__The Bond__
By Beadtific



Buffy leaned down and sucked a bit of chocolate off Giles’ ear. His response was a fretful, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” she said, readjusting the ice pack on his head. “I guess I kinda leaned on your owie.”

“It’s alright, Buffy, really. I don’t think I really need the ice pack. We both know I’ve had worse.”

“Mm, hm, Mr. Macho Head Trauma, you let me be the judge of that. It’s kind of a big bump.” She leaned down and looked with concern into his eyes.

“I do not have a concussion!” he snapped, “You needn’t fuss so!”

“Well, since I was unconscious when you hit your head, Rupert mine, I’m a little more cautious, okay? Or we could go to the hospital and let them be a little more cautious.”

“Fine,” he growled.

“Did I hit my head, too?” Giles gave her a startled look. She smiled sheepishly and rubbed her head. “Maybe it’s just sympathy pains.”

“No. Where does it hurt?” Buffy turned her head and pointed. It was the same location as Giles’ lump. He ran his fingers gently over the spot and found the skin smooth and healthy. “Does it hurt when I touch it?”

“No, it just sorta hurts on the inside, you know?” She turned back to find Giles looking at her with the oddest little smile.

“So, does this happen often?” Buffy asked, now that Giles had stopped growling and started staring distractedly. “I mean, I’ve heard of ‘shagging a girl senseless’, but I always thought it was a figure of speech.”

“I am so sorry,” her lover said, snapping out of it and reaching for her hand. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not!” she said, laughing, “I mean, that was the most intense orgasm of my life! It was like,”

“A double one,” Giles finished for her.

“You, too?”

“Mm, hm.”

“And you hit your head on the nightstand so you wouldn’t pass out and squoosh me.”

“Yes.”

“Giles, is something going on?”

“Did you think about Angelus this morning?”

“WHAT?!?”

“This morning, when you woke up alone?”

“Only for a second, but you know that, you apologized when you came in. I figured you remembered me telling you about that.”

“That’s more credit than I deserve. I didn’t give it a thought, until I was fixing the tray, and it suddenly popped into my mind.”

“We’ve known each other a long time. We know stuff about each other. And we both have our Post-Angelus Bed Trauma. I wig out when I wake up alone sometimes, and you wouldn’t sleep in yours again after he left Jenny there. Xander said that you wanted him to help you chop it up and makes stakes out of it.

Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I think he was worried I’d re-injure my hand, so he told Willow, and she convinced me to do a cleansing spell for it as well as the apartment. They were fine about me burning the bedding and my record. ‘La Boheme’ still makes me nauseous,” he said, not quite agreeing, but seeing her point.

“And you have a thing against red roses. See? It’s an old-friends kinda thing – a bond.”

“Oh, dearest, I think it’s more than that. I think we fully activated our Bond.”

“Uh huh, you’re starting to wig me out – what’s with the ‘capital B’ bond?”

“The Watcher/Slayer Bond. It’s very rare.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve always had a bond.”

“More like the beginnings of one, dearest, but not like this. The Bond is a deep mystical connection.”

“Oh, boy,” Buffy said, getting up from the bed and pacing. “I don’t know whether to say, ‘uh-oh’ or ‘cool’. Exactly what does this mean?”

“I’m not exactly sure where to begin.” Giles said, sitting up in bed and patting for her to come sit. “We did have a bond, Buffy, a rudimentary one. Most slayers don’t live long enough to establish even that much with their watchers – it develops with time, contact, and other things.”

“What other things?”

Giles avoided her eyes for a moment, and ignored the question. “You know how Xander used to tease us for having whole conversations by just looking at each other? From what I understand, the extent to which we could do that was an accomplishment that no watcher/slayer pair has achieved in 150 years.”

“Okay, but what other things?”

Giles finally looked at her. “Total commitment to our calling and to each other.”

“Oh,” she said in a tiny voice. “And I sucked at both of those.”

“No,” he said, reaching out to stroke her hair. “Not always. We couldn’t have gotten that far if we didn’t trust each other, and remember when you came to me and asked me to be your watcher again? That’s when I began to hope that what we did have might grow stronger.”

Buffy gave him a sly smile, “Just growing stronger in a watcher/slayer way kind of hope?” Her lover blushed.

“Well, not actively hoping. More wishful thinking, I suppose. You were with Riley at the time, after all.”

“So, that’s why we’ve never had this little talk?”

Painful memories flitted across Giles’ face, “First, the council deeply disapproved of full Bonding, and we never got deep enough into advanced training for me to even consider bringing even the lesser aspects up. Thirdly, though the Bond does not have to include a romantic relationship, 90 percent of the Bonded pairs have been lovers. Most of the rest had blood lines in common.” Giles mustered up a teasing smirk, “And there was the “ew” factor to consider. I was very, very old, and very gross.”

Buffy blushed to the roots of her hair and gave her lover an appreciative once-over, “I stand corrected.” Giles kissed her fingers in thanks and held it to his heart.

“That year became rather busier than usual,” he reminded her gently.

“Fighting Glory, protecting Dawn, Mom died and then me,” she said whispered. Just seeing the memory of it in Giles’ face brought tears to her eyes.

“Whatever we had was severed,” he said, through a lump in his throat. “And when you came back,”

“You thought I came back wrong.”

“We didn’t have the same connection,” Giles corrected, “And you were so fragile I never would have tried to begin advanced training again.”

“So, you left, and never gave it a chance,” Buffy said, a lonely tear wandering down her cheek.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered, wiping her tear away while struggling to prevent his own from falling. “I was afraid that if I stayed, I’d either find that our bond was permanently gone, or,” He was too choked up to continue.

“Because I was leaning on you so hard, we might Bond for all the wrong reasons, and both possibilities hurt too much to stay.” Buffy finished for him. Giles choked back a sob, and nodded.

Buffy’s heart broke for him. She crawled into Giles’ lap, wrapped him in her arms, guiding his head to her shoulder as he began to sob in earnest. She rocked them back and forth comfortingly as they let their tears fall. “I’m so sorry, Rupert, I’m so sorry.” Wanting to give him as much comfort as she could, she drew him into a kiss, and poured all her heart into it.

The kiss rapidly got out of hand as they each tried to erase the other’s pain. Giles rolled them to a horizontal position. Buffy yelped as she rolled over the discarded ice pack, and broke the kiss. Giles looked down at her and frowned slightly. “That was odd.”

“I just rolled over on the ice pack.”

“No, that whole conversation was odd. I don’t normally get that upset.”

“I’m not a big weeper either, but it’s okay to cry, Mr. Macho. They were pretty painful memories.”

“No,” Giles said, rolling over and cuddling Buffy to his shoulder. “It was much more than that. It was like I was reliving that time. It hurt so much.”

“Yeah, me too. You told me stuff that you’d never said before, it was bound to hurt: it did hurt.”

“No, Buffy, I think it’s the Bond. I think you fed off my hurt and I fed off yours.”

“Okay,” she said, untangling herself and sitting back against the headboard. “Explain this to me.” Giles sat cross-legged at her feet.

“A Watcher/Slayer Bond,” he looked at her a little shyly and cleared his throat, “enables the Bondmates, to monitor each other’s well being, and lend one another strength, which may be why we have been so attuned to one another this morning.”

She raised her eyebrows, “You’re trying to tiptoe around saying that we might be mystically hitched, and are broadcasting loud and clear at each other?” It wasn’t really a question. Giles let out an enormous sigh.

“Yes, and I must tell you I had no idea this would happen.” He looked slightly sick.

“Easy, Rupert,” she said affectionately, poking his leg with her toes, “I’m not wigging about that. I understand that you never figured out if our bond was still there.”

“I had given it up, entirely. And I never even thought that the last few months together would be enough to mend it, after so much time apart.”

“And also after the badness that was last year. So when I saw you in Rome, realized I loved you, and came back to work?”

“You may have re-initiated the bonding process.”

“And it worked in that short a time, even if we weren’t doing any advance training and you didn’t know how I felt?”

“Apparently.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” Giles said, clearing this throat again. He became extremely interested in his lover’s toenail polish.

“Rupert.”

“We have known and worked together a long time, so there was a very sound foundation.” He gave her an adorable, shy smile. “And, p-possibly, it may have worked because I had never really stopped wanting it, just believed it was impossible. I do love you - entirely.”

“Even when you were being a berg?”

“Berk. Even when I was being a bloody, oblivious berk, yes.”

The lovers smiled at one another a long, sweet moment.

Buffy wiggled her toes against his knee. “So, if we’re Bonded-bonded, how did THAT happen?”

“Well,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I may have an idea of how we managed it without any sort of formal ritual, but, I have to do some research.”

Buffy clutched a bit of his pajama pants between her toes. “Tell me your theories now. Not a patient person, remember?”

“You claimed me as your own,” he said, simply, a joyful gleam in his eyes.

“That’s it?”

“Well, at its essence, yes. We’re both committed to our calling, and we’ve built a relationship that’s based on trust and respect. Last night when we said we loved one another, that added another component.”

Buffy was kind of enjoying Giles squirm around phrases that sounded too much like “marriage” stuff. She thought she’d let him string along a few minutes more, “And in Bond terms, we got engaged.”

“I would like to point out,” Giles said, rallying to his own defense, “that you asked me to be yours.” He held up his hand, anticipating her next question, “I was yours, as teacher and servant, by my oath, when you were given to my care. I became yours, as friend and ally, because of your spirit and generous heart. I am yours, now, as lover and probable Bondmate because last night you asked it of me.”

Buffy sighed, deeply moved, and put her hands over her heart as if to trap his words inside. Her smile washed through him. “The Bond wouldn’t happen if I didn’t want you as a full partner in my life.”

“Never,” he said firmly, then gave a small half-smile. “Sort of a fail-safe, actually, if I remember correctly. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“I did want to say it. I meant it. It felt so wonderful to know you were mine. Mine.”

Giles’ eyes twinkled at her, “Not as wonderful as it was to tell you, I assure you.”

“Nuh-uh,” she said, and waggled her eyebrows. Giles snorted and rolled his eyes. She stuck out her tongue and gave him a push with her foot. “And that did it? My asking you formed the Bond?”

Giles blushed so much that he nearly turned purple, “Well, ah, there is a usual requirement of some sort of demonstration of commitment.”

“We ‘demonstrated,’’’ she pretended to think a moment, “four times, counting the Great Blackout. I’m guessing that each ‘demonstration’ strengthens the bond?”

“I believe so.”

“And the more we “demonstrate”, the more I’m going to clue in to what you’re thinking and feeling? Or the big bonus of feeling each other’s injuries?” She pointed to the sore spot on her skull. “Are we going to black out every time we make love because we create some sort of wacky feedback loop when we come?” Her anger drained out of her, and was replaced by misery. “I want to be with you,” she said in a small voice. “What do we do?”

Giles ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He winced when he brushed his sore spot. “I don’t know, love.” He looked just as miserable as Buffy, and put his head in his hands.

Misery would get them nowhere, and it was obvious that guilt was just pouring off of Giles. Buffy took a couple of centering breaths and calmed herself down. “Hey.” She poked his leg again, and he looked up. “How am I feeling?”

Giles gave her a haunted look. Since he was nearly in a meditation posture, he rearranged himself a bit, closed his eyes and took a couple of cleansing breaths. Buffy could see him begin to relax and as he did, she felt some of her own anxiety melt away. \\I wonder if that was my wiggins, or Rupert’s,// she wondered.

He needed to know that she was okay with this, that much was clear. She could tell by looking at him, or the Bond, or whatever, he was kicking himself for overlooking whatever signs there might have been that their bond was intact; yet another bit of guilt to add to his Grim Watcher of Doom broodfest. Worst of all, he worried she felt trapped by him. \\If that IS the Bond, and I can’t get through to him, I’m liable to start blaming him, too, and then we’re really screwed.//

\\I love Rupert Giles.// was the thought she placed firmly in her mind and heart, She deliberately set about remembering every joyful or loving moment in their relationship. She replayed every reassuring smile, encouraging word, and comforting gesture. Losing herself in her memories, Buffy smiled and let them roll through her like a rushing stream.

As she felt the joy rise in her, imagined pushing it towards Giles. She wasn’t mad, she didn’t feel trapped; she felt whole and safe. There were a few worries, like how to deal with an extra batch of sensory input, but they’d figure that out. Giles was Home. She was full of love and Giles was -

Suddenly the face of the First Slayer popped into her mind and echoed “You are full of love,” then she ripped Giles’ scalp off. The image changed, and Buffy saw herself hug her sister, begin to run, and fought out of her meditation. She looked at him, horrified.

“What the hell was that?” she wailed, lurching into his lap.

“I’m sorry love, I’m so sorry, I think it was me,” he said, stroking her hair.

“Since when do you wear skanky dreadlocks and a permanent mud mask?”

“The phrase ‘’full of love” popped into my head, and it made me remember all of what the First Slayer said to you.”

“I am full of love, and death is my gift. Which explains why I saw the jumping. But why did she scalp you?”

“Oh dear,” he sighed. “That was from my First Slayer nightmare, after Adam. I’m afraid I had a bit of painful, misplaced, free-association.”

“You’re telling me,” she sniffled, settling herself more comfortably in his arms. “Geez, sorta makes me miss the Cheese Guy.” His chuckle vibrated under her cheek.

“I did get the rest of your message, dearest,” his steady caress began to relax her.

“I think I like that one the best.”

“Mm?”

“The names you call me. ‘Love’, ‘sweetheart’, though you’ve only said that one once, I think,” she turned over and smiled at him. “I like ‘dearest’ the best.”

“Then ‘dearest’ you shall be.”

“No,” Buffy said, placing her fingers over his lips, “it’s more tingly if it’s a little bit random.”

“Good, because the names pop out rather randomly.”

“Like the First Slayer?” she said, referring to their earlier conversation.

“I really am so sorry.”

“Stop feeling guilty for something you couldn’t help. You did get the message, though?”

“That I should stop feeling guilty for something I couldn’t help?” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a pointed look. He sighed and gave her a little half-smile that promised he’d work on it. “You’re not angry, but actually feel rather safe. And lovable.” He kissed her nose.

“No,” she said, reaching up and pinching his, in return, “Loved. I feel loved. And I love you.”

“I know.”

Buffy sat in his lap a moment, staring up into his eyes. She felt a strong, steady pulse of love from him in the center of her chest. There were still some scratchy things that felt like guilt and worry, but it wasn’t the tangled, choking mess it was earlier. “You do.” Giles gave her a gentle, sweet smile.

“My clever girl, you can feel that, too? Right now? Without my actively projecting?”

She nodded, and he rubbed the center of his own chest, reflectively, and she touched her own in agreement. He blushed. “I wondered if it was just wishful thinking on my part.” He segued into research mode, “So, how do you experience the Bond? Is it mostly pictures?”

“No, it’s kinda multimedia: no sounds, but feelings, pictures, colors, some texture.”

“Worry itches, like cheap wool?”

“More like a peeling sunburn.”

“Ugh, I don’t know which is worse.”

“Me neither. So, are your impressions mostly words or texture-y?”

“No, very much the same as yours: a mixture. It seems like the ones that are overwhelming are very strongly felt emotions.”

“And pain,” she reminded him, rubbing her head.

“Not to mention pleasure.” They basked a moment in the memory of the pleasant parts of that.

“Except for the shagging-each-other-a little-too-senseless-part, shared boo-boos and scary memory pop-ups, this is going to be pretty great!”

“I love you,” he said in wonder, touched by her optimism. “We do need to find out more.”

“I was wondering when you were going to say that, Tweedy Book Guy.”

He cast a sarcastic eye at his bare chest, then down at her, receiving the giggle he sought. Giles gave her a gentle kiss. “I don’t have the proper resources here, sweetheart. Would you mind cutting our stay in town short?”

“Where to?”

“I need to make some phone calls, but I think a trip to Devon is in order.”

“To the coven? The one Willow worked with?”

“Yes. At the very least, they can help us with some extra balance exercises, and possibly help us learn to shield better so we don’t send one another ‘pop-ups,’ as you say. They also share a bond of magic and of trust – not quite what we have – but the closest I can think of to a Bond. They may also have some books on the subject. The old council became rather wary of Bonded pairs and by great coincidence, someone ‘donated’ many papers regarding Bonds, and Bonded pairs to the coven. There are even journals, or at least bits of journals.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “The books just happened to wander over to Devon from London?”

“The coven is very old, and has been connected with the council for about 300 years. Veronica, the high priestess, had an ancestor that was half of a Bonded pair; the last pair we know about, actually. Jonah and Marie Coatsworth. Jonah’s brother David worked in the council archives, and when he couldn’t get a straight answer about his brother’s death, I’m afraid he pilfered his own library to find out more about the Bond. He left those papers to his sister, who was Veronica’s great-grandmother.

Buffy wondered at the grief that ghosted over her lover’s face. “How exactly do you know about these papers? I thought you gave up on the Bond.”

“I stayed in Devon for awhile when I returned to England, after your death. I-I didn’t wish to be alone, and I needed a place where I could grieve without worrying about frightening my friends.” Buffy ran a comforting hand over his chest, and Giles pressed it against his heart. “Veronica is an old friend, even a mentor of sorts. She gave me a few passages to read from Jonah’s journal.”

“Jonah’s slayer died.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you know so much.”

“Yes, and well, I had tried to do as much research as I could before.”

“Something bad happened?”

“Marie was wounded, Jonah tried to heal her, and he slipped into a coma. They both died.”

“He tried to heal her through the bond?”

“That’s the general thought. She was taken to hospital, and Jonah stayed with her. The next morning he was found lying by the bed, unconscious.”

“He was uninjured before he tried to heal her?”

“More or less. Some bruises and a broken wrist.”

“How long had they been Bonded?”

“Three months.”

“Marie was a slayer how long?”

“Three years.”

“She passed her Cruciamentum.”

“Yes.”

“Does the slayer have to be of age to form a Bond?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s a nifty little trick to drive a potential Bond pair apart, especially if she dies a horrible death.”

He gave her a painful, proud look. She was grasping the facts very quickly. “Several watchers have died during Cruciamentum trials as well.”

“Coming to the Slayer’s aid?”

A shy, loving smile lit his face. “Yes.”

“How many pairs made it past the Cruciamentum, formed the Bond and lived more than a year?

“Over the last 1000 years? Four.”

She didn’t even wince, but became more focused. “How long was the longest Bond?”

“Forty years, rumor has it.” He felt a steely surge of determination from his beloved. “The records regarding Bonds were on a need-to-know basis. And, evidently, no one needed to know. But in the Watcher’s Academy there were whispers, mostly stories handed down from family to family. Trainees talk. Later, when I began wondering about the possibility of a Bond between us, I began poking about quietly, asking a few discreet questions of people I trusted. I think I was found out.”

Buffy grinned at him, “Quentin Travers must have been messing himself when we didn’t die OR fall into line.”

“Buffy.”

She screwed up her face and looked at the ceiling, thinking a moment. “Can’t fool me, Rupert; you’re not shocked. You agree with me, and you’re a little bit smug about pulling one over on the old council, and especially Travers.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he laughed, hugging her. “Did you get that through the Bond?”

“I dunno; I think it was just years of hearing you ‘Buffy’ me. I speak Giles. Xander could have gotten that one. Heck, Andrew would have gotten it.”

“I’ve never regretted standing by you, so I suppose I am a little smug.”

“Rupert.”

“Very well, it feels bloody marvelous, and you know it.”

They grinned at one another a moment, then Buffy’s face clouded over.

“What would have happened if we’d Bonded when the old council was still around?”

“We’d have had to hide it somehow, I suppose.”

“You think we’d have been in danger?”

“I think they would have feared us with a Bond, yes. We were quite unorthodox enough already.”

“Spell it out for me.”

“Well, I think that a strong Bond renders the council utterly useless as a way to control the slayer. A Bonded pair would be a formidable team, and because of the Bond, the watcher’s loyalty to the slayer would be first and foremost, not to the council, despite the fact we take our oath in the name of The Slayer. You and I never relied much on the council, but most keep much closer ties. The council in those cases helps far more actively with research and even sends council members to their location for special training, lore seminars and the like.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him, and he smoothed a warm hand down her arm, apology plain in his face. “I was never very close with Travers and the other council members who ran such programs. I found them pedantic and oppressive. Such special sessions were given as rewards for good behavior; I had a feeling you would have found them more a punishment. Besides, according to the council we never were on our best behaviour.” Buffy gave a derisive snort.

“Looking back on it, we may have set ourselves up for some of the council’s displeasure. Bond pairs have a strength together that surpasses the individuals involved – making them far less vulnerable than they were. The longer they live, the more lore they learn and they rely on the council for knowledge less and less over time. That was frightening concept to the council: losing control of a slayer. The legends are that most Bond pairs have gone rogue, but that would be in the records I didn’t have access to.”

“It was all about the power with those guys. And long Bond pairs mean they don’t get a new slayer to play with.”

“Correct.”

“Bastards.” Giles inclined his head in agreement.

“I don’t quite get how reading all that was supposed to help you; you know, after the fact.”

“Veronica was trying to prove to me that the Bond couldn’t have saved you, and likely would have killed me.”

Buffy did blanch at that. “You thought if we’d been Bonded then, I might not have died. You could have saved me. The Bond can’t be that strong, can it?”

“No one knows. I would have tried.”

“I’m telling you now, don’t do it; don’t endanger yourself like that.”

Giles would not answer her. They sat a moment, wills clashing, each determined to keep the other safe. He finally said softly, “We need to find out more.”

“You make the calls; I’ll go pack.” Buffy rose to go to her room.

“Dearest, wait.” She turned back. Her face was determined, but not frightened. She held up her hand to forestall him.

“Listen, if we’re in a ‘death do us part’ thingy here, I want to make sure that we can make it be a better, richer, and in health thing, not to mention changing that last clause to ‘as long as we both shall live.’ I’ll go wherever to get whatever tools we need to do that. If my Bonding you makes you vulnerable to injury, and me though you, we gotta fix that, and now.”

Giles shoulders relaxed, “I couldn’t agree more.” He joined her and guided them to the sofa in the lounge. Her forgotten present lay on the coffee table. They looked down at the shiny package.

“It does seem a bit silly now, but it’s the best I can do at such short notice,” he said enigmatically, rubbing the back of his neck.

Buffy looked at him, clearly indicating they didn’t have time to waste.

“Open it,” he said, smiling and sitting on the sofa. Butterflies bloomed in his stomach and he dove into Ancient Babylonian in an effort to not leak through the Bond.

Buffy’s eyebrows rose. She was getting used to the small warm glow in her chest that was Giles’ Bond. Something both rosy and jittery spiked into it back in the bedroom a minute ago. She hadn’t quite figured out what it was, but it was mostly sorta happy and hopeful feeling, so she hadn’t worried about it. The moment he asked her to open the package, the volume of impressions, she guessed she should say, got really loud, even spikier, and then backed down by about half a second later. It was feeling mighty suspicious; he was up to something, and trying to hide it.

She joined him on the couch and looked at the large, silver package, about the size to hold wide brimmed hat. Her eyes slid over to her lover, who looked adorable, slightly tense and determinedly casual: a very bad combination. She turned back and slid the package towards herself. She gave an apologetic look to the pretty wrapping, tore into it, and opened the box.

“A tote bag? This is a surprise.”

Giles chuckled weakly, “You did tell me not to bring home a nasty old carpet bag.”

“Oh yeah, ‘reconstruction has begun’. You goofball, you do know the carpetbaggers were not good guys, right?”

“Well, it was a joke at the time, but I rather think now it’s in honor of having reconstructed our Bond…that, and it’s actually the box for what’s inside.”

Buffy shook the bag and heard something small rattle around. Opening the really very nice leather and tapestry bag, she found a small box, about an inch square. She picked it up and opened it, oddly aware that when she found jade earrings inside, they were not what she was hoping for. Another surge of rosyness surged into the Bond from Giles, and the spikiness ebbed a little, which was really puzzling. She hoped her disappointment wasn’t leaking through.

“They’re beautiful, Rupert,” she said, running her fingers over the carved jade leaves.

“When I bought them, I meant them as a small symbol – a reminder of my turning over a bit of a new leaf, and your part in it. I feel quite like you jolted me back into life. But, now I rather wish I’d bought something else.” She looked up at him to reassure that she loved the gift, but he was laughing at himself. Another warm surge spread from him through the Bond.

“The young lady who helped me yesterday asked if I was going to do this, but I told her it was rather premature.” He slid off the sofa onto one knee, and Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. He took one of her trembling hands into his own and smiled into her eyes.

“I’m doing it a bit backwards, dearest, since it seems that we are already Bound, but I was wondering, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Buffy wanted to hurl herself into his arms, but with remarkable control, she removed her hand from his. Holding his shining eyes with hers, she calmly put the earrings in her ears, slid her hands up and over his shoulders, leaned forward until their faces were an inch apart, and said, “Yes.”

A few moments later, having kissed themselves to the floor underneath the coffee table, the breathless and dizzy future Mrs. Giles wondered, “Do we have any smelling salts? Just in case.”

* * *