," he said. "Without lubricant it's uncomfortable."

"Oh, well, I can fix that," she said. "I've got some Vaseline in my bag. Want me to get it?"

"Mmm, yes," he said. "Yes, I'd like that."

He sat back to let her climb out of bed, watching her unashamedly as she strode across the room to her bag and rummaged around with her derriere facing him. She didn't have time to be modest, concentrating wholly on something else now, and when she turned around to prance back to the bed with the Vaseline, he smiled appreciatively.

"What're you looking at?" she teased.

"The greatest vampire Slayer to walk the earth in a thousand years," Giles murmured as she squeezed back into bed between his legs so he was straddling her again. He put his hands back on the wall, trapping her between them. "My Slayer."

"Damn right," she said, uncapping the small jar. She scooped out a blob on her finger. "This much?" He nodded.

"That's good," he said, and spread his legs a little to help her. His erection had waned, now a sensuous thickness that rested against his thigh. Buffy leaned forward slightly to kiss the shaft. "Don't worry about that," Giles said. "It'll come back. I just want to concentrate on this a bit more."

"I'll shut up now," she promised.

"No, it's all right. I like talking when I make love," he said. "Silent sex just seems so...silent." Buffy giggled. "I'm ready," he said gently.

"You sure you want me to do this?"

"Try it and find out," he said wryly.

"Ooh, more challenges," she said and he gave a soft laugh. She put one hand on his hip to steady him, then reached under his testicles, gingerly seeking the right spot.

"Ah yes," he sighed. "Yes, that's it, that's much better." He exhaled slowly, trying to relax as much as possible. "You can put your finger inside. You won't hurt me, don't worry. Just push firmly and be careful of your nails. If I want you to stop I'll say so, and if I do, just freeze and don't jerk away."

She took him at his word, nodding, and pushed her lubed finger against his sphincter muscle, finding it much stronger than she'd expected. He gasped softly, but didn't tell her to stop, so she kept nudging, and suddenly the muscle gave way and her finger sank almost to the second knuckle before she could stop. His gasp this time was deep and harsh, like a drowning man, and one of his hands dropped down to the headboard to grip fiercely.

"I think we just found 'interesting,'" she whispered.

"Oh, you've found much more than that, Buffy," he groaned, delighted. "You've found what makes me scream." He swallowed hard and she felt muscles inside his body clench to grip her finger, then release with a shudder. She sensed it was involuntary, and looked up at his face to see his jaw clenched and his bronze eyes meeting hers with a trusting openness that even Angel had not shown her.

"What do you want me to do?" she whispered. "Tell me what you like. I want to make you scream, Giles. Show me."

"See how deep you can go," he said, nodding his chin slightly. "Move in and out. Find a rhythm with me."

She buried her finger as far as she could, still amazed by the silky texture of the skin inside. The Vaseline made it very smooth, and she started a slow, thrusting movement, completely inexperienced in this sort of thing but fascinated by how far into her Watcher's emotions she had come just with this act.

He answered her effort with a soft groan, and she held her breath as he began a gentle, intense rocking that seemed to attempt to devour the finger she had given him, and also pleaded for the strength of her resistance. She gave him the latter, watching with wonder as his body seemed to dissolve into a sensuous, primal dance. One hand on his hip let her feel his rhythm, the tension that his body held prisoner. His cock had grown hard again, its presence before her begging for her mouth, the utter maleness of it drawing her to suckle him with a sudden lunge. He gave a shout of passion and fury, slapping his hand against the wall.

He was lost in the seduction of her power; everywhere their bodies touched felt like the heat of something men were not meant to know. His bond with her was a naked flame in his soul, a kind of Calling no Watcher could have refused. He could hardly bear the sweetness of what she was doing to him, her hot, wet mouth teasing him, her slick finger driving him half-mad. She was matching his thrusts, her body keeping time with him, providing a counter-rhythm that built like a path to the gods.

Whatever modesty might have remained in him was burned away in the next moment by the sudden, powerful addition of a second finger to the one she had already put inside him. He gave a shocked yelp, almost a laugh, and felt her flinch in surprise.

"Oh, Jesus, Buffy," he panted. "Fuck yes, oh God fuck me like that, please!" She responded immediately by devouring his cock to the root and nipping him quickly, both of her fingers pushing hard and deep. He snarled and clawed his hands down the wall, thrusting into her mouth. "Come on, luv," he growled. "You have a Slayer's fire. Show it to me! Let me taste it!"

She lurched forward, away from the headboard, wrapping one arm around his waist to hold him close with the strength that he relished, her mouth and fingers doing nothing less than owning him. She had ceased to be an uncertain young woman seeking to please her lover, and had once more become the person he had always known; passionate, possessive, brutal with her kindness and unable to refuse a fine, male Watcher who demanded her attention. It was a dangerous business, summoning the fires of Heaven.

To bare his soul was a thing he'd never done. Not for friends, not for Jenny, not even to save his own life at times, and somehow he had won those trials without that surrender. His Slayer was searching for it -- his soul -- taking no excuse, no fear, no anger as a reason not to show it. He gave a howl of mortal terror, mortal need. Could he trust her with this? Did he dare refuse her?

He realized with a wave of searing incredulity what was pounding in his body. She was summoning him. The bond they had forged many months ago as a Watcher and Slayer had become more than a cable of steel and fire between them. It was a deep and mysterious ocean; the stars haunting him at night; the bay of a wild wolf in the darkness speaking to him of things ancient and half-forgotten. "Oh my God," he wailed, the awareness torn from him mercilessly. "God, Buffy, it's the Calling...you're Calling me."

She wouldn't let go, of his body or his soul, and she summoned up the very last remnants of his devotion and surrender. He trusted her, and it hurt like he was dying, the sensation of his own fear ripped out of him at long last as he turned himself over to her completely.

In the heartbeats that followed, he knew only that she owned him and that he was also her master in some profound way. He screamed in triumph, pounding the wall with one fist and burying himself in Buffy's throat without any care for harming her. She accepted it with the easy strength he had always known, and he felt her teeth scrape against his cock for a brief, sharp moment before the orgasm faded, draining from him like a flood out of a tidepool.

The aftermath was like awakening from a breaking fever, his body trembling, breath hard and fast in his chest as he struggled to hold himself upright with both hands on the headboard. His heart was hammering so hard he was afraid it could hurt him. Buffy released his penis gently, licking him clean. She still had her arm around his back, and where their skin touched it was hot and slick with sweat. He gasped as she slowly withdrew her fingers from inside him, and couldn't stop a whimper at the great feeling of loss.

Giles sank to the bed, half sitting on her thighs, gulping to breathe. The feel of her hand running through his damp hair made him shudder.

"Giles, are you okay?" she whispered. He raised his eyes to her, saw her concern -- and the power in her eyes. Oh yes, she had called the gods to earth and taught him secrets. But unlike Prometheus, he held not fire in his hand, but the innocence he had lost so long ago. His life, the earth, was cleansed of all taint and all sin, to be seen through the eyes of a man made pure once more.

He lunged for her desperately, kissing her, caressing her face and hair and shoulders. She hesitated at first, probably uncertain about the fact that he would taste himself in her mouth, but his tongue met hers eagerly and then she relaxed, devouring him recklessly. He found she was sweating too, and he tasted salt as he kissed her cheek and jaw and neck.

"Oh, Buffy, oh my Slayer," he whispered, breaking away to hold her face and press his forehead to hers. "Oh God, I can't...you're going to have to give me a moment. I can't... take all this in at once..."

"Just lie down," she said softly, smiling at him and brushing his hair back with her fingers. "I gotta go wash my hand anyway." He laughed breathlessly.

"Yes. Go on," he said, and with great effort, climbed off of her and dropped heavily to the bed on his back. The bed shifted as she got up, and presently he heard the sounds of her washing in the bathroom.

There was low thunder off in the distance, and Giles turned his head toward the curtained window, half-expecting to see heat lightning. Only the dim glow from the parking lot outside came through, bathing the room in a cool light that washed over his body. He closed his eyes with a contentment that made everything in the world a pleasure. Even the knowledge that they would have to return to the Hellmouth brought no pain; he would still be hers, and she would still know his heart.

Buffy came out of the bathroom and paused to lean against the wall, just watching him for a moment. He was sprawled naked on the bed, midnight shadows and the glow from outside showing his flat belly trembling with rising and falling breaths, the length of his arm stretched out across the bedcovers, muscles fine and sleek. He looked toward her as she approached, his dark eyes open to her the way his body had been a few minutes ago. Beautiful, so beautiful even when perfectly still and spent. She climbed into bed with him, sitting by his hip and trailing one hand slowly across his stomach. He twitched slightly, ticklish, and she stroked the line of a vein up the shaft of his soft penis.

"Made you scream," she said smugly, grinning at him. He grinned back with a soft laugh, reaching up to rub her arm sensuously.

"That you did," he said, his voice deep and relaxed.

"Sure you're okay now?" she asked. She was enjoying the soft hair of his groin, cupping his balls tenderly. His eyes closed briefly, then opened again with mischief in them.

"Yes, I think so. It was so intense. I've never felt anything like it in my life. I was very rough with you. I'm sorry."

"Giles, I'm the Slayer. I have the Brown Hornet's Super Powers, remember? You didn't hurt me."

"Good," he whispered.

"You're something, you know that?" she said, finding a scar on his abdomen and tracing it curiously. "How does a guy so shy and stuffy turn into a gorgeous tiger in bed?" He chuckled, stroking her collarbone.

"I've always worn my stripes openly," he said, and she cocked her head at him. "But you've been colorblind until now."

"Nice colors," she said, and bent down to kiss him, slow and gentle. Then he started to laugh in his throat and she pulled away. "What?"

"You're marvelous," he said, rising up to push gently on her shoulder until she lay down on her back. "I just want to touch you for a while, convince myself that this is happening."

"If it's not, I'm gonna be real pissed when I wake up and have to go to work," Buffy said with mock annoyance. Giles was nipping at the taut skin of her ribs, circling his tongue around her nipples until she slid her hands into his hair and groaned.

"I think I'm going to have some fun," he purred, working his way down her abdomen, and she realized what he meant with a shock that flashed up her spine.

"Giles, you don't have to do that," Buffy said breathlessly, stroking his hair. "I mean, I don't demand equal time or anything -- " She gasped sharply as his lips brushed over her hipbone.

"I want to," he whispered against the soft hair of her sex. "Please. I like to do this and I want to give you this pleasure..."

"Just tape my mouth shut anytime then," she said, still breathing fast as he touched her thighs to coax them a little wider and his hot breath was on her. "Just hope you can take funny looks from the people next door in the mor -- oh God!" She cried out as his tongue found her softly, the feel of it almost startling her off the bed. Her hand clenched reflexively into his hair, and he grabbed her wrist to put it down on the bed beside her, but followed the rise of her hips with his mouth. She realized after a moment that he was laughing low in his throat.

"Has anyone ever done this to you before?" he asked, making the question a gentle tease against the lips of her sex. Buffy panted for a moment before answering.

"No," she admitted. "Well, I guess if I'm taking the purity test, I'd have to say yes, but believe me, it was never this good."

"I've hardly started," he murmured, amused, and licked her slowly, lightly, making her moan and arch her back.

"Threats will get you nowhere," she scolded weakly.

It was true that a couple of boys had done this to her before, but where they had been curious and uncertain, her Watcher was quite sure of himself. Rather than merely curious, he was fascinated, seeking out every texture and trying it with his tongue to see how she responded and so he could learn her.

This technique definitely had rewards. He eventually brushed his tongue softly over her opening, tasting the innermost, silken skin there, and it felt as if he had somehow touched a part of her that wasn't intended to be found. She shuddered hard, the pleasure of it like a hammer, an urge beyond simple stimulation. Her body gulped to breathe and she didn't quite know what was happening. Giles' hand found hers on the bed, holding tight and giving her an anchor. He had not stopped licking her, not after finding this amazing spot. He buried his mouth against her and licked firmly, recognizing her reaction even if she didn't. "Oh God," she panted. "Giles...oh my God -- " The orgasm that slammed into her was like a ship running aground, something huge and heavy and unavoidable that made her cry out in astonishment and fear. She was covered in sweat and trembling when it left, and Giles nuzzled her sex gently.

"All right?" he asked quietly.

"I...think so," she panted. "Whoo, somebody put that in a bottle and sell it."

"I gather you don't normally come like that?" Giles asked, amused.

"You mean like freight trains derailing?" she said with a grin. "No. Especially not...not that soon." Her Watcher hummed quietly and kissed her sex luxuriously. "It's okay. You can be smug." He chuckled.

"Can't give me all the credit," he said.

"You can stop if you want to," she said. "I usually only come once. It's okay."

"It's up to you," he said. "I told you -- I like doing this. I'd like to try one more, if it's all right with you."

"This is a macho thing, isn't it?" she said with a grin. He grinned back.

"If you like."

"I guess a guy who wields a sword and kills vampires for a living is entitled," she said, lying back.

He was more aggressive this time, teasing her vaginal opening again, pushing his tongue inside until she bucked. He couldn't get enough of it, loving the taste and scent of her that seemed to scratch an itch deep inside his most primal core. Her clit was sensitive, hot against his tongue as he stroked it lightly and she groaned. He sucked on it experimentally, being careful, and she surprised him with a sharp, guttural swear word. "Don't stop," she growled. "Don't stop don't stop oh yeah oh God -- "

Giles winced slightly as she let out a full-throated yell, thinking of their neighbors on the other side of the walls, who had already been more than tolerant tonight. Then he thought, /Ah, hell with it./ She started to laugh, wild giggles that made her hold her stomach. He withdrew from her when he sensed she'd had enough stimulation, and stretched out on his side to watch her. He wiped his mouth idly, licking his lips, and Buffy curled up on her side to snicker into her pillow. Finally she heaved a deep breath, the wracking giggles subsiding, and looked at Giles with an apologetic smile.

"Told you I laugh when I come," she sighed. Giles smiled back at her.

"I love the sound of your voice," he said.

"I still can't believe you like to do that."

"You like sucking on my cock," he pointed out.

"That's different," she said.

"Is it? It feels and tastes good. I love the way you respond to it. I like to use my mouth." Giles shrugged. "I've always liked it. I loved the idea of it long before I ever got close to a woman sexually."

"You'd do that all night if I let you, wouldn't you?" she said with a grin.

"If I thought my jaw muscles could take it, yes," he admitted sheepishly. "But truthfully I think we should try to get some sleep. We're in no rush tomorrow but I'm exhausted, and so are you, I think."

"Sleep sounds good," she said, and he moved his arm so she could snuggle up beside him. There was none of the awkwardness of the night before in her apartment. He sighed deeply with pleasure and satiation, and she draped her arm across his chest casually.

"Good night, luv."

"G'night, bunny muffin."

She grinned as Giles cracked up in the darkness with a strangled giggle.

* * * * *

He awoke to the hum of the air conditioner cycling on again to blow cool air through the room. His exposed foot was cold, and he shifted it under the covers. The movement caused him to come into contact with a solid shape on the bed next to him. He opened his eyes.

"Hey," Buffy said brightly.

"Hey," he said sleepily. "Good morning."

"Only technically," she said wryly, and he looked over at the clock, which read 11:56. "You're even cuter now than you were in the dark," she observed, and he looked back to her with surprise. She was fully dressed, her hair bundled up on her head and still a little damp at the ends. He settled back against the pillow, regarding her quietly for a moment with one arm behind his head and the other resting on his stomach.

"You flatter me," he said softly. "Any regrets?" She thought about it.

"No," she said finally. "I don't think so."

"You could have better than the likes of me."

"Sez you," Buffy replied easily, and she leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth warmly. She tasted like toothpaste, and he hummed softly. "Bleah," she teased, "go brush your teeth." Giles harumphed and threw the covers back to climb out of bed, only belatedly realizing that he was still naked -- and had a very insistent, hard morning erection. He hesitated halfway across the carpet, then realized that turning around would be worse, and padded the rest of the way toward his waiting shower.

"Oh Lord," he muttered, and her giggle followed him into the bathroom.

* * * * *

When he came out of the shower, Buffy was lying on the bed reading the Arizona Republic. More exactly, she was reading a small portion of it. The rest of the newspaper was spread all over the bed around her. He walked over to her, still very naked.

"What's so fascinating?" he asked. She looked up, and he was amused to note that the first part of him she looked at was his penis, which was fully relaxed from the hot shower and hung down quiescently. Then her gaze traveled appreciatively up to his face. His fine mouth quirked in a wry smile, her open pleasure in his body creating a warm sensation in his belly.

"They're going to auction O. J. Simpson's stuff," she said, her answering smile mischievous. Giles moved some of the newspaper out of the way and sat down on the bed with her, rubbing her back slowly and reading idly over her shoulder.

"I think we should go back today," he said. Buffy turned over onto her back to gaze up at him. Her hand snaked out to begin stroking the soft, dark hair on his thigh.

"Yeah," she said. "But I want to go to breakfast first. Just you and me. We might not get another chance." Giles smiled.

"All right, but I think we'll have other chances." His eyes dropped to her hand where she was caressing him. "Thank you for last night," he said softly, covering her hand with his. "You are so magnificent." She didn't respond directly, but he could see in her shining eyes that she felt the same way about him.

"Something happened in the Watcher-Slayer bond, didn't it?" she said. "I felt something...I wasn't really sure what happened. It's like...like I own you now. No, that's not it." She sighed, puzzled. "We own each other? Does that make sense?"

"I have always been yours, Buffy," he said quietly, seriously, "but you haven't been ready to accept that burden and that gift until now." He put his palm on her stomach, feeling her warmth, and her body shuddered under him. "Last night I surrendered to you. I've never done that for anyone, ever. Not like that. I did it because you demanded it. You were ready and you summoned it from me." He let out a slow, shaking breath. "I could not help but answer, and truthfully I've wanted to for a long time now. You gave me a lot of yourself, too; I understand that extremely well."

"I held back with you," she admitted. She looked worried, as if he might be angry, or perhaps she was wondering if it meant she didn't trust him. Giles only smiled.

"I know. I expected that. It's because you're the dominant one of the two of us."

He had been thinking about how this conversation would go while he was in the shower, and had presumed that her response to this idea would be one of surprise and possibly naivete. He was quite wrong. She merely looked at him for a long moment, serious and thoughtful.

"So where do we go with that?" she wondered. He smiled very slightly.

"It's dangerous for me to forget that you're the Slayer," he said, as if talking to himself. "There are moments when I almost can. An ordinary girl would be looking to me for instruction and approval. An older woman might look to me with discomfort or confusion. You...oh, I wish you could see your face in this moment as I do," he whispered, fascinated. "You look to me as if you intend to know every last cry and shudder and laugh I might ever utter." Her eyes were calm and intent, not flinching away from his words or what they meant. He took her hand tightly, to give himself strength to ask a question that had burned inside him since the moment he had met her. "Are you looking for a man who isn't afraid of you?" he asked softly, his grip fierce. "A man who can hold you down without flinching?" Her hand tightened around his and his breath caught.

"Angel couldn't do it," she confessed, almost inaudibly. There was pain in her eyes; disappointment, need, an ache for something distant that she couldn't name. "He was a vampire...I was afraid that since he couldn't..."

"That perhaps no one could?" he finished gently. She nodded. "A vampire is not where you are meant to find dominion," he continued gently. "You are meant to be their master, to be able to destroy them without remorse or pity."

"It's supposed to be a Watcher, isn't it?" she said, looking faintly puzzled. "Watchers can dominate Slayers...if Slayers let them."

"Yes," he said. "A Slayer is attuned to her Watcher, as he is to her. She cannot ever fully accept anyone but a Watcher, in trust or in love." There was something in her expression that intrigued him. "What is it?"

"No offense...but you've never seemed to me like the kind of person who could dominate me, Watcher or not. You're just..."

"Not aggressive enough?" he wondered, and chuckled at her hesitation. "I was careful with you last night, Buffy. Careful with myself. I know better than to try to turn the tables on a Slayer without warning, especially when you don't trust me fully yet. I surrendered to you last night...but that domination between a Slayer and her Watcher is a reciprocal relationship. It's not about you being in control all the time, or about me being in control, either. It's about trust, and sharing power. Taking pleasure in both the submission and the control. There's ecstasy to be found there for us, Buffy. I've tasted it...in my dreams and fantasies, and last night with you. I want to know more. I need to. I've lived all my life hoping that I could touch this."

Buffy sat up suddenly, still holding his eyes. He was still, waiting, even though his entire body was alive with awareness of her.

"I don't want to mess this up, Giles," she said, touching his face and stroking his smooth skin where he had shaved so recently.

"It'll be all right," he assured her. "Just relax and don't rush it. Every step of this is a delight. It should be savored and enjoyed. There's no hurry. Teasing only makes it sweeter." She grinned then, mischievous and joyful, and kissed him on the mouth, quick and sensuous.

"Then let's blow this joint and go get some breakfast."

"I think I have to put some clothes on first," Giles said. "Laws and everything."

"Bummer," she sa