Giles slept beside her, so still she almost couldn't hear him breathe.  To reassure herself, she touched his chest.  He used to be a restless sleeper and she'd griped about how it kept her awake.  Now she would have given up going to Anjou's Hair Stylings for the rest of her life, to have the chance to complain again.  When he slept now, he went down deep and the alarm didn't always wake him.  He often grew cold in the night too.  She'd find her skin chilled against his and no amount of covers helped.

Slipping out of bed, she drew the quilt over him and went downstairs.  She looked out the window at the gray landscape, the large silver lump that was his car and the top of the fence glimmering in the moonlight, before turning on the light and filling the kettle.

"I'm picking up one of your awful habits," she whispered as she opened the canister of Earl Grey.  "Tea at three-thirty.  Ugh."  But it was something that steadied her, something she could do rather than lie beside him and worry.

As she picked up the teapot, she noticed a figurine on the window sill behind it.  Her eyebrow raised as she picked it up.  This was something new.  Mulheim Crystal.  A pricey little object.  A rabbit, its ears cocked as if listening to something behind it.  It didn't fit in with what she knew of Giles and she wondered if someone had given it to him and why it was in a place where he'd see it every time he made tea.

Yawning, Cordelia replaced it, put the tea on to brew, and sat at the table.

Wind brushed past the windows and, far away, sounded a low note of thunder.  A storm on its way.  They hadn't had one for a while and even long-time residents, used to the arrhythmic weather patterns of the California coast, were commenting on the unusual dry spell.  Two months now.

During the last downpour…..Cordelia smiled quickly at the memory.  She and Giles had made out in the school bleachers, a surprising culmination to an even more surprising argument.  She'd seen him in various homogeneous moods through three school years and had vaguely noticed small spikes in the pattern.  She'd never thought him an emotional man.  He was Mr. Chips.  But then Mr. Chips blew a gasket, the result of a week-long feud between Buffy and herself.  She'd shown up in the library and, with no warning, he ordered *her* out, but inexplicably stormed out himself.  He raged forth into a downpour and, with a streak of mulishness she hadn't suspected in him, stayed out.  In fact, went farther out, trudging across a muddy football field, onto the bleachers, and then to the top row where there was no shelter from the rain whatsoever.

She followed in bewilderment and the feeling that she'd been insulted.  Having the last word was *her* privilege.  She meant to tell him so but the trip to the bleachers dampened her resolve, both mentally and physically.  By the time she got to the bench beside him, she had little energy left to assert her rights.

Then he did something mushingly sweet.  When she complained of being wet, he offered to share his coat, snuggling her in under his arm.  She kissed him.  He kissed her back, half-astonished and half-riding the tail end of his outburst.  She crawled onto his lap for the next kiss and wiggled until she felt him react the way most men did when a willing woman shimmied onto them.

Cordelia was quick to recognize opportunity, and seducing Buffy's Watcher would certainly nail the argument between her and Buffy.  While kissing Giles, Cordelia was imagining Buffy's face when the latter found out.  Buffy, who treated her Watcher like a half-forgotten housepet, giving him a pat when she remembered but strangely protective should anyone else go to scratch behind his ears.  If Buffy could have, she would have gotten him fixed, no doubt, if such a request could have been forwarded through the Watcher's Council.

The twill-stuffed Watcher, who Cordy figured would stay dusty even in the rain, got the last word again.  She hadn't expected much from him.  A few moments of fumbling.  And she assumed she'd have to give him directions.  After all, it had been a while since his errant youth, the story of which she hadn't quite reconciled with him.

It couldn't have been the furthest thing.  Gentle, despite having been so angry.  Excitable, though he'd formerly given the impression that polishing shelves comprised his wildest nights.  And very much in charge.

Afterwards, Cordelia changed her plans accordingly.  Though she still factored in the trump card she now held when it came to Buffy, it was far down the goals sheet.  Number one - another seduction of the librarian.  It was numbers two through fifteen too.  Cordelia also recognized potential when she came across it.

The potential here was something she'd never before considered.  Except for the bizarre hormonal sidetrip with Xander, she'd always picked her dates with an eye to her future.  Family income had been the definite factor, and if the guy was half-decent, that didn't hurt either.  She knew some girls considered such thinking crass but she'd always thought of herself as a realist.  Warm lingering glances did not pay bills.  Nice guys sometimes went hungry.

A librarian's income was quite a few brackets under the one she aimed for.  The age thing was a consideration on top.  If the seductions continued past - well, number twenty-two at last count - she'd eventually be a young widow.  She was throwing away her carefully designed future for warm lingering glances.

Ironically, she felt safe with him.  She never knew how much she wanted the feeling of being completely safe.  She also felt assured with him.  He was happy with so little.  Give him a book, an armchair, and a pot of tea, and he was the most contented man on the planet.

The only thing that scared her was the intelligence factor.  Giles was sharp.  Very much so.  She couldn't play games with him, and she could read every page of the encyclopedia but she'd never catch up.  They unwillingly traded having the upper hand, pulling it back and forth between them like a stretched-out football, but she was suspicious of the times when she had control of the ball.  It usually meant he had his eye on some other play on the field.

She was in charge at the moment, which made her wonder what was coming.  Some new threat?  Some curse or portentous D-day?  Graduation was past, the hellmouth was practically dormant, and it was the beginning of summer, demon downtime.  Even Wesley, the ultimate stickler when it came to Slayer stuff, had suggested Buffy take every other day off.

So what in this dimension or the next was it?

Cordelia poured tea into a mug and sighed.  Whatever it was, it would go along without Giles for once.  His walk was slower, a stoop had appeared in his shoulders and a froggy tone often sounded under his voice.  He slept a lot too, in chairs, on the couch, and once in his car while waiting for her.  It had been seven weeks since his trip in and out of the hellmouth, but he seemed more depressed now than when he'd first come out.  He was sick and even Buffy had noticed.

He was being stubborn about it but he was going to give in this time.  The ball was currently in Cordelia's end of the field.  She'd rented a cabin at Long Beach on Giles' American Express, on a private strip of shore, and her suitcases were in the trunk of her car.  All she had to do was get him packed, get some gas, and they were on their way.

She smiled at the thought of packing him up.  He didn't even own a pair of shorts, much less anything for the beach.  Getting him ready would stretch the definition of 'challenge'.

Wind picked up outside the window as it began to rain.  It was a gentle fall, fresh and steady, and Cordelia opened the window to let the smell of it come into the kitchen.  After a moment, she remembered him upstairs, so easily chilled, and shut the pane guiltily.  She rinsed out her cup and went back to him.

---

Willow fiddled with the edge of a book and Wesley waited, having learned this was one of the young woman's ways of preparing herself for a conversation she was reluctant to have.  He'd picked up on many of the Slayerettes' mannerisms and personalities since he'd moved Buffy's workout site, and most of Giles' books, to his house.  And he was starting to get used to having the young people come and go in Buffy's wake.

He wondered how it had been before his arrival.  Had Giles been the recipient of an almost constant invasion?  The circumstances were somewhat different now, Wesley knew, for Buffy had quit the Council, which effectively negated his 'official' presence in her life.  She didn't have to answer to him and, until the Council acted, she didn't have to answer to anyone whatsoever.  He'd decided to go back to England when she'd quit, leave her to her own devices, hold on to what little bit of pride he had left and thereby escape the main bulk of the Council's envisioned response.

The events of graduation day changed his mind.  He'd never seen anything like it.  No one had warned him.  Nothing in his training had prepared him.  And when the thing that had been the mayor rose into the sky, he was no longer a Watcher, sent to help the Slayer and defend civilians - he was, and he cringed to remember, a man at the rear who'd just lost all bladder control in absolute terror.

And when that Slayer, that young girl who didn't even stand as high as his breast pocket, planted herself right in front of the thing and taunted it to its doom, he realized the full futility of everything he'd ever been taught.

It was Willow who'd caught him packing the night before graduation day.  He'd told everyone he was going back to England - no surprise that he would be packing after all.  But he'd spoken thinking it would be taken as a threat.  Yes, I'll go back and tell on you, and they hadn't cared, which only furthered his resolve.

Willow, come to tell him that she'd discovered the cure for Angel and how horrible that discovery had been, looked in dismay at the boxes and asked, "Why are you leaving us before the Ascension?"

"Buffy has quit the Council," he'd said.  The impact didn't register on Willow who knew of the board only as a vague non-entity far in the background.

"And you don't think Buffy has a better chance with as many of us helping her as possible?"

"She doesn't want my help," he said.

In a bewildered voice, she asked, "You don't care?"

"She doesn't want my help," Wesley repeated.

"You're wrong," Willow said.  "She wants as much help as she can get, but she's been at this hellmouth for three years.  You have to listen to her.  If you leave, that means you don't care, not about her, not about us, not about any of it.  And if that's how they train Watchers, they've got an awful lot to answer for!"

In that moment, Wesley understood the extent of this little band of awkward warriors.  Part of the Slayer's strength came from who stood behind her.  Historically it was the Watcher, but for this long-lived Slayer, it was a quietly courageous group of friends.  And this one, this little slip of a girl, saw his blindness and called him on it, angry underneath her own misgivings.

Looking at her, Wesley said, "I do care."  Then, quietly, "But I can't--"

"Yes you can," Willow said.  Then she'd left but it had taken him a few minutes to follow, trying to work out how best to approach Buffy.  In the end, he simply asked, "How can I help?"  Apparently that was all he'd ever needed to say.

Now, here it was, the beginning of July.  He was still in Sunnydale.  The Council was notoriously silent and so was he, having failed to send reports to them beyond the single, "Ascension over.  Slayer prevailed."

A few days after graduation, Buffy came to his doorstep, defiant but quiet.  "I want to hone my fencing.  Giles isn't up to it but he says you know how."  Other weapons followed, and work out sessions in the basement, and then the rest of the gang, Xander first, Oz and Willow later, bringing conversation and noise and almost endless activity into his house.  The ones he didn't see were Cordelia and Giles.  Giles had taken a part-time position at the museum.  Other than that, he and Cordelia seemed content to be each other's sole social circle.  Wesley phoned periodically, but it was always Cordelia who answered, and he suspected the two had unobtrusively set up house together.

Buffy and her friends left him the sanctity of the upstairs but the main floor and basement were their places.  The path of least resistance was to accept this, though it rankled at times.  Now, for instance.  Wesley liked to have everything in its proper place, but he could see a pizza box on the floor beside the couch.  It was taking all his effort not to consign it to the dustbin and get out his carpet shampooer.  If he moved though, Willow would fall silent, and she'd been trying to talk to him since yesterday morning.

He shifted until the box was out of his sight.  But that put most of Willow out of his sight.  Wesley sighed.  There was just no dealing with these young people sometimes.

He edged his chair until Willow was between him and his view of that end of the couch.  But that brought new terrors.  Was that a *soda can* on the mantle?  And right beside his Dakeesh Globe!

"Wesley," Willow started.

He pulled his eyes away from the mantle.

"I can't reach Buffy," she said.

American slang? he wondered.  The phone was right behind her.

"She's not at home?" he ventured.

"She's distant.  She's been this way since she and Giles went into the hellmouth.  I thought it was something to do with that but it's getting worse."  Willow stopped fiddling with the book and looked up.  "Xander and I took her to the beach last weekend.  There are some others there that we play volleyball with.  Buffy has the meanest spike over the net I've ever seen."

"That stands to reason," Wesley said and Willow smiled at him.

"I suppose it does."  Her smile faded.  "She wouldn't play.  She just wanted to sit by herself and watch the waves.  That's not the only thing.  No matter what Xander and I try, she…..well, she's really down.  It's like she wants us to leave her alone."

Wesley considered her words for a few minutes.  He didn't know the Slayer all that well.  He didn't have a grasp of her moods and rhythms, though sullen stubbornness seemed to be the most prevalent one.

"You've come to me instead of to Giles," he commented in surprise.

"Giles is more down than she is," Willow said.  Realizing how it sounded, she suddenly flushed.  "I mean, I would have gone to him because he's known her longer than you, not because you're not….."

"I understand.  Mr. Giles is still suffering effects from the hellmouth and from his descent into Rapture," Wesley offered as consolation to the girl.  Though there was practically no information on the subject, he added, as brightly as he could, "I'm sure he'll pick up soon."

"And Buffy?" Willow persisted.

He decided to accept Willow's evaluation at face-value.  She knew Buffy far better than he did, and probably ever would if the current trend continued, he thought ruefully.  He'd assumed the Slayer's demeanor had to do with concern over Giles, but Willow was just as concerned and she wasn't acting so beaten down.

Wesley mentally reviewed the few certain facts he possessed.  Giles was ill.  Buffy was depressed.  Both states were the result of entering the hellmouth.

He paused.

Or were they?

Giles' situation made sense.  From what Cordelia had told him, the demonic infection in the elder Watcher's blood was still active.  Buffy hadn't been infected.  Also, she'd been in and out of the Hellmouth before, during the Harvest.  Yet her mood had come at the same time as Giles'.

It suddenly clicked.  Wesley sighed and the resentment on his face must have shown for Willow frowned.

"Are you angry?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm not angry," he lied.  He stood, but a glance at Willow paused him.

She looked frightened.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's all right, Miss Rosenberg," Wesley told her.  "When Giles picks up, Buffy will too."

"Because?"

Allaying her fears meant going against Council directive.  He might as well just toss the Council's handbook along with the pizza box, for all the good it had done him here.

"They're connected.  I should have realized," he said.

"What do you mean?" Willow asked.  "Is it some kind of Watcher-Slayer thing?  But you're the Watcher now."

He could have shaken her hand vigorously for that, if touching her hand wasn't so strictly out of bounds.  "This is private information.  You must promise to keep it to yourself.  Before Giles went into the hellmouth, Buffy claimed him.  A Slayer can demand it.  By claiming him, she was able to find him in the hellmouth and bring him out."

"Claiming is joining?" Willow asked.

Wesley nodded.

"Then they unclaim and she's ok again?"  Looking at him, she frowned again.  "Wesley?"

"Once it is done, it's done," he said softly.

Willow was silent for a moment.  Then, in an awful tone, she asked, "What if Giles…..should die?"

"It would weaken the Slayer but it wouldn't kill her," Wesley said quickly.  To his astonishment, Willow started to sob.  "Buffy wouldn't die," he tried again, raising a hand ineffectually towards her shoulder.  Before touching her, he caught himself.

"But Giles could die?"

Wesley fell back into his chair with a feeling of deep water closing over his head.  The stream of consciousness swimming with him  - crying girl, he'd rarely encountered them, usually they had mothers nearby, if Giles had been here, no, *he* was the Watcher, what should he do about a crying girl, his handkerchief, perhaps a glass of sherry.

But she looked up at him with a tear running down her cheek.  "Will Giles die?"

He had *no* information.  And Giles' blood was heavily infected…..

"No, no he will not," he said in the briskest, most chipper tone he possessed.

Please, not on my suit, he prayed as she leaned against his shoulder.  But hers was the lightest weight he'd ever encountered, a hummingbird grazing his lapel.

He patted her shoulder, his pats slowing when he touched her hair.  What colour *was* that?  Burnished copper?

He abruptly realized what he was doing and jerked his hand away, unfortunately taking several strands of hair with him.

Willow jumped too and raised a hand to her head.  "Ow."

"I'm-I'm sorry.  My watch," he tried.

Out of my depth, he thought.  Past the breakers, past the coral reefs, way way out to sea.

Time to call for help.

---

"A real holiday," Willow said, pointing at a spot on a fold-out road map.

Xander batted down his end of the map and tried to see over a fold.  "And what's there besides water, sand, and more water and more sand?"

"Sand with girls on it," Willow said.

"Girls with bikinis?" Xander ventured.

"Maybe one or two," Willow replied with a sigh.

"I suppose I could break down and go," he leaned forward for a closer look.

"I can't," Buffy said.

"It has to be all three of us," Willow started.  "There's no way my parents are going to let me go alone with Xander."

"Hellmouth.  Vamps.  Me, Slayer.  Remember?"

"Wesley suggested it," Willow said.  "He said you deserved a real holiday."

"Deserved?" Buffy repeated incredulously.

"For a week."

"And when I'm gone, who patrols?"

Willow put her hands on her hips.  "When was the last time you staked a vampire?"

"Time issues are meaningless because it works on a curve."

"We're going," Willow said firmly.

"Can you actually see Wesley patrolling?"

"From where we're going?  Not without a very strong telescope," Xander said.

"And we *are* going," Willow repeated, pointing again at that spot on the map.

Buffy peered over.  Suddenly her face froze and she pulled away.  "No."

"My parents' friends have a cottage," Willow tried.

"*Not* Long Beach," Buffy said.

When nothing more was forthcoming, Xander asked softly, "Bad memories?  Something undead we should know about?"

"I've never been there," Buffy told him.

"Not seeing the problem," he said.

"All you see are girls in bikinis."

"No, I'm hoping beyond hope to see them but they're not physically in sight yet."

Willow gave him a *look* before saying, "Buffy….."

She sighed loudly.  "Long Beach is where Cordelia is taking Giles."

"Oh, then we want to go the opposite way," Xander said quickly and studied the map.  "Tijuana.  Land of muscatel and really big hats."

Willow looked over in surprise.  "Giles and Cordelia are taking a holiday alone together?"

Buffy glanced at a clock.  "They've probably left by now."

"Wow," Willow murmured.  "I didn't know they were that serious."

"Her stuff is all over his apartment.  She's practically living there.  Wesley calls her 'Giles' mid-life crisis'."

Willow and Xander stared at her.  "Well, he did once," Buffy said uncomfortably.

Xander pointed at the back of his neck and asked, "Can you see the hairs popping up?"

"Excuse me Mr. Grope-In-The-Closet Boy," Buffy said.

"I never lived with her."

"Enough!"  Willow shook the map.  "Long Beach is huge, I doubt we'll run into Cordelia, and can't the two of you just go for my sake?  I'm trying to be cheerful.  I mean, I have things bugging me too.  Oz touring being one of them.  *I* need a holiday and you two are going to make it a pleasant one for me!"

When Buffy and Xander eyed her, she added, "Do I need to have *another* tantrum?"

Xander exchanged a look with Buffy.  The latter said, "We'll go, Will.  Besides, how often does a Watcher *tell* me to leave the hellmouth?"

* * * * *

Giles put down their suitcases and looked slowly around.  Cordelia gave the living room a quick scrutiny before going to the patio doors and gazing out at the beach.

"I can hear the water even through the glass," she murmured, then glanced back at him.  "Rupert?"

"It's nice."

She laughed at him.  "You look transplanted."

With a shrug, he said, "I'll get the groceries from the car."

Cordelia moved the suitcases into the bedroom and returned as he was setting bags on the kitchen counter.  "The bathroom's off the bedroom," she said.  "There's a big four-poster bed and a Jacuzzi."

"Why would one need a Jacuzzi when there is an ocean outside the door?"

She leaned across the counter and winked at him.  "In case one wishes to engage in a little private activity."

"I thought the beach was private."

"Mr. Giles!  What kind of thoughts are *you* entertaining?"

He didn't answer as he continued putting the food away.  After he folded the bags, she added, "Tell you what, if you're a good boy, I might be persuaded to do a little topless sunbathing."

"I trust not.  You'll get a nasty burn."

Cordelia decided to give him one more try before she exploded.  "That should have made you happy.  How many beautiful women offer to run around half-nude in front of you?"

"Do you want a weekly count or just a daily one?"

"God, Rupert, what's wrong with you?  You've been in a snit all day."

"It might have something to do with your waking me up at four-thirty a.m. to tell me we were leaving."

"I wanted to get an early start.  I told you to get some sleep in the back seat."

"Do you think anyone could sleep with the way you drive?"

Enunciating each word distinctly, she said, "There is nothing wrong with my driving."

Giles threw up his hands as he paced past her.  "All right.  Fine."

"*Not* fine!"

"Cordelia, I'm not in the mood to argue with you."

"Yes, you are.  You've been itching for a fight since you came out of that hellmouth.  When you've been awake that is."  She looked up to find him regarding her with a neutral expression.

"Then why are you still around?"

That shook her.  After a pause, Cordelia asked quietly, "That's nasty.  If you want to end this relationship, stop playing games.  Just tell me."

His shoulders slumped.  "I'm sorry."

"I didn't hear your decision," she retorted.

In an achingly quiet voice, Giles said, "Cordelia, I'm not the one who likes playing games.  You are."

She grabbed her purse.  "I'm going for a walk.  And while I'm gone, you can piss on yourself for a while."

The sun was high up in a cloudy sky and Cordelia could hear, faintly, the highway.  As she walked, the sounds of traffic faded into the rhythmic wash of the tide.

She took off her sandals but the sand was too hot, and she ended up on the wet shoreline among the shifting kelp and serrated crayfish trails.  A bubbling rush of water enclosed her ankles and she paused as strands of cool seaweed brushed her skin.

This was what she'd wanted Giles to do, to stand for a moment in the quiet sunshine.  Sunnydale didn't suit him.  She'd always known that, but it had been worse since he'd been fired by that Council in England.  That had been a blow he hadn't acknowledged, not to her, and probably not to himself.  It affected him more than even Buffy knew, and Buffy knew the circumstances the best.

Then there'd been this other thing, offering his life, descending into a demon state in order to withstand the intensity of the hellmouth, all for his precious Buffy who, Cordelia suspected, hadn't yet thanked him.  Nor was Buffy with him, night after night when he slept like someone on the edge of death, or day after day as he moved with the small steps of the utterly exhausted.

However, Cordelia could only take so much herself.  If he wanted to live in a big pit of despair, she was ready to let him do so.  And if he wanted her out of his life, he could do the breaking up.  The dumpee took the humiliation but it would, Cordelia suspected, be the easier way this time.  Buffy's one saving grace was that she didn't kick someone who was down.

She walked to the public beach.  Several piers extended over the water to where sailboards and outboards docked.  By the first pier was a small sandcastle, half-washed away, and Cordelia gazed down at it for a few minutes, lost in thought, before shaking herself.  Taking a deep breath, she turned and retraced her path.

She returned to the cabin to find the door open and the smell of something cooking in the afternoon breeze.  She paused inside the living room and asked, "What is that?"

Giles came a few steps out of the kitchen.  "Lentil and tomato soup."

"For how many?"

"Two," he said.  "I thought we could take it onto the patio.  I also unpacked…..for both of us."

She folded her arms over her chest and eyed him.  "So you want me to stick around?"

"Yes," he said softly.  "Very much so.  I've been in a rotten mood, Cordelia, and your efforts to…..cheer me up are frustrating."

"Tell me about it."

He went to her and pulled her arms out of their crossed position.  "I didn't want to be cheered up.  I didn't want to share this mood with you either, but, well, you've been with me, so it's being shared."

"I don't care to share it anymore, Rupert.  We have a week here.  You've got to make an effort to be less grouchy."

"I think staying grouchy might be difficult, considering some of those items I found in your suitcase."

She gave him a swat.  "I wanted to surprise you."

"I haven't seen you in them yet, so there's some surprise left."

She sighed but it was cut off when he kissed her.  "That was nice," Cordelia murmured, as she snuggled into his arms.  "But we're eating first.  I'm starving."

As they settled at the patio table, Giles said, "There's a radio in the bedroom.  I heard that it's eighty-four degrees and it's supposed to rain later.  Anaheim is hosting New England at seven-thirty this evening, and tomorrow is the start of the Annual Long Beach Lesbian and Gay Pride Celebration."

Cordelia found herself smiling.  "Thank God I brought a CD player."

"We could go and watch their parade.  I went to one in London once and it was, uh, festive."

"That's your idea of a date?"

"Yes."

She eyed him.  "What were you doing at a gay pride parade in London?"

"It's a long story."

"We have a week."

"And boring."

"Boring yet festive?"

Giles moved her bowl towards her.  "I thought you were hungry."

"I am, but," she looked down at her lunch.  "How many lentils did you put in here anyway?"

"I happen to like lentils."

"No guff."

Giles spooned out some of her legumes and put them in his bowl.  "We could take turns cooking," he suggested.

"I do chips and dip only."

"You can't operate a can opener?"

"Rupert, if you're thinking of starting a fight over this, I can tell you right now what particular thing I'll use it on."

"That would be a threat if I believed you actually knew how a can opener worked."

Cordelia met his eyes.  "Bickering is foreplay to you, isn't it?"

He didn't answer and the rest of the meal continued in quiet.  Silence with him didn't bother her, however, especially one that came after she'd had the final word.

She would have picked up the conversation after the meal, but, by the time they took the dishes into the kitchen, she could see he was getting tired.

"Come on, Rupert," she said, taking his hand.  "You can do the dishes later."

"*We*," he emphasized, with a faint smile.

"Whatever."  Cordelia shut the patio door on the way, but paused by the window seat facing the beach.  "There's a telescope," she said.  "That seems kinky."

"For whale watching."

She scowled.  "That better be all you use it for."

"I haven't used it at all, but if you read the little placard beside, you'll see that it's fixed at a point out in the water."

A kiss cut him off.  "Let's go do some boy-girl stuff," she said, a little weary of his mood.  She began to wonder why she was bothering.  Then he kissed her back and she remembered.

They went into the bedroom and undressed, dropping their clothing to the floor and leaving them there.  Then they got under the covers and she wiggled to a position on top of him, enjoying the rub of his skin under hers as his hands caressed her breasts with familiar strokes.  She glanced into his eyes as he began to erect under her, watching the way their green hue darkened as he became aroused.

Giles caught the expression on her face and looked back in consternation.  "What is it?" he asked, unsure.

"Nothing."  She kissed him once more, nipping his bottom lip, before getting on her hands and knees and moving her mouth to his chest and the trail of hair that led down his abdomen.

He watched her with a dusky still gaze, his hands coming down on top of hers.  But when she touched the tip of his cock with her tongue, he pulled in a sharp breath.

"Ticklish?"

"Not exactly," he replied.

"It's nice to know I have the upper hand," she said as she freed one and lightly touched his shaft.

"That's either the worst joke possible, or not much of a joke at all."  But his tone was hoarse.

"Ssh, Rupert."

The soft skin pulsed under her palm as his erection arched upwards.  "Cor….."

"Close your mouth."

She moved the foreskin down until she could suck on the ridge, and he moaned, surprising her.  He was not usually vocal in bed.  She could generally judge how far along he was by how mute he became.

He moaned again when she sucked the head of his penis into her mouth and stroked her tongue along the underside.  His sounds unexpectedly delighted her and, when his hand left hers to grasp at a fold of the bed sheet, she felt exhilarated.

Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the sensation of his cock in her mouth, the uneven throbbing under the stiffness and the saline fluid weeping from the tip.  She drew at him carefully, her hand around the base and pushing down into the hair at his groin.

When his legs began to tremble between hers, she paused and looked up.  "Rupert?" she teased, darting her tongue along the underside of his organ.

"…..Gods…..Cor….." he managed, thrusting frantically at her lips, his eyes so dark they were black.

She relented and sucked him back in swiftly.  He jerked and, with a gasp, ejaculated in her mouth, several hard spasms that knocked down her throat before she had a chance to swallow.  She took what she could until he slowed under her, then lifted off and moved back up the bed.

"Kind of salty," she said, kissing him and giving him some of it back.  But he looked drowsy and had to end the kiss quickly because he needed to catch his breath.

"Go to sleep, Rupert," she whispered, burrowing between his arm and his side.

Giles looked down at her uncertainly.  "But, honey, you didn't---"

"You don't have anything to do for a week except be with me.  We have time."  She closed her eyes as she nestled into her spot against him.

After a minute, she realized he was still up on one elbow.  "Now what's wrong?" she asked.  "That should have put you out like a light."

"I don't understand you," he murmured.

"It's not that complicated.  The world revolves around me except for just now when it revolved around you briefly."

She finally felt him settle down.  "Cor?"

"What now?"

"Nothing."

Cordelia smiled and said, "You're welcome.  Go to sleep, Rupert."

---

Xander was almost flat against the front window of a store.  "What the hell is this?"

Buffy lifted up her sunglasses and read the large swinging banner approaching them.  "Welcome to the Annual Long Beach Lesbian and Gay Pride Celebration.  Come out, Sisters and Brothers."  She dropped her sunglasses back on her nose, eased her way through the crowd of people that had appeared between her and Xander during the brief moment her back had been turned, and asked, "Do you want me to take a picture of you under their sign?"

At the terrified look he gave her, Buffy said, "Lighten up.  It's like Mardi Gras, only with more girls.  And you did say you wanted to look at girls."

Willow glanced at the passing streams of people.  "I don't think all of those girls are, um, girls."

A shining white Cadillac blaring reggae music was alongside them now, a Marilyn Monroe imitator in the back and several others in evening gowns strolling alongside.  One gave Willow a happy wave and the latter waved back, shyly, before turning around.

"They seem friendly enough."

"Willow!" Buffy teased.

"I mean, in a friendly way," Willow tried, flustered.

"Hey, there'll probably be parties on the beach, right?" Buffy said.

"There always are.  Oh, look, there's going to be a barbecue," Willow said, her eye catching a sign in a window.  "And a dance."

The three of them exchanged a quick look, and Willow added, "Well, maybe not the dance."

As they shuffled through the loud and brightly-dressed mob, Buffy asked, "How far away is the house?"

"Up three blocks and down a road.  The buses don't go there, but it's not that far.  It's by that ice cream place."

Buffy craned her head up and nodded as she got her bearings.  "This is loud," she said, shouting over the noise.

"That's what Long Beach is," Willow told her.  "Party town."

They were almost clear of the main street when Willow stopped and squealed, "Oh, I'd forgotten about this place.  We have to go here!"

Somewhat worriedly, Buffy rushed back but found Willow was only looking at a poster on the back of a bench.  "Long Beach Aquarium?" she asked.

"It's amazing!" Willow said.  "There's an underground part around the dolphins and sharks, and I heard they now have a coffee house where you can do eel-mail."

Buffy felt herself grin, caught by Willow's exuberance.  "Eel-mail."

"When I was little, and my parents used to do stuff together, we'd come here every summer.  Xander too," Willow said, exchanging a smile with him.  "My parents would rent a cabin and we always went to the aquarium."

"Will's dad used to take me fishing," Xander said.  "At the end of that long fishing pier."

"Oh, that's right!" Willow cried.  "And remember once, you fell off and started screaming that Jaws was going to eat you?"  She turned to Buffy.  "Xander was hysterical.  He kept saying he could see a fin but it was just a rock."

Buffy actually laughed as Xander added, "And Will sang that Jaws music until her mother threatened to make her stand in a corner."

"You were funny," Willow said.  "And then there was that time dad made a fire and you ate all those roasted marshmallows."  She glanced at Buffy.  "Was he *ever* sick."

"It sounds like this place really is a party town," Buffy said wistfully.

Willow looked at her thoughtfully.  "Now that you're here, the three of us can do things that we'll laugh over, you know, later."

"As long as they don't involve marshmallows," Xander muttered.  "I haven't eaten one since."

The girls giggled at him as they started down the road.

---

Cordelia raised her legs around Giles' hips as he thrust quietly in her, the hair behind his ear tickling her nose as he kissed her neck.  They had made love enough to find a tempo that suited them and an arrangement of limbs that was almost a habit.  He placed his left knee a little higher than his right, which pushed his pubic bone against her just…..she sucked in her breath…..just right.  His left arm hugged her more tightly as a consequence, which squeezed her right side.  But her other hand was free and she stroked him from shoulder to buttock, causing him to quiver.

His mouth came over her cheek to hers and she raised up to meet it with a whimper.  He felt her thighs clench him and he pushed hard against her mound until she sobbed and came to a climax.

After a bit, she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, a mixture of enjoyment and satisfaction on his face.  Cordelia kissed his nose and whispered, "Don't get your male ego all puffed up because you can do this to me."

"As always, a lovely phrase of endearment follows," Giles replied.

She rubbed her face along his unshaven cheek.  "Keep going, Rupert."

But it was said softly, in that yielding tone he heard during their jaunts in bed.  He sent a silent thanks to his deity that she only used it at these times.  It was a voice that went right through him.

He resumed moving in and out of her warm clasping sex and was feeling the beginning prickle of his own crisis when she said, "It's late."

"What is?" he asked in a haze.

"You know."

The conversation slowly penetrated.  He stopped moving and looked at her.  "Pardon?"

"My period.  It's late."

He stared at her, unsure if she were teasing or not.  Cordelia looked back at him with a twinge of exasperation.

"Good Lord!  You couldn't have told me this earlier or," he took a breath.  "Or a few minutes from now?"

"A few minutes.  *Please*," she retorted.  "At least ten, I should think, if you want to make it nice for me too."

Giles pulled out, pulled away right to the edge of the bed.  "I thought you were taking the pill."

She shrugged.  "Sometimes I forgot.  I wasn't paying attention.  It's not like I had to pay attention much before."

Underneath the shrug, she was uncertain.  He saw it flash over her face the moment she found she was no longer in physical contact with him.  Her quick look at the space of bed between them confirmed it.

He shoved his frustration down, barely, and thought it through.  "You don't want me coming in you," he said suddenly.

"I thought that's what we were aiming for, a moment ago," she said, defiantly.

"You don't know for sure if you are."

"Rupert!"

"You're frightened."

"For Godssakes!'

But he touched her, taking her chin and turning her back to face him.  "You can't admit this to me, Cordelia?  What we've done, what we are to each other, and you still can't tell me?"

"*What* are we?" she snapped.

"How can you ask that?"  He gathered her back to him, eliminating the space.

"Are you angry?" she asked against his chest.

"At myself."

"Yeah, I'm angry at you too, Rupert."

"I wish you'd trust me.  You can, you know."

"Yeah, I can trust you.  I can trust you to be a self-sacrificing martyr like you are with Buffy."

"You'd never let me get away with that."  He felt her relax as he hugged her tightly.

When the silence stretched on too long, she asked, "So, what do we do?"

* * * * *

Willow cradled the phone against her shoulder and she turned to look out at the ocean.  "Buffy and Xander are out having a swim.  Actually, she's trying to get Xander to go in the water."  After a pause, she said, "Well, we started singing the theme to Jaws and then….."  She paused again.  "It's a movie, Wesley."

She turned back around and resumed making tea.  "I got a call from Oz this morning!  Thanks for giving him this number.  I couldn't reach him to tell him where I was."  She got a container of milk from the fridge, dragging the phone cord behind her.  "Buffy's doing a lot better.  I haven't seen her brooding once.  We went to all these parties on the beach yesterday, or maybe it was just one long party.  There were barbecues and cd players and patio furniture all over, and everyone just doing whatever."  She caught herself.  "I mean, not *whatever*.  Not *those* whatevers.  Like, the women who rented the cabin beside us had a laptop and they were playing scrabble on line with someone in Spain.  They invited me to play and it was so cool!  And today we're going to take a bike ride and have a picnic lunch."

Willow stirred her tea, took a sip, and asked, "Did you talk to that person you said you were going to call for Giles?  Who is he?"  She stopped in surprise.  "Rabbi Mendi?  And he said what?  Oh no!  Giles isn't home.  He's here, in Long Beach somewhere!  You didn't know?"  She felt some sand under her feet and sat down in order to brush it off.  "I'm sorry, Wesley.  I thought you knew.  Buffy told me but she doesn't know where Giles is here.  He and," she hesitated.  "He and Cordelia are vacationing together, apparently, but we haven't seen them.  I hope this doesn't sound mean but I'm hoping we don't.  Buffy and Cordelia don't get along very well and they always put Giles in the middle."  Reluctantly, she continued, "Unless you want us to look for them."

A moment later, an expression of relief went across her face.  "Good because Giles hasn't had a holiday in, um, ever since I've known him, except I think he went camping once, but that was only for a day or two.  So, I'll talk to you tomorrow."  Willow went to say goodbye but stopped and added self-consciously, "Would you call me Willow?"  She fidgeted for a moment.  "I call you Wesley.  You don't have to call me Miss Rosenberg."

An astonished smile crossed her features.  "Oh!  Um, thank you."

She hung up the phone and said softly, "Because you are a lady and it is the proper form of address….."

Though still startled, Willow found herself smiling again as she picked up her tea.

---

Giles sat down on a shaded bench and stretched his legs before him.  This park called to him and he looked around, enjoying the peace.

Most of Long Beach was, aptly, beach, and condominiums and overpriced shops.  Exceedingly trendy.  But this park, an anomaly of sorts, had trees, almost enough to make it woodsy.  It was cool here, green, and the particular bench he was on faced a little stone bridge with archways that gave the illusion of a stream running under it.  There wasn't one - he'd passed by earlier on his way to the store - but he could forget that oversight from this vantage point.

He glanced down at the paper bag in his hands, realized the name of the store was prominently displayed, and turned the bag around.  He'd had to ask for paper.  The plastic was distressingly revealing of contents.

'These Americans,' he grumbled to himself.  'So damn casual.'  Asking for paper had extended the transaction time.  People waiting behind him.  A cashier in front probably wondering why a man his age was buying a home pregnancy test.  There had already been the discomfort of time spent in the aisle amidst a profusion of feminine products as he tried to ascertain which test to purchase.

A gaggle of high-pitched voices sounded behind him, and he peered back to find a barely-cohesive band of small children being herded by several women.  Their destination was probably a swing set and roundabout which he'd noticed earlier just beyond the bridge.  As they straggled past, Giles dropped his gaze, but not quickly enough to miss the last woman in the group.  She plodded past with one hand on her back supporting the obvious and abundant pregnancy in the front.

The teeming noise of the children knifed through him.  As it wasn't a fast-moving band, the noise dragged on, and he swung around the end of the bench to put his back to them.  When that didn't help, he got up and moved to another bench some distance on.

He faced a bicycle path here.  A tandem went by, a few lazy cyclists, and then, as if to plague him, a second pregnant woman appeared, pulling a toddler in a wagon behind her.

Bicycle tires crunched the gravel behind him and he closed his eyes, waiting for them to go past.

They didn't.  Then a voice sounded that he couldn't have foreseen hearing in this place.  He opened his eyes to make sure he was still in the park, and found Buffy in front of him, just coming down off her bike.

'No, no, no,' he thought as he forced a neutral expression on his face.  Behind Buffy, Willow pulled to a stop and, a beat later, Xander.

'Damn,' he added and the neutral look dropped perceptibly as he edged an arm overtop of his bag.

Buffy looked troubled.  She opened her mouth, closed it, and opted for a long breath.  Willow looked incredibly uncomfortable, her gaze twisting between Buffy, the path, the trees - anywhere but him.  And Xander looked…..Giles didn't quite know.  He'd never been able to figure out Xander.

Buffy checked around them quickly, the scan she usually reserved for her patrols, and he knew she was looking for Cordelia.

Which ticked him off.

In a strange tone, Buffy said, "Khaki, running shoes, and are those actually bare forearms?  You really morph to your surroundings, or else someone took you shopping."

Giles meant to say, 'Why the bloody hell are you following me?'  What came out was, "It's a rather long bicycle trip from Sunnydale."

In a terribly low voice, Willow said, "My parents' friends own a cottage."

A moment later, carefully, Buffy said, "You look, uh, better, Giles.  Maybe going on a holiday was…..well…..so, where's Cordelia?"

"Making lunch.  I had an errand to run."

"She's actually cooking?" Xander asked.  "Beyond toast?  And you're actually going to eat it?"

Anger clipped his tone.  "Yes, she's cooking.  She's a very good cook.  Yes, I'm going to eat it.  Goodbye."  Giles got up, turned his back to them, and left at such a brisk pace that even Willow looked up warily.

Xander recovered first.  "New safety rule.  Insulting Cordelia in front of Giles is not a good idea."

Willow said, "Xander, they *are* seeing each other."

"Day and night," he muttered.

"We're going to have to get used to it.  Giles is very protective."

"He's in extreme overprotective mode though," Buffy mused.  "But I'm ok with Giles being with someone."  She noticed their looks and emphasized, "Well, I'm trying to be, but why *that*…..why Cordelia?  I can't figure out if she likes him or if she's just rubbing it in my face."

"For two months?" Willow questioned.  "Besides, it's Giles' deal, not ours."

"Her timing sucks," Buffy said.  "She's taken him away from me when he's not well."

"Giles deserves time on a beach with…..with someone," Willow said.  "Maybe it's what he needs right now."

"Spoken by the We-Hate-Cordelia Club President," Xander said.

"You were the president.  I was the treasurer, a title I had to give up when you started seeing her," Willow said, irritated now herself.

"Sorry, Will," Buffy said.  "Ok, let's put it to the vote.  Giles and Cordy are a non-subject for the rest of the week."  She put up her hand.  Willow's hand went up swiftly.  The two of them glanced at Xander.

"I voted long before we left," he said as he raised his hand.

"Let's go find a place on the beach to eat lunch," Buffy suggested.

As Xander got on his bike, he chimed in, "Near girls."

"Xander," Buffy started.

"Near lots of girls.  In bikinis."  As they continued down the path, he asked, "Do you think there's a topless beach nearby?"

---

Cordelia looked up from the test stick, but her gaze went away from him, to some point at the side.  Giles could only see her cheek and a shadow under her eye, her guarded expression revealing nothing whatsoever.

He glanced at the stick once more, checked the instructions to confirm the results, then put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.  He heard her get up, an abrupt movement taking her out the door and down the steps to the beach, and glanced in her wake to see that she had stilled at a point near the water, her back to the cabin.

He cleared the test away, putting all of the pieces into a bag and pushing it to the bottom of the garbage bin.  When he returned to the living room, he saw she was still in the same spot.

Something in the way she stood, the set of her shoulders or the stiff line of her back perhaps, stopped him from calling her.  He returned to his chair and sat down wearily.

His perception of time disappeared.  It could have been either a long time, or a few hollow minutes later, when he heard, "Rupert, roll up your pant legs and come out on the sand with me."

Giles looked up and, after seeing her smile through the open patio doors, did so.  Cordelia leaned her back against him as he put his arms around her.

"It's going to rain," she murmured.  It was gray across the water and white foam rode the waves.  "There were some surfers out there but they gave up."

"I like the rain."

"Does it rain a lot in England or is that just one of those urban myths?"

He rested the side of his face against her hair.  "Someday, I'll take you there and you can find out for yourself."

"Let's go for a walk before it hits."  She took his hand and led him along the beach.  "I'm going to get you in water above your knees before we leave here," she warned.

"Actually, I like to swim."

"You do?  I didn't know that."  Dark eyes dancing, she flashed him a smile which rushed through his chest.  "I know you like to walk.  We must have covered Sunnydale twice over in the last month."

"What do you like to do?"

"Hiking.  My father took me to Los Balmas once and we went up a mountain."  Cordelia shrugged.  "It wasn't much of a mountain, I suppose, but it seemed big when I was six."  She stopped to pick up a shell.  "I like skiing.  What are you like on skis?"

"I've never been."

"Another challenge."  She paused when cool salty air blew by them.  "I like those ancient dusty books of yours too."

"I noticed.  Could I please prevail upon you to replace them right side up on the shelf?"

"Maybe.  What's my incentive?"

"My unending devotion."  Giles let go of her hand to walk farther out into the water.  The waves were churning up, reminding him of the ocean off the coast of Newquay.  They soaked his trousers as they smashed by.

After a few moments, he looked back to see Cordelia eyeing him curiously.  "Cor?"

She shrugged.  "You don't look like a librarian any more."

"I don't know that I ever truly was one though I did manage to learn the Dewey Decimal System, just in time to find that it was outdated."  Giles waited a little longer before persisting softly, "And?"

"I'll be able to go to university if you take the lion's share of staying home with our baby.  If you live, that is."

"Of course you're going to continue your education.  I'm not going to take that away from you."

Cordelia raised an eyebrow.  "Which means you plan to live for a while longer, Rupert?"

Her cool tone didn't fool him, though he wished she'd stop using it.  He also realized, in that moment, that she'd recovered quite adeptly and was already starting to work out plans.

Then something else hit him.  He smiled and repeated, "*Our* baby."

"And don't think you're ducking out on me."

"By dying?  I wasn't considering that option."

"Dying.  Leaving.  I have no idea what's going through your head lately."

Giles went back to her and took hold of her arms.  "There's two of us in on this.  It's not you on your own.  Let your guard down for two seconds and talk to me."

She hesitated until he was nearly at the end of his rope.  At length, quietly, she said, "I have no idea what it is you want."

A quick relieved smile went across his face.  Cordelia frowned.  "Rupert?"

He kissed her, then drew back to look in her eyes.  "What do I want?  Over the past two months, I've come to the conclusion that it's you."

She took his hand and led him back towards the cabin.  "Tell you what.  Let's get dressed up, have dinner at a nice restaurant, and afterwards, if I believe your intentions are sincere, I'll let you go all the way."

"As long as you promise, if you have any more momentous announcements, Cor, you say them *well* beforehand."

"I said I was sorry for this morning."

Giles glanced at her.  "No, you didn't."

She grinned.  "No, I didn't, did I?  Hurry up, Rupert.  It's starting to rain."

---

Xander peered out the window.  "Boy, it's really coming down."  He watched walls of downpour pelt the water, travelling over the surface like moving shadows, before saying, "Figures.  The first heavy rain we've had in two months happens during the week we spend at the beach."

"Willow's out in it," Buffy said gloomily.

Xander pulled back.  "What?  I thought she was upstairs."

"She said she wanted to zip to the store."

He caught the worried tone in her voice and said, "The worst that'll happen is that Will gets soaked.  Remember, summer is a holiday for the nasties too, and it's still technically day."  He picked up the cards Buffy had dealt to him.  "Maybe she met a guy and he's taken her for ice cream."

"She's a one-guy girl," Buffy said.  "Any sevens?"

"Go fish," Xander said.  "And you can stop with that.  I'm not in on the girl talk, but I know Will.  Something's happened between her and Oz because he left all of a sudden and Willow's been in a funk.  Any threes?"

"Fish," Buffy replied.  "She and Oz are working that out.  She was on the phone with him for a long time yesterday.  Sixes?"

Xander handed her a card.  "She was also on the phone with someone else yesterday *and* today.  She hung up real fast when I came in and said it was a wrong number, but wrong numbers don't usually make her blush."

"Really?  Our Willow?" Buffy asked curiously.  "Kings?"

Xander sighed heavily as he gave up another card, and raised the remaining ones to a lamp.  "Can you see through these?"

"Slayer sense."

"If it extends into card games, we should head to Las Vegas," he grumbled.

"Tens."

"Ha!  Go fish, Slayer!"

Buffy took a card from the deck.  "If she's been on the phone with someone around here, she must have met him awfully quick."

"If it was someone around here, she wouldn't need to talk to him on the phone.  They could just meet," Xander commented, then glanced up to see Buffy eyeing him.  "Sometimes I get a bright flash," he added.  "Fours?"

"Go fish," she said thoughtfully.  "Must be someone from Sunnydale."

"And you have no idea who it is," Xander said suspiciously.

"She hasn't said a thing to me," Buffy said.  "Honest."  A wide smile hit her mouth.  "Wow!  I wonder who he is."

"When Willow comes back, I could conveniently disappear and you could have another girl talk."

"You want me to pump her for information?"

"Yes," Xander said without hesitation.  "Whose turn is it?"

"Mine.  Any threes?"  At his look, she added mischievously, "I just picked one up."

"I'll give you the card if you promise to do the third degree."

"I can't believe you want me to do that to our best friend."

Xander held the card just out of reach.  "Do you want the three or not?"

"Fine, I'll do it," Buffy said, "but I can't see who'd be in the running."

"The dark horse candidate," he said as he handed her the three.

"We have no horses, dark or otherwise.  Sevens?"

Xander paused before handing her the card, then watched dolefully as she laid the last pair on the table and said, "I win!"

"They're marked, aren't they?"

Buffy pushed the cards towards him with a smirk.  "Your turn to deal."  As she leaned back in her chair, she mused, "There was that guy she was helping with his history."

"The arrogant full-of-himself jock?  Definitely Will's type."

Buffy held up her hands.  "I don't see any other horses in the field."

"It's the one behind the tree."

"There is no tree."

"Then it's crouched behind the bush.  The point is, the sooner you do the no-holds barred third degree, the sooner we'll know."  Xander dealt the cards.

"How'd we up it to no-holds barred?"

"She's our Willow.  We have to protect her."

Buffy studied him.  "Oh.  Protect her.  No other reason?"

"She and I worked through that.  We're just friends," Xander said as he picked up his cards.  "Prepare to do some heavy fishing, Buffy."

"Uh huh.  Twos?"

He made a small choked noise as he handed her a card.

---

Buffy stopped in the doorway of Willow's room as the latter tried to extract herself from sodden clothing.  "I thought you were waiting out the storm somewhere."

"I was going to," Willow said as she peeled off her socks and stepped out of the puddle she'd created.

"Waiting it out while snuggled up to a cute guy didn't appeal to you?"

It was meant as a joke.  To Buffy's surprise, Willow jumped.

"No, no guy," she said as she got a towel.

Buffy considered the information about the phone calls, though it didn't explain where Will had been for the past two hours.  The idea of a third degree didn't appeal to her though - Willow would speak when she felt comfortable enough to.  As well, Buffy's title as monarch of the messed-up romance department didn't give her much in the way of advice to offer.

"Oz called, but he was just leaving a motel.  He said he'd call you early tomorrow morning."

"He never gets up before three in the afternoon, so early means four," Willow said softly, then caught herself.  "Did that sound sulky?"

"No," Buffy smiled.  "It's too bad Oz can't visit you here."

"I promised my parents they could trust me," Willow said as she pulled on jeans and a tee shirt.  And this had been the falling out.  Will and Oz had been caught in the moment by her parents, and the resulting yells by Ira Rosenberg could be heard, it was claimed, by NRA members in the midst of a good round at the firing range.

Buffy remembered when her mother found out about her night at Angel's.  The extent had been an unpleasant fifteen minute talk.  Buffy thought that had been bad enough, but she was beginning to appreciate her mother's approach more and more every day.  The fact of Willow being an adult in every legal sense was irrelevant as she was, unimaginatively told, "under her father's roof."  The roof descended with an avalanche of new rules.  Oz hadn't specifically been forbidden to Willow, but maneuvering to him required some deceit on her part and she wasn't very good at it.

In the end, Oz decided on a solution - leaving town with the band to tour roadhouses.   It didn't require Willow finding ways to cover her tracks, but it did effectively isolate her.  She was broken-hearted, Buffy knew, yet was doing everything to keep from showing it.

As Buffy hung Willow's clothing over the shower doors, she said, "Let's order a huge pizza and watch movies.  We'll get extra olives."

"And if Xander gripes?"

Buffy shrugged.  "We'll laugh.  After all, we put up with his attempt at Rice Krispie squares - skittles instead of marshmallows."

With a straight face, Willow said, "It was one of his better attempts."

"Ick.  You mean we can expect more?"

"He once tried to make caramel apples, only we didn't have caramel so he used melted peanut butter.  And there was the famous pop tarts marinated in Dr. Pepper and fried to charcoal experience."

Buffy put her hands over her stomach as they went downstairs.

---

"When we get home, we should invite your parents over again," Giles said, breaking a cozy quiet.

Cordelia didn't bother to open her eyes.  She'd made a cranny in the sand to lie in, the sun felt warm on her skin, and Giles' thigh was comfy under her head.  "If you want," she murmured.

Her parents had blown them off twice already, which bothered Giles more than her.  'They're always busy', she'd told him, but he couldn't understand their lack of interest in her welfare.

"A grandchild is an incentive," he added.

"I don't think you're supposed to tell anyone until you're three months in.  Bad luck."

"You're not afraid to tell them, are you?"

"And I'd be afraid of what, specifically?  That they might get angry and not be in touch for a while?"  After a few minutes, she asked drowsily, "What are you reading?"

"King Lear."

"Oh, that one."

"You've read it?"

"Pray do not mock me.  I am a very foolish, fond old man.  I fear I am not in my perfect mind."  At his quiet, she opened her eyes briefly to smile at him, shading her brow with her hand.  "I read some of it at home one night while waiting for you to get out of the shower."

Giles glanced down.  "I……appreciate the part you chose to quote back to me."

"That's the only interesting part.  Well, that and the name of the *best* daughter."

She returned to her nap.  He read for a bit longer before putting the book down to look out across the waves.  They were calmer after the rain, swirling over the shore peacefully though the water itself was still muddy, opaque with kelp and sand churned up from the bottom.  They'd taken a swim before breakfast, then spent a good half hour picking pieces of seaweed off themselves.  The smell of it was still on his skin.

He could also smell vinegar.  They'd gone for fish and chips at the pier for lunch and, in a wooden booth at the back, worked out the details.  The timing wasn't the best for the baby would come during March, mid-semester for her.  That was a hurdle they'd deal with down the road.  They'd have the summer together as a family, and he could adjust his hours at the museum around her classes come September.  The last bit she said with a grin - 'Guess who's going to get the bulk of the teething, Rupert?' - however, he was still trying to come to terms with the thought of a baby in her arms, in his arms, in a crib in a bedroom housing diapers and stuffed toys, and other items he couldn't begin to guess at.

Giles looked back down at Cordelia, at the sun glinting off her hair and the soft smile on her lips, and thought suddenly, 'I hope it's a girl.'

"What part are you at?" she asked, startling him.

"Cor?"

She opened her eyes part-way.  "In your book."

He couldn't remember.  "Uh, a group of people are talking about something."

"You're finding it hard to focus on stuff too?"  She shifted up until her head rested against his stomach.  "The thought of having someone completely reliant on me is kind of weird."

"That part doesn't bother me."

She angled her head in order to give him a look.  "Yeah, you've been doing it for years now, haven't you?"

He startled again.  Cordelia was a curious schism of utter obtuseness and impetuous clear-sightedness and, despite their intimacy, he was never sure which side of the amalgam to expect.

"What part *does* bother you, Rupert?"  At his frown, she persisted, "You've been too quiet.  It means you're thinking."

"Nothing is bothering me," Giles told her.  In a unanticipated flash, he found it was the truth.

He stood, carefully pulling her up with him, and tugged at the strap of her bathing suit.  "Let's take these things off and go for a swim."

Cordelia stared at him in amazement.  "And you left Mr. Make-Sure-You-Chew-That-Thirty-Two-Times-Before-You-Swallow-It where?"

After shucking his shorts, he unclasped her bra, but when he reached for her suit bottom, she stepped back.  "What's your name again?"

"False modesty, honey."  He left her to go into the water.  After a moment, she slipped out of her panties and followed him.

"Fine!" she yelled across several waves.  "But the guy I know had better be back later!"

There was a sand bar half a mile from shore.  He'd discovered it this morning - an odd thing, after treading water that was over his head, to suddenly find the bottom rising up to meet him.  The water came just over his waist when he stood, but was on a direct level with Cordelia's breasts, and he found the sight of the water lapping up and down over them unexpectedly arousing.

He swam to the sand bar and stood, his back to the shore.  A few minutes later, she surfaced in front of him.  She noted the swift direction his glance took and said sardonically, "My eyes are up here, Mr. Giles."

"I know where your eyes are," he replied though he didn't change his focal point.

Cordelia waited for a good oncoming wave and splashed the bulk of it at him, then floated back, waiting for retaliation.  However, after blinking the salt water from his eyes, he returned his gaze across the water.

"Looking for England?"

She thought she saw a quirk of a smile.  "Wrong ocean, Cor.  We'd find Japan first and England would come…..a bit after."

"When I learned how to get from Los Angeles to Paris, I stopped listening in Geography class."

Far off, some sailboats appeared, heading for the public pier.  She squinted to look at the markings on the sails and said, "They haven't been out long.  I saw them leave earlier."

"Another rain is coming."  Giles nodded at a gray area.

With a sigh, she commented, "Some holiday."

"I've been enjoying it and we seem to find ways to occupy ourselves during storms."

"Naughty boy," she told him.

The grin finally appeared.  "It's been twenty years since someone said that to me."

"And the circumstances twenty years ago were?"

"Uh uh."  He shook his head.

"I'll get it out of you," she mused.

"No doubt," he said, with some seriousness.

"I'm glad you understand how things work around here."  She splashed him again.  He disappeared under it and she looked around suspiciously.

"Rupert?"

Nothing.

"Rup-ERT!" she squawked as he grabbed her from behind, but he only gave her a wet kiss.

She turned to enjoy the kiss further and afterwards murmured, "Do you think any of the other cabins have telescopes?"

"Probably they all do."  Giles bent to her mouth again but Cordelia pulled back, then glanced in dismay at the shore.

"Who cares, Cor?"

But she stared at him.  "At this particular moment, I just don't care," he stated.

"It took nearly a month before you'd let me leave a light on when we made love."

"We're only kissing."

"But, still….."

"And the water's high enough.  Cordelia, I don't care who sees me with you.  Good Lord, for the past two months, we've hardly seen a soul."

"You haven't been feeling well."

"I know," Giles said, feeling a sudden uneasy tiredness at her words.  "But we have people around us, friends, perhaps I'd call them family.  We haven't seen much of them, and I have a responsibility to Buffy."

"She's playing sore loser.  It hasn't been the most comfortable."

"I don't know what you mean by 'sore loser', Cor.  She and I aren't---"

"She doesn't want you and she doesn't want you with anyone."

Giles felt a heaviness go through his chest.  "That's harsh."

Cordelia met his eyes and said softly, "I'm sorry, Rupert, but think back.  Did she ever give Miss Calendar one inch whatsoever?"

He took her hands in his.  "I don't want to answer that."

"Rupert---"

"No.  Let the past go."

He saw a flash in her eyes.  "Regardless, I still don't suggest putting Buffy and I together in the same room."

"That's exactly what I think the two of you should do.  Cordelia, I am damned well determined she will live to retire."

She tried to shrug out of his grasp, but he wouldn't let go.  "On top of that, I love you.  You torment me almost beyond endurance and have given me more joy than I've ever felt before.  I love you very much, Cor, and we have a baby coming."

He felt her relax.  "I love you too, even if you are blind."

"Blind?"

"Unrealistically hopeful then."  She looked into his green eyes with a direct steady gaze.  "There are things I won't put up with, Rupert, and I'm feeling it more strongly now that I'm pregnant.  If Buffy and I happen to have any middle ground, it's a pretty unlivable spot."

"You don't think she'd be protective of the mother of my child?"

"Sure, but would that be before or after her extreme pissed-off-edness?"

He didn't answer.  Finally, she asked, "Am I getting the last word?"

"We're not having an argument," Giles said, an edge under his voice.  "Let's get back to the cabin."

* * * * *

Willow curled her legs under her as she shifted on the couch.  She had the phone at one side, a window at the other, and a pop-tab on her soda to fiddle with.  The accessories didn't make her any more comfortable, however.

"I went out on a date, only I didn't know I was.  It was a girl and we were waiting out a storm in a doughnut shop.  We were just talking, but then I suddenly found out it was a date because she…..well, now I feel like I led her on and I feel all bad."  She glanced out the window before resuming her attack on the pop-tab.  "I know, but I still feel bad.  Maybe I should have known.  It's Gay Pride days here so I could have guessed, and now I'm scared to walk down that way in case I see her.  You know what?  Sometimes I feel like there are these vast places where everybody else knows what's going on except me."  She paused, listening, then smiled.  "You too, huh?"  Willow stopped again for a moment.  "No, I'm sure because she….."  She lowered her voice to a bare awkward whisper.  "She kissed me.  I didn't see it coming.  I thought she was just reaching for the sugar.  And now I'm feeling all weird.  I didn't know I was leading her on.  I mean, I've never led anyone anywhere.  I've tried but it always comes out wrong."

She let go of the soda can as another smile went across her face.  Buffy, coming into the room at the side, halted at the sight.

"Yes, I'm all right.  Really, I am.  You don't have to come out here," Willow said.  "Anyway, you shouldn't come because….."

Buffy backed quickly out of the room.  In the kitchen, she exchanged a wide-eyed look with Xander and said softly, "She's on the phone.  Something *did* happen, Xan, because Oz is ready to drop everything and rush to her aid."

"It's got to be another guy then," he replied in the same quiet tone.  "I seem to recall someone making a promise over a three of hearts that they would do the Dragnet thing."

Buffy sat at the table.  "I can't do that to Willow."

"You've done it to me."

She shrugged.  "Yeah, that was fun."

Xander opened his mouth, then shut it quickly when Willow's raised voice came out to them.

"Oh no!  Why didn't you tell me?  Are you ok?  Did you need stitches?"

Xander and Buffy stared at each other as Willow continued unhappily, " I know you've staked vampires in the past, but this time you were all alone.  What if there are more?  Maybe I should get Buffy."  After a minute, she added, "I'll tell her.  Are you sure you're ok?…..All right.  I'll talk to you then.  Bye."

Buffy stood immediately when Willow came into the kitchen.  "Is he all right?"  Willow blinked and Buffy added quickly, "I didn't mean to hear….."

"He's fine.  He got scraped but he didn't need any stitches."

"We have to go there.  Where is he?  Can we get to him before nightfall?" Buffy questioned, all business, but stopped at the puzzled expression on Willow's face.

"He's in Sunnydale, Buffy."

"I thought Oz was touring."

Willow frowned.  "He is.  He's in Ohio."

Buffy caught Xander's look before asking, "Then, was that Giles?"

"No, it was Wesley.  Why would you think it was Oz or Giles?"

"Um," Buffy gave Xander a 'help-me' look but he shook his head quickly, eyebrows raised.  Buffy turned back to Willow.  "Your voice was, um, warm-fuzzy, Will, and I just thought….."

Willow flew back a step.  "Warm-fuzzy?  It was not!"

She turned to Xander who said, "Definite fuzzies there, Will, and quite a few warm spots.  I'd even say some were smoldering."  He abruptly straightened as it hit him.  "Wait.  You've been talking to *Wesley*?"

"Yes, in case something should happen in Sunnydale and he has to get hold of Buffy and there were *no* fuzzies!  We were only talking!"

Bewilderedly, Buffy said, "And *Wesley's* ready to leap down here to protect you, Will?"

"But that's what Watchers are like," Willow said.  "Giles is."

"Yes," Buffy said quietly.  "*Giles* is."

A whirl of emotions passed over Willow's face.  Finally she crossed her arms over her chest defensively.  To calm her down, Buffy said quickly, "I'm sorry, Will.  I didn't mean…..that is….."

She turned to Xander for support, but he could only repeat dazedly, "Wesley?"

Buffy tried again, "Will, I know you would never be unfaithful to Oz."

Willow abruptly deflated, as if Buffy's words had punched her.  Looking as though she might cry now, she said, "That's hardly possible at the moment."

Raising both hands helplessly, Buffy said, "All right, I don't have a clue what's going on.  This is me being seriously confused."

"I've been talking to Wesley because he's worried about you, Buffy, and you won't talk to him.  I guess that's kind of like going behind your back, but it isn't because I've been worried about you too, and….." Willow looked at Xander.  "And so has he."

Xander jumped.  "Only because you were doing that whole depression thing, Buffy," he said hastily.  "Which has cleared up nicely, by the way."

"Oh," Buffy managed.

"And Oz is….."  Willow trailed off.

"In Ohio," Xander finally finished.

"Oz is decent," Willow said.  "He's very, very decent."

When it didn't look like she was going to say anything more, Xander said, "Well, there you go.  No wonder he left."

"It *is* why he left," Willow replied softly.  "Something happened, Xander, that I never told you.  My parents…..caught me and Oz."

"Caught?" Xander asked.

"As in *caught*," Buffy emphasized.

A second later, he got it.  "Oh.  Oh!"  Then he added uncomfortably, "Oh, Willow."

"My parents, um," Willow took a breath.  "They said…..well, it wasn't good, and Oz and I tried to deal with it but, finally, he said he couldn't come between me and my parents.  When he left to tour, he *really* left.  He's coming back in September, to see me then.  He asked me to work out what was best for me, but he won't…..he refuses to make me choose between him and my parents."

Buffy took a step forward.  "Oh Willow, I'm so sorry.  I wish you'd told me."

Willow tried to shrug but it came out lopsided.  "Buffy, you were so down and I didn't want to make you worse.  I've been trying hard to…..God, why is everything so complicated?"

Buffy hugged her.  Xander rose and moved forward, but halted uncertainly.  Willow looked over at him, then at Buffy, and said, "Wesley and I aren't----"

"Sorry, Will," Xander said.  "It sounded that way, that's all."

"He worries too."

"I…..suppose," Xander tried.  "But he seems mainly worried about you, Will."

Buffy shot him a glare and he twitched.  "Hey, support here, Buff.  We were both thinking it."

"I'm supporting Willow right now," she said.

"You can do both at the same time."

"Guys!" Willow burst out.

"Sorry," Buffy and Xander said sheepishly, and Buffy added, "Ok, and getting back on track, I'm thinking I should return to Sunnydale because Wesley will get himself killed if he tries to patrol anymore, it sounds."

"We'll all go back," Willow said.

"You don't have to," Buffy said but Willow shook her head.

"Parental issues, remember?  Me and Xander alone here?"  Her expression changed.  "And, you know what?  I am *sick* of doing everything my parents tell me!  *I'm* an adult!  And if they can't trust me by now, then that's their problem, not mine!"

Buffy stared at her.  "Willow, uh, subtle approaches work too.  You don't have to go all out, in their face."

"I'm tired of this!"

"Ok, fine," Xander tried uncertainly.  "But I don't want to be an issue with your father 'cuz he's frightening when he does that stare-of-doom thing."

Willow sighed as she left the kitchen.  "I'm going to pack."

---

Cordelia eyed Giles as he came in.  "You're wet."

"It's raining."

"I guess both of us like to state the obvious, eh?"  But the humour fell flat.  "You're not getting grouchy again, are you?"

Giles shook his head.  "No, Cor."

"Look.  I made spaghetti," she said, leading him to the table.  "I wasn't quite sure how long to cook it, so some of it's a little sticky.  I put that part on your plate."

A quick smile ran across his face.

"The sauce comes out of a jar.  Are you supposed to heat it up because I didn't, but we could put it in the microwave.  Oh, and I was going to make garlic bread but I wasn't sure about the garlic part, so I made bread and butter.  Would you light the candles?"

He glanced at the table, at the precise way she'd laid the plates and silverware.  She'd even folded the napkins into little boats.  "It looks wonderful," he said, as he got matches.

"I know," she said, giving the table a quick once-over.  "I'm very good at the hostess part.  It's the cooking."

"I'm sure it will be fine."

They settled down to eat.  It wasn't bad, Giles found, and the sauce had warmed up somewhat from the noodles.  And she had made the effort.

"It's delicious," he said.

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

Cordelia smiled.  "Stay delusional.  It’s better for me."  She took a sip of her water.  "When we get home, I'm going to make an appointment with my doctor."

Giles put down his fork.  "Are you feeling ill?"

"No, duh.  It's what pregnant women are supposed to do.  I'm pretty sure, anyway."

"They also have food cravings and attend mysterious child birth classes," he mused.

"That last part we do together.  You're supposed to be with me when I'm in labour."

"The thought of being in a room with you while you're suffering extreme pain doesn't appeal to me."

Cordelia paused, shocked, then caught sight of a grin at the corners of his mouth.  "Rupert, you bastard!"  She hit him, and not gently.  "You're *going* to share in that beautiful moment if I have to tie you to my bed rail."

"I suppose my part will be ensuring sure you're well drugged during it."

"There is stuff for the pain, isn't there?"

He caught the small tremor under her voice.  Taking her hands in his, he said, "Don't be afraid, Cor.  I'll be there."

She relaxed under his touch and he assumed he'd said the right thing.  The rest of the meal and the evening passed easily, but, that night in bed, she suddenly turned to him and asked, "How bad do you think the pain is?"

"Oh, honey."  Giles dropped his book and gathered her to him, abruptly feeling ineffectual.  "We'll go to the doctor together, shall we?  I'm sure there are ways to make it easier and, at the end of it, you'll be holding our child."  He kissed her forehead.  "I'll be there with you.  I promise."

"Yeah, if something hellmouthy doesn't come along."

After a moment, he said, "There's Wesley.  Buffy can call him."  Giles' throat felt raw as he spoke, and he shut his eyes tightly as she settled against him.

* * * * *

Buffy tossed a stake end over end in the air, catching it neatly at each plummet down.  She was also seated on top of the dining room table, her sneaker-clad feet resting on a chair.  These habits irritated Wesley no end, she knew, but tonight he wasn't vocalizing his displeasure.  He'd shot several stiff glances at her, but somehow refrained from comment.  His sole conversation to her, after inquiring about her health, consisted of a long-winded report on his previous evening's patrol.

After he wound down, she waited a few moments, then said, "So, basically, it was a little vamp.  You staked it.  End of story."

He sniffed.  "Really, Miss Summers, even a 'little' vampire can be a problem as far as the general populace is concerned."

Buffy eyed him in his honour-guard straight-backed position by the fireplace.  "Wes, is it possible for you to *not* stand at attention?  Every once in a while, anyway?"

"Proper posture separates us from the animals."

Buffy continued flipping the stake as she tried to imagine he and Willow together.  Eventually she gave it up.  She could get as far as the two of them in the same room, but the rest of the image wouldn't come.  "Aren't you going to inquire about my vacation?"

"You said you were well."

"Thanks for taking an interest."

Wesley fumbled for something to say.  "I, ah, wish it hadn't been cut short."

"I can always try again."

"Of course.  Just the matter of a small demon infestation to take care of first and then, certainly---"

"Willow and I could go back to the beach," Buffy interrupted.  She studied him out of her corner of her eye as she added, "There were all these gorgeous hunks by the water, we're talking double figures here, but Willow insisted on wearing this huge one piece bathing suit which covered almost everything.  Now I saw this lovely teeny bikini that would be perfect for her.  A beautiful wine-coloured one with a strapless bra that would come just over her---"

"Is this really pertinent?" he asked, but she'd caught the twitch under his collar.

Hiding a smile, Buffy continued, "Wes, a man's opinion might make all the difference as to whether or not I could actually get Willow to wear it.  *I* think she would look ravishing in it.  The bottom piece is only held together by these little rings and the legs are cut just at….."  She made a gesture as if to illustrate but he abruptly whirled to the mantle and straightened a knick-knack.

"Yes, well, I'm, ah, sure Miss Rosenberg will purchase whatever suit she feels most comfortable with.  Now, the location of this infestation is---"

"You told me already."

"And you'll need a---"

"Got it."  She held up her stake.

"I was going to say, another one, in case---"

"You're worried about me?"

"I am attempting to ascertain whether you're properly prepared."

"Preparation.  I remember.  Your one key word repeated three times."

Wesley looked at her in trepidation, not knowing what to make of her attitude tonight.  "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"I'm fine."

Buffy hopped off the table and was at the door when he said, "I rather think a second stake is in order."

She sighed.  "You said it was a small nest."

"Overconfidence is not a virtue, Miss Summers."

She glared at him as she left, and he blinked in dismay under it.  Surely it was not unreasonable a request to take more than a single weapon.  Had she been this truculent when Giles undertook training her, he wondered?  Giles' early journal entries were vague on the subject of the Slayer's attitude, other than strange references to 'teenage girl illogic', and Wesley had come to the conclusion that Giles had been overwhelmed by the job in the beginning.  There was some slight mention of attitude in Mr. Merrick's journal, but that Watcher had been, Wesley knew, quite pro-Slayer.  It would have taken a concerted effort on Buffy's part to get much of a negative mention at all from her first Watcher.

Wesley poured himself a sherry and carried it into his study.  He'd had a phone call this morning from a friend in London, a Watcher in training, who'd wondered why he was still in California.  It was one of those innocent questions that have no answer, the kind that bring on a defensive resentment.

"That Slayer's not the only stubborn one," his friend had joked, "and if she doesn't want you around, why bother?"  The conversation stalled on that note.

Wesley had never thought of himself as stubborn.  In fact, he felt he'd often gone the other way, bending back and forth like a reed in a gale to please the whims of his father and various instructors.

So, why bother, indeed.  There were others besides the Slayer, others whose knowledge put them in the line of fire.  He had no illusions about his 'ability' in battle, but he had other ways to protect and give aid.  And he could worry.  As it turned out, worrying was something at which he now excelled.

Two hours later, Buffy had not checked in and there was no answer at her home.  Cursing apprehensively, more at himself for not going with her than at her, he picked up a stake and got into his car.

The grocery store that housed the small den of demons was completely dark, and Wesley entered cautiously, swinging his flashlight around the room with one hand while holding the stake with the other.  Pieces of furniture loomed up in the bouncing light, stopping his heart until he figured out what they were.  After making sure he was alone, Wesley examined the floor and found ash but, thankfully, no blood.

He sighed as he returned to his car.  After checking for messages on his cell phone, he called Buffy's house once more, then his, then closed the phone and sat for some time, tapping his fingers angrily on the steering wheel.

He could go to the Bronze, though the idea didn't appeal to him.  His age made it awkward for him in there, and the bouncers at the door did not respond to requests from a man in the alley that they go looking inside for a particular girl.  However, he suddenly brightened, someone could go into the Bronze and look for him.

He started his car and drove to the Rosenberg house.

---

Willow peeked at Wesley while he drove, then quickly turned her eyes back out the window when she thought he'd noticed her slight shift.  She didn't know what to say without a phone in between them.  Apparently neither did he, apart from an awkward greeting at her door and a barrelled-out explanation of a missing Slayer.

She settled back in the plush interior of her seat before realizing just how plush it was.  She glanced around the interior of the car at an amazing number of gadgets lit by the green glow of the dashboard, and ran her hands over her seat cover.  "This is…..very nice."

When he glanced over, she added quickly, "The car.  It's…..what kind of car is it?"

"A ninety-nine Lancia Y."

"They don't sell them here, do they?"

"No, it's Italian."

Willow considered Giles' Citroen and wondered why Cordelia had chosen someone with a car like that over someone with a car like…..

She firmly quashed the thought.  She'd made a promise to herself two months ago not to have any why-Cordelia notions.  If it had been her, it would have been an easy decision.  Giles was handsome and deeply caring and there had been times, in the past three years, when he had looked at her with those warm eyes and Willow felt that…..

No!  She slammed *that* down too.  That had been another just as firm promise.  No Giles thoughts.  No why-Cordelia thoughts.

She fidgeted under a horrible swell of guilt.  She was only supposed to have Oz thoughts.

"Are you all right, Miss Rosenberg?"

Willow realized he was staring over at her.  "Yes, I-I'm fine."

But he was still looking at her, with an expression she couldn't read in the dim.

"The light's green," Willow said.

"It was that or blue.  I can turn it off if you prefer."  Wesley touched a switch and the dashboard darkened.

"I mean, the stoplight," Willow said.

"Ah.  Right.  I thought we were still talking about the car."  Wesley jerked his attention back forward.

'He's tense,' Willow said to herself and felt another wave of guilt.  She'd been so wrapped up in herself, she hadn't noticed how upset Wesley was over Buffy.  "I'm sure she's fine.  She's probably at the Bronze.  You said you didn't see any blood, right?"

"No.  No blood."  He was quiet for a few moments before asking, "And you?  Have you recovered from your misunderstanding?"

"Pardon?"

"With the girl?  In Long Beach.  She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"Oh!"  It dawned on Willow.  "It was, um, just a kiss."

She thought she saw his mouth tighten.  "Ah, well, those can be painful sometimes," he said.

"You mean, the repercussions," she murmured.

"I'm sure your young man will understand," Wesley said.  "It is between you and him, of course.  I would never divulge your confidences."

Willow fiddled with the stuffed padding of her seat belt.  "I haven't told Oz.  I could, but it wouldn't make any difference."

"He does seem quite devoted to you."

Abruptly, she asked, "Did you go to the hospital?"

It took him a moment to catch up.  "No, it was a minor injury."

"It could get infected."

"I've been scraped worse playing soccer.  We're here."  He parked across the street from the door and reached for his wallet.  "I'll give you the cover, Miss Rosenberg."

"There's no cover after nine.  Aren't you coming with me?"

"The Bronze is a, ah, club for young people."

"You've been in there before."

"Once, and I was looking for Buffy."

She came around to his side and opened his door.  "It sounds packed.  Are you going to make me search through that crowd by myself?

As he got reluctantly out of the car, she added, "It's ok.  I feel out of place most everywhere I go too."  She paused at the curb, looking at him.  "Wesley, maybe you should lose the tie and handkerchief."

Surprised, he asked, "What's wrong with them?"

"You're a little overdressed."

"Is this village perpetually casual?" he muttered, though he did what she asked.

Willow bit down a smile.  "We actually qualify as a town."  She regarded him again, then, with an audacity that both astonished and embarrassed her, quickly undid the top button of his shirt.  "We're perpetually casual," she added as an apology, not quite able to meet his eyes.

He followed her into the Bronze in silence, somewhat confounded by her himself.  The bouncer let them in without a second glance, though Wesley half-expected to be stopped.  Surely it wasn't common for a man his age to accompany a young woman Willow's age into this establishment?

Once they were inside, though, he realized they were far from the oddest couple.  Under the assault of screaming he assumed passed for popular music, the sight of a crowd of hippies, wearing gory coloured outfits, greeted him.  Most of them stood under a haze of smoke, swaying slowly to the music, but some were gyrating in a profusion of pelvic motions that made him dizzy.

He paused at the outskirts of the dance floor, sniffed the smoke again, and came up with another reason for his light-headedness.

"Miss Rosenberg, perhaps you should wait in the car," he shouted over the band.

"Why?  Vampires?"

"Probably those as well," Wesley replied in consternation.  "There is a definite element to the atmosphere."

"What?  Oh.  *That*," she said as she saw him sniff the air.  "That's normal for the Thursday night regulars."

He bent his mouth to her ear.  "It's illegal."

"Buffy, Xander, and I aren't Thursday night regulars, though once we….."  She caught herself.  "Um, Wesley, let's just look for Buffy.  You take the tables and I'll take the dance floor and washroom.  Meet you at the bar in ten."

He did as she suggested, however it was dim away from the stage, and it took him a long time to scour the corners.  He inadvertently disturbed one couple engaged in heavy kissing when he leaned over them to peer at a blonde woman farther back.  He also earned a few choice comments from amused women as he struggled past with his nose buried in his sleeve.  By the time he got to the bar, he was in a terrible mood.

"Did you find her?" he asked churlishly, and Willow's eyes widened at his tone.

"I didn't see Buffy.  Do you have your phone?  Maybe we should try her house again."

While working out a scathing speech he intended to deliver to Buffy once he located her, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"No answer," he said after a moment.

"Have you tried Xander?"

"I don't know his number."

"Here."  Willow took the phone.  Before she could dial, someone jostled him from behind and he fell against her.

"I believe this smoke is affecting my balance," he managed.

"You'd better not become a Thursday night regular," she said, looking down.  "I dropped the phone."

"There it is," he said, but he bent at the same time that she did and they bumped faces.

"Ouch."  Willow pulled back and rubbed her nose.

"So sorry."  He straightened his glasses, then pulled them off and eyed the lenses.

"Broken?"

"Smudged."

"That was my nose," she said.  For some reason, her words made her giggle.

"I think we need to clear our heads," Wesley said, but he was on the edge of giggling as well.

"I'll do the glasses.  You get the phone," she offered, taking a napkin from the bar.

That worked out and she gave him Xander's number as she finished polishing.

"No answer," he said at length.  He looked over to see her glancing through his glasses.

"These aren't very strong."

"They're mainly for reading."

"But you wear them all the time.  Is it a dress code?"

"Pardon?"

"A Watcher dress code?"

"We don't have a, a dress code," he said.  "We have a *suit* code."

That struck them both as funny and they laughed so hard, the bartender came over.

"I think you two have had enough."

"We haven't had any," Willow said between twitters.

"You'd better call a cab on your phone there, bud," the bartender said.  "And get your girlfriend home before her parents come looking for you."

"This extraordinarily beautiful woman is not my girlfriend.  She has a young man elsewhere."

"No, I don't," Willow said, losing her smile.  After a pause, she asked, "What was that first part?"

"I am defending your honour," Wesley told her.  To the bartender, he continued, "If you had better control over your patrons, I wouldn't need to find alternate conveyance."

"Whatever," the bartender muttered as he picked up the receiver from his phone.

Wesley returned his attention to Willow.  "What did you say, Miss Rosenberg?"

"I said, I'm of legal age and my parents *won't* come looking for me."  She shot an indignant glance at the bartender, then blinked and looked back at Wesley.  "You look fuzzy."

"So do you," he said with a squint.  "I wonder why that is."

"*What* have you two been up to?" came a new voice.

"Buffy!"  Willow hopped forward and nearly toppled over.  "Where have you been?  Wesley's been all worried!"

"Has he?"  Buffy gave them a fast, appraising look before lifting the glasses off Willow's nose.  "Will, I don't think you're supposed to do cutesy couple stuff, like wearing these, until the third date."

"We're not on a date," Wesley stated, as he retrieved his glasses and put them on.

"Where's your tie, Wes?" Buffy asked.

"That is irrelevant.  The point is, rather, where have *you* been?  You did not check in after your patrol."

"It was a small nest."  To Willow, she said, "You got him to take off his tie *and* undo that top button?"

"I undid the button," Willow admitted, "but he took off his tie himself."

"Way to go, Will!" Buffy said in admiration.

"This is not a date because the young lady is spoken for," Wesley cut in.  "And you should have called me.  I have been looking for you for hours."

"I'm sorry," Buffy shrugged.  "Will, you didn't tell him about--?"  She let the last part drop away.

"About what?" Willow asked.

Buffy leaned forward and whispered, "You know…..Oz."

"Oh!  No.  Wait.  Yes!  I did, didn't I?"  Willow turned to Wesley.

"Uh," he said in confusion.

"He asked me to help him look for you, Buffy," Willow finished.  "And then he turned off the dashboard light."

Buffy took a moment with that statement.  At last, she asked, "Is that when you undid his shirt?"

"When we were coming in, I thought he looked a little…." Willow tried.

"Retentive?" Buffy asked sympathetically.

Wesley sighed loudly as he consulted his watch.  "Miss Summers, it is getting late and I feel that you should--"

"Leave you to your non-date?"  Buffy asked, but stepped back at the look he sent at her.  "Will, do you want me to get you home?  You seem a little happy."

"I'm ok."  Willow gestured over Buffy's shoulder and said wistfully, "It looks like someone's waiting for you."

Buffy glanced at a guy standing at the edge of the dance floor.  "We've just been dancing.  I don't mind--"

"I'm fine.  Go.  Enjoy!"  Willow pushed Buffy gently towards the dance floor.

"I'll tell you all about my night tomorrow," Buffy promised as she left.  "If you tell me all about yours."

"My story's going to be really short," Willow said quietly.

Wes glanced down at her tone.  "Perhaps we should get out of this smoke, Miss Rosenberg."

He offered her his arm and, after hesitating, she took it.  Outside, Wesley leaned against the building and took several long breaths before saying, "I absolutely cannot hold back any longer from telling you this.  That young man of yours needs to have some strong words spoken to him.  I cannot abide that he has left you alone."

"If he comes back, maybe you would have those words with him," Willow said, closing her eyes as she felt a headache starting.  "I'm sorry I undid your shirt.  I didn't know it would be so embarrassing."

"It does not bother me in the least, though I hope it has not affected your reputation."

"You don't know what my reputation is in this village, do you?  I'm Betty."

Wesley stared at her.  "Excuse me?"

"You know Betty and Veronica?  From Archie comics?"  She opened her eyes long enough to see his expression.  "You've never read comic books?"

"Well."  He lowered his head slightly and whispered, "Once, *just* once, I read a Wonder Woman publication."

She would have smiled if the throbbing in her head hadn't been so painful.

"I had better take you home," he said, then added falteringly, "I mean, your home.  Not, not….."

He gave up and gave her his arm again.  This time she held on gratefully.

"I don't think I like, um, what was in that smoke," she said after they were in the car.

"Yes, well, that *was* a rather cheap street blend."  At her look, Wesley added quickly, "So I would assume."

"That's ok.  I think the criteria for being a Watcher are having glasses, a suit, and guilty secrets in your past."  Willow snuggled into the seat.

After a few blocks, she said, "Wesley, in the bar, did you actually say that I was…..?"  She stopped.  "Never mind."

He didn't respond.  She felt the car slow before turning a corner, then speed up easily.  "This is not like the Citroen."

Wesley nodded slightly.  At least he understood that comment.  He'd seen Giles' car, from a distance.  He absolutely refused to get into it, or even go near it.  He was sure it was a leaking gas tank explosion, waiting to happen.

"I don't understand Cordelia," she continued.

That last sentence was beyond him.  How had she progressed to Cordelia?  He opted for silence again but, after a few minutes, she added sleepily, "I don't understand why Cordelia is in the Citroen and not this seat."

It was safer not to say anything to *this* as well, though he was starting to see her trail.  If Cordelia's car was anything to go by, she would prefer a Lancia to a Citroen.  Beyond that surmise, he wasn't prepared to go.

Willow was quiet for the rest of the drive and, when he pulled up to the curb at her home, he realized why.  She was fast asleep.

"Miss Rosenberg," he said, touching her arm.

She didn't stir.  He went to say her name again, but paused.  She looked so peaceful curled up in the seat, and he had half an urge to tuck his jacket over her and wait it out until the morning.  If it hadn't been for the neighbours, he might have done so for, from the lack of lights in her house, he doubted anyone was waiting up for her.

Finally he said, "Miss Rosenberg!"

She yawned, then woke with a startled blink as she looked around her.  "Oh no.  Was I sleeping?"  She sat up.  "Was I…..drooling?"

Wesley couldn't stop a smile.  "No, to the last.  As for the other, it was my fault for keeping you out so late."

"Is it late?  What time is it?" she asked.

"Eleven-thirty."

"Considering my lifestyle since I met Buffy, that's not late."

He nodded in understanding before getting out on his side and coming around to hers.  He opened her door and extended his hand.  "Miss Rosenberg."

His palm was warm and uncallused.  "You haven't held too many stakes," she said, then blushed terribly.  "I mean, you haven't done a lot of dishes."

"I'm afraid you're right on both counts," he admitted.  When they got to the door, and he caught her thoughtful expression, he said, "Ask."

"It's not my business."

"It's all right."

Without looking at him, Willow said, "You don't have very much experience, do you?"

"I had just completed my training when I was sent here."

"Buffy's first Watcher died.  Giles has nearly been killed too.  This isn't a nice place.  It takes more than, than training to survive."

"Ask," he prompted quietly.

She finally looked up.  "Why did they send you?"

"They wanted her to die."

A simple statement, and it went right through her.  He felt her hand shiver in his.

"They *told* you?"

He shook his head quickly.  "I've recently come to the conclusion."

"How recently?"

"When I stopped sending reports.  The day after the Ascension."

He saw a sweep of anger in her eyes and her hand tightened.  "Your council has an awful lot to answer for!"

"You knew that already, Miss Rosenberg."

"If they wanted her to die, that doesn't say a lot about your safety or mine or anyone's!"

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

"Are they still waiting for…..that to happen?"

"I don't know what they're doing."

"I don't like your world," Willow said harshly.

For some reason, it was hard to hear her say it, as though her words caused a loss.

"It is business.  All of it.  Just business."  He glanced behind her, at a dark window.  "Is someone home?  Is it safe for you in there?"

"My parents are at a conference in Washington."  At his sideways glance, she mumbled, "They give me a curfew, then go off.  It doesn't make a lot of sense."

"A curfew?  Do they not know that your young man is not here?"

"Wesley, there was a big, um, well explosion covers it.  From my parent's end.  I'm surprised you didn't hear it.  At the end of it, Oz left."

It dawned on him.  Abruptly, he let go of her hand.  "H-how distressing for you."

Feeling self-conscious, Willow got her keys and turned towards the door.  "That's how it goes.  I love Xander and I love Oz.  Therefore, neither of them are here."

Recalling his earlier worry, he cleared his throat and said, "I should check inside for you."

"It's ok.  I cast a barrier spell around the house before I left.  It hasn't been broken."

He glanced around the front porch.  "How do you know?'

"I know."  She stepped inside, head down, hair covering her face.  The sight bothered him.

"I do not understand your young men," he said acridly.

"You're not that much older than they are.  It should make perfect sense to you."  She paused before shutting the door.  "Being with someone takes an awful lot of effort.  I wonder how Giles and Cordelia manage it."

Wesley put a hand to the door to keep it open and bent, trying to see her face.  "That's outside my realm."

Willow noticed his strange contortion and peered up curiously.  "What are you doing?"

"I thought you were crying."

"No."

"Ah, good.  Then, I'll be going."  He let go of the door and started off the porch.  "Goodnight, Miss Rosenberg."

"Goodnight, Mr. Wyndham-Price."

He faltered at the bottom step, then turned.  She was still in the doorway, holding her keys in one hand and the handle in the other, a somewhat-sad, somewhat-defiant expression on her face.  She was two steps back.

He took them, his hand reaching towards hers.

And unexpectedly found himself flung away.  He landed ungracefully on his bottom by the rail.

"Good heavens!" he cried.

Willow flew to him.  "I forgot!  The barrier spell!"

"Quite effective."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not anywhere I'd care to mention."

She sucked in her lower lip but it couldn't halt the grin.  "Can I help you up?"

"I think I'm better off where I am."

She sat down beside him, barely brushing him.  Still, he could feel her warmth and her position put the top of her head just under his nose.  Her hair glimmered even in the yellow cast of the streetlights.  The long delicate fingers of her one hand were near his, and he took them.  Her breath caught as he did so.

As he debated the best way to tell her this was a bad idea, her face turned to his and it all came together so easily.  He simply lowered his mouth to hers and it was done.

She tasted like malt sugar, a deep lovely flavour that reminded him of childhood candy, but when she shifted to move closer to him, all thoughts of childhood fell away.  Her hip rubbed his thigh and her breasts pressed warmly against his side as she leaned against him.

As he wound his arms around her, he wondered if that was his heaving breath deafening his ears.  Without warning, he was out of air, submerged and blind.  He started to push her away in panic.  But her mouth opened more under his and her hands moved on his back under his jacket, bringing heat and friction.  He moaned and let himself go into it.

It was Willow who broke the kiss at last.  "Oh, it's your glasses," she murmured.  "Something was digging into me."

Wesley took them off, then lightly ran his fingertips down her cheek.  "Such a beautiful woman," he said softly.

"I am?" she asked timidly.

He ran his fingers into her hair, entangling them in the velvety strands.

"So this *was* a date."

When she spoke, he froze.  "No," he said.

"Oh."

The catch in her voice hurt him.  "Our-our ages," he tried.

She looked away.  "So, it isn't proper?"

"No, it isn't."

"Then, let go of me."

But he couldn't.  The quiver of her against him, the scent of some mysterious feminine fragrance in his nose, the effortless twist of arms and legs…..he couldn't pull away.

"My father is fifteen years older than my mother," she said, intent on a corner of a rail.

Wesley lifted her chin and felt the pulse under her touch.  Even at rest, she was glorious movement.

"Miss Rosenberg, would you accompany me to dinner tomorrow evening?"

"Would it be a date this time?"

A battle of wills, he thought, but he wasn't going to tell her she'd already won.  "Yes, a date," he answered.  "In the best restaurant I have found in this, ah, town."

"Then, I would like to accompany you."  A shy tremble came into her solemn demeanor.  "Would you kiss me again?"

"I hope to, at the end of the evening, but I would certainly ask your permission first."

She put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile.  "I meant, now."

Wesley glanced around them, thinking about the neighbours, but she stirred in his arms.

'To hell with everything,' he thought.  He removed her hand and covered her mouth with his.

* * * * *

Giles gave up on the magazine, a nineteen-seventy-five Popular Mechanics, and closed his eyes.  Cordelia had gone into the examination room twenty minutes ago, not long enough, he guessed, for everything the doctor would do.  His part was to wait.  As always.

A small radio was on at the reception desk, some tinny-sounding contraption not quite on the station.  A phone rang there and the nurse answered it in a bright annoying voice.

"Oh, hello Mrs. Silvecki.  Did you take the prescription the doctor gave you?  And did it work?  No?  You'll have to come in and see him."

'Just book her and shut up,' he thought, rubbing circles on his temples.  He was tired to the point of nausea, a bone-deep lethargy starting the moment they'd returned to Sunnydale.  Cordelia had threatened to make an appointment for him alongside hers, but he'd been to two doctors already.  The first suggested rest and iron pills, but the other had scribbled out a strange diet involving laxatives.  He hadn't informed Cordy of that for, upon hearing the first, she'd bought enough iron to weigh down a tanker.  He took the pills at work, washing them down with scotch he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk.

He heard paper crumple as he leaned back in his chair, and opened his eyes, thinking the magazine had fallen from his lap.  As he shifted, it sounded again.  Then he remembered the envelope in his pocket, found slipped under the front door when they'd returned home last night.

Giles pulled it out and regarded the outside.  "Mr. R. Giles, Private Correspondence", written in handwriting he didn't recognize.  Someone at his door looking for him specifically.  Worrisome.  He'd put it in his pocket before Cordelia had seen it.

Inside the envelope was a sheet of letterhead with Adas Israel embossed across the top.  Two paragraphs came next, and at the bottom was written, "Rabbi Hivite Mendi".

The name caused a prickling of dread.  He clamped it down and read the letter.

"Mr. Giles, I came to see you at the request of Mr. Wyndham-Price.  I am distressed to hear you are not well, and came to offer you what comfort I have within my means.  Though you may have little memory of when we met, I have thought of you often these past weeks.  Would you, please, do me the honour of a visit?  I can be reached every evening at the following number….."

Giles refolded the letter and shoved it down in his pocket, but it was only when the magazine fell off his legs that he realized he was trembling.

Every action resulted in another action.  Cause and effect.  Giles knew, inevitably, his descent into the Hellmouth would require a counterbalance.  The payment, the restitution, echoed from the last word in that letter.  Mendi.

It was a name, a word, he couldn't seem to lose.  Circling back in every half-remembered nightmare was the spectre of a tall man praying over him while he lay bound in an oppressive skewered fever, the even tones piercing Giles and causing pain and utter rage.  The man had continued, without pause, as Giles had said the crudest…..he closed his eyes.  Oh God, what he had said!

The praying man had been Mendi.

Giles squeezed his eyes until shooting sparks filled his vision.  How did you face someone after that?  Even if you only picked up the phone, what could you say?  What words, no matter how abject, could possibly soften such deeds?

More than that, seeing Mendi, facing him, carried the further weight of facing what he had done.  His memories exploded often enough now, tripped wires sending slivered debris of reflected images and instances, killing his already tenuous control.  It happened so easily - in the middle of a meeting or while doing something as innocent as walking through a grocery store.  Then a stranger's stray word would bring something back in a fury, and he would need to run to a bathroom or the side of a building, hiding as tears blinded him or ran down his throat in jarring trails.

Cordelia had asked him about the hellmouth, Willow once, and Buffy the most.  He'd shaken his head each time.  "Not now."  But here it was in this letter - a man who had seen and kept his own counsel, now wanting, what?  An accounting?  An apology?  Or something Giles couldn't imagine.

He put his hand over his breast pocket and the paper rustled again.

"Rabbi Hivite Mendi.  I can be reached….."

Under Giles' embarrassment was anger, the 'leave-me-the-hell-alone' kind.  Beyond that was an awful apprehension, the same cold anxiety he'd felt the morning he'd woken on the floor of the mansion to Angelus' voice, and knew there was no choice but to go through it.

He could avoid the summons, ball the envelope up and drop it in a garbage on his way out.  If a second one came, he could claim, "what letter?" to the first, continue his current path of crying blindly in washrooms.

The side trips into washrooms were, he knew, the least of it.  All those unravelled ends.  Buffy, adrift, angry herself and now hardly speaking to him.  Willow, more hesitant of him than when he'd first come to Sunnydale.  Cordelia, planning a phantom future.  And he, moving through the rituals of normalcy while grasping at ghost straws to prop himself up.

There were spaces of time when the weight lifted off his lungs, reprieves given to him by Cordelia, of all people.  A casual statement, an unconscious movement in his field of vision, or her touch during the peak of sexual excitement, and, for a little while, he could breathe.

Now she was bringing a child into this, apparently.  The reality was, so far, no more than a strip of paper telling him it was so.  Looking back through his years, he could see where he'd cut off each small sprig of hope for a woman and child of his own.  Somehow, after he'd given up wanting, and out of the rustle of dead sticks surrounding him, it might actually happen.

The knowledge had made him so happy at first.  Standing in the water at the beach, suddenly discovering it within his hands, he'd laughed.

So, what the hell had happened?  At this moment he couldn't draw a complete breath, could hardly move beyond a slow walk, and that heavy feeling was spreading over his chest.

Was he dying?

"Mr. Giles?"

He blinked.  A nurse stood in the door.  "Mr. Rupert Giles?"

"Yes."  What was this?  Bad news?  Well, he was certainly in the mood for it.

"Please come in."

He followed her down a hall.  In a room at the end sat Cordelia on an examination table, holding a paper robe tightly around her.  "Rupert, give me your jacket.  I'm cold," she said.

He couldn't judge her mood, so he took it off and handed it to her without a word.

"The doctor will be back in a minute," the nurse said before she left.

"They took a bunch of blood, did some poking, and disappeared," Cordelia grumbled.  "Buffy must have missed staking these ones."

"Poked you?"

She shifted in irritation, closing her legs together.  "Guess where?"

"Oh.  But you can get dressed now?"

"I don't know.  Nobody said anything."

Giles glanced around the room.  Her clothes were on a chair, there was a stool and a counter, and the table she was on.  Nothing else.  Feeling awkward, he moved to the end of the examination table and leaned against it.

"The doctor didn't say anything at all?"

"He said medical stuff to the nurse."

He recognized the tone to her voice, the harshness that covered nervousness.  "Cor," he started, but the door opened and the doctor came in.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Ingram," he said after a quick, surprised look at Giles.  "Are *you* the father?"

"He's *not* my father," Cordelia started but Giles cut in softly.

"Of the baby, Cor," Giles said.  He nodded at the doctor and braced himself.

But Ingram smiled.  "It will take a couple of days for the bloodwork but everything looked fine in the examination.  I'll call you when the lab results are in, Miss Chase.  I've marked your due date as March first, but I want you to come back to see me in one month."  He handed her a paper.  "You need to start taking vitamins.  This is the name of the brand.  I also want you to have an ultrasound.  The nurse will schedule one for you.  Do you have any questions?"

Giles eyed him suspiciously.  Things didn't go this easily.  "Is that it?" he asked.

Ingram nodded.  "Yes, except for congratulations."  He smiled again before leaving.

"What do you mean, is that it?"  Cordelia started dressing.  "Look at all the stuff I have to do."

"It's not that much."

"Spoken by someone who gets to do sweet dick all."  She zipped up her skirt and reached for her bra.  "Isn't an ultrasound that thing where I have to drink all that water?  And they'll probably lay an anvil on my bladder all through it."  Caught by his expression, she paused as she hooked her bra around her back.  "What?"

Giles cleared his throat.  "Nothing."

"Rupert!"

Embarrassed, he said, "Your, um, breasts look bigger."

"Trust you to notice."  She glanced down at them in dismay.  "They feel tender.  I guess a whole lot of me is going to get fat."

Not knowing what to say, he opted for nothing.  She glared at him.  "In amidst the sweet dick all at your end, you could try being really really supportive."

"Pregnant is not fat," he offered.

"Geez, Rupert, all the letters behind your name and *that's* the best you can think of?"

"This is new territory for me too, Cor."

She frowned.  "Considering those years you spent drunkenly raising demons, I can't believe I'm the first girl you knocked up."

Something flashed across his face.  If she hadn't known him so well, she wouldn't have caught it.

Cordelia sighed.  On second thought, she wasn't so sure she knew him.  "Rupert, you can tell me now, or I can spend all night harassing the shit out of you."

"This antagonism is hormonal, I hope," he queried softly, but he'd gotten his back up now too.  She could hear it in the deceptively quiet words.

As she bent to put on her shoes, she mumbled, "I don't think we're going to survive this pregnancy."

Giles tensed at the word 'survive'.  He offered a hand to help steady her, then placed the other over the envelope in his pocket.

---

Willow pressed Wesley's handkerchief to the wet area in her lap.

"Miss Rosenberg, I am deeply sorry that I---"

"It's ok  It's…..not all that big."  Willow managed a smile.  "And I'm sure the smell will fade as it dries."  She hoped so.  He'd leaned forward to say something to her and spilled his vermouth across the table.

"I will most certainly pay for the dry cleaning."

"My dresses are, uh, ok with washing machines."  She felt uneasy admitting it for she was sure that every single thing he owned, right down to his socks, was sent out to be cleaned.  "It's been quite an evening," she ventured.

Wesley nodded glumly.

"I'm sorry again about your suit."  Earlier, Willow had knocked over a vase of flowers with her menu.  In his effort to avoid the water, he jumped and fell backwards, chair and all.  The splash got him square in the chest.  After the appetizer, he asked her to dance and that had actually gone well, until he tripped on the stairs that led up to the orchestra.

The main course hadn't been any less clumsy for her.  She was given four forks with her duck, and other implements besides, which totalled the silverware around her plate to ten.  She didn't think she should use the same knife for both the butter dish and the duck, but wasn't sure which knife was for what.  The salad arrived with the dressing in a separate bowl - did she pour it in?  Or did she dip?  And what on earth was the bowl of water with a slice of lemon for?

She'd hoped to take her cue from him, but the light at their table consisted of a single candle and she couldn't make out what he was using where.  The upshot was that Willow ate her roll dry, her salad bare, and got what duck she could spear with her fork.

Adding to her misery was the awareness that she was out of place in other aspects as well.  She was not only the youngest woman in this restaurant, but the most underdressed.  She'd worn her most expensive outfit and put her hair up, and still felt achingly like a bargain basement reject.  The women around her were stately, wearing diamonds and pearls as easily as she wore sneakers.  And their gowns…..Willow signed unhappily.  Their gowns came from some exotic place across the ocean.  Not even Cordelia's wardrobe could match them.

She peeked across the table at Wesley.  She was obviously way out of her element, embarrassing him no doubt, and he was too polite to say anything.

"We could go, if you want," Willow said.

He nodded and signalled their waiter for the bill.  'Yup,' she thought.  'He's humiliated by me.'

That notion was reinforced by the speed in which they got from table to parking valet at the front steps.  Willow sneaked a look at her watch after she got in the Lancia.

8:20.  Wesley would probably stammer some polite excuse about Watcher-business and take her home.  She was floundering in his world, and finding more and more sympathy for how he must have felt in the library.  Some things you had to be born to, or be the first one.

She tried to console herself with the better spots of the evening.  The dance had been nice, except for the tripping part.  And they'd managed some spurts of conversation.

She caught herself.  No, they hadn't.  She'd told him some boring stuff from her childhood and he'd feigned interest.

Willow twiddled miserably with the clasp of her watch.  There hadn't been any better spots and she felt like a four year old trying to play dress-up.  He'd seen through her.  She knew it.  In among all those sophisticated ladies at the other tables, she must have stuck out like a stupid dumb kid.

"Miss Rosenberg," he said.  "Would you mind terribly if we---"

'Here it comes,' she thought.

"Went for a drive?  I don't know the area around Sunnydale very well and thought you could direct me to some spots of interest.  That is, if the damp area on your dress isn't making you too uncomfortable."

Willow eyed him, mouth open.  If he was simply being polite, he was being extreme about it.

"Really?  You want to go for a drive?"  In her words was a faint wiggle of hope.

Wesley glanced over, reassu