Pairing: Buffy/Giles, Willow/James, Cordelia/Patrick, Anya/Terry Rating: NC17 Spoilers: Through Selfless on Buffy and Spin The Bottle on Angel. It's been about as thoroughly Jossed as possible, but so what? That's what fanfic is for. Slight references to a couple lines from Get It Done, but I'm just taking a ridiculously optimistic stab at the meaning. Summary: The women of Buffy meet the men of Manchild. Romance, confusion, and nookie ensue. Dedication: To Cindy for this lovely challenge, to Gail for her excellent beta skills and unfailing friendship, to GilesFan for her wicked mind, to Blair Ryan for allowing me to use a fabulous line of his invention, to Fabrisse for encouraging this madness, and to Rari Coss, just because. Buffy, Willow, and Anya sat in a disconsolate row on the sofa watching Casablanca and passing a bag of cheesy chips back and forth. "Why are we watching this movie?" Anya demanded. "I wanted to feel better, not worse. D'Hoffryn sends assassins to kill me and you try to cheer me up with a movie about Nazis?" "It's a good story, Anya," Willow protested. "It's all about love and sacrifice and, and figuring out what's important in life." "It's about being abandoned," Buffy grumbled. "Rick abandons Ilsa, or Ilsa abandons Rick... I'm not really sure who's doing the abandoning but it's being done and it's stupid. Abandoning people doesn't make things better. Ever." "Are you complaining about Giles again?" Anya snapped. "If you want him around that much, why don't you just call and ask him to come back and train you again?" "Because I have to prove to him that I really can do this on my own," Buffy said, her mouth tightening into a narrow line. "Anyway, I don't want him to come back until he wants to come back." "I miss him," Willow admitted quietly. "It gets hard sometimes to hold the magic in when he's not around." "I miss the way he gets all grumbly when I tease him," Buffy sighed. "And how he always comes up with answers, even when it doesn't seem like anybody can." The three fell silent for a long moment. At last Anya spoke. "Me, too. I miss Giles, too. Even when he didn't like me it wasn't because I used to be a demon. And he didn't hold it against me when I was one again." "I wish he was here," Willow said. Buffy rose to her feet. "He should be here," she said. "He should be with the people who care about him and want him around. Dammit, he should be with his Slayer. It's his job to be with me. And you guys need him, too. Plus, let's face it, Dawn could really use at least one stable adult in her life and none of us can be that for her. Screw Casablanca! This leaving for someone's own good thing is a total cop out." "What're you saying, Buff?" Willow asked. "I'm saying it's time we went to England and dragged Giles' British butt back here where it belongs." Willow and Anya shared a dubious look. At last they shrugged and turned as one to face Buffy. Anya spoke for both. "When do we leave?" * * * * * Cordelia didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to get away. Away from Angel and Connor and the Hyperion Hotel and LA. The memories that had flooded her brain were too much to handle. It wasn't just the memories of the past year, either. It was all of them. Remembering falling in love with Angel at the same time her brain had to reprocess her memories of the year Angelus terrorized Sunnydale was more than she could deal with. It acted as the ultimate mental cold shower. "What was I thinking?" she scolded herself as she drove. "I wasn't thinking at all. I was just drifting, and that is so not me. Why is it I always choose guys who are bad for me? Devon? Xander? Creeps who impregnate me with demon spawn on the first date? And after all that, what do I do? I go and fall for a guy I can't even have sex with and nearly Mrs. Robinson his kid while I don't know who any of us are. Well, it ends now. The next guy I get together with will be good for me. And have money. Lots of money. I'm sick of being poor. And hey, designer clothes didn't stop me from fighting evil before, I don't see why they would now." Her foot depressed the gas pedal even further. She hardly noticed when she sped past the sign that read 'Welcome To Sunnydale'. * * * * * Five men sat in a sauna wearing nothing but red towels and black rubber sandals. One looked supremely bored and three hung on every word as the remaining one detailed his latest conquest. "You could have balanced a tea tray on her breasts, they were so firm," Terry averred. "Then they can't have been real, can they?" Gary said. The others glared at him. "What I mean to say is, a bit of sag, a bit of wobble, that's how you know they're real and not balloons. I like it when tits are a bit jiggly." "You'd just like to get your hands on any tits other than Cheryl's," James drawled. "Or were you talking about your own?" The others sniggered, except for James' twin who continued to look utterly bored. "Might we talk about something else?" he begged. "I think we've offended him with our rude behavior... again," Patrick said. "What would you care to discuss, Rupert? Art? Music? Fine wine? You never truly understood any of those things. Puccini and tribal knick-knacks, I ask you! I sometimes wonder how on Earth you and James were brought forth from the same womb." "And has James become an expert on art in my absence?" Giles smirked. "What did Patrick talk you into wasting your money on?" "It's not a waste," James protested. He recited his mantra by rote. "In ten years, it'll be worth five times what I paid for it." "Could we get back to my story?" Terry asked petulantly. "Why?" Giles asked. "It's the same story you tell every time we come here. You met a twenty-two year old model and had sex with her. Wonderful. I'm happy for you." He leaned back and closed his eyes, signaling that he didn't wish to be disturbed further. It was about as successful as similar maneuvers had been in Sunnydale. "You're just jealous because we get more fanny in a week than you do in a year," James huffed. "Oh do grow up, James," Giles snorted. "We're nearly fifty. Don't you think it's time you stopped trying to be Peter Pan?" "Would the two of you stop bickering so I can hear the rest of Terry's story?" Gary asked. "Oh, never mind," Terry snorted. "Let's just go. I think we've all had enough steam." * * * * * Cordelia brought her car to a halt before a familiar house. "It always comes back to Buffy, doesn't it?" she decided with a roll of her eyes. "Even my subconscious can't think of anyone else to turn to." As she got out of the car and slammed the door shut, she realized it wasn't Buffy she'd come to see. "It's Giles. I want to see Giles. He'll know what to do." Still, if there was one thing Cordelia knew, it was that where Buffy was, Giles would be nearby. She put on her best smile, mounted the steps and rang the doorbell. A moment later, Willow came to the door. "Cordelia?" "Hi, Willow," Cordelia said with an almost comically broad grin. "Is Buffy or Giles here?" "Um... Buffy's here, but Giles is in England." Cordelia's grin disappeared. "England? He's in England? What's he doing there?" Willow shrugged. "Living. Without us. Maybe having a life now." "Well we need to put a stop to that right this minute!" "That's what we just decided," Buffy called over her shoulder as she raced up the stairs. "We're going to England to bring him back." "We?" Cordelia asked with a perfectly arched eyebrow. "We. Three," Willow said. "Buffy and Anya and me. And I gotta stop saying things that end in 'e'." "You mean we four," Cordelia corrected her. "Get packed, grab your passports and I'll drive us to the airport." "I've got mine and Buffy's got hers, but Anya doesn't have a passport yet." "Then it's just us three. I always keep mine in the glove compartment, just in case." "She said she was gonna get one. I didn't really want to know how, if you know what I mean." * * * * * James was still whining when he and Giles got back to the flat. "Why do you have to be so rude to them, Rupert? Can't you at least try to fit in?" "Can't any of you at least try to grow up?" Giles snapped back as he flopped back into a chair. "The only subject you've added to your repertoire since you were seventeen is fine cigars. Only the price tag of your toys has matured. I really thought when you married Elizabeth you might settle down a bit. Then I thought fatherhood might make a difference, but no. You and Terry and Patrick and Gary will never grow up, will you?" James poured himself a brandy. He lifted the decanter as an offer to his brother. Giles shook his head. "Well, I've had about enough of your... your stuffiness," James retorted. "Do you know what Terry called you the other day? Do you?" "Elucidate me," Giles drawled. "What does the godlike Terry think of me?" "He said you were a drab, stuffy, middle class git who probably hadn't been laid in a decade." James nodded emphatically to impress Giles with the severity of the criticism. "It hasn't been as long as that," Giles protested. "And at least I got married and had kids," James continued. "What have you ever done for the human race?" "I do think averting the apocalypse half a dozen times or so has probably done more for humanity as a whole than straightening a few teeth and siring a pair of young ingrates." James took a sip of his brandy to cover how befuddled he was. Rupert had always been able to argue him to a standstill, even when they were children. At last his brain latched onto the thing that had been troubling him ever since Rupert had shown up on his doorstep. "What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked. "Your Slayer's alive, her witch friend has gone back to California, so why are you in London?" Giles frowned and rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "Bloody Council put me on a leave of absence," he admitted. "They said I was too close to the situation in Sunnydale to go back. They know from experience that Buffy won't accept anyone else as her Watcher, so they didn't bother sending a replacement. I've been away from her too long, James." "Why not take your leave in California, then? It's a big place, I hear. Why would the Council even know what part of the state you're in?" Giles gave a mirthless laugh and stood. "Because they know me. And they know Buffy. And they've been trying to keep us apart since the day she turned eighteen. I can't go there, just now. So that's why I've returned to the bosom of the only family I have left." "See, this is why I'm glad I washed out of the Watcher program," James said. "Dentistry was a much better career for me. I could go where I liked, set my own rules - within the guidelines of the BDA, of course - and generally live my own life. I made pots of money, and now I'm retired and divorced, I have nothing to do but enjoy myself. You should try that sometime, Rupert." "I'm not like you, James. I hate to... just drift. I like to have a purpose; something important to do. Someone to matter to." James rolled his eyes. "You're not going to go on whingeing again about how you want to be with your Slayer, are you? That's over. Let it go. Get on with it. Find a pretty bird and fuck her blind. It'll do you a world of good." "That's your solution to everything, isn't it?" Giles asked. "Find a girl and get laid." "Well it always works for me," James shrugged. "Look, the fellows and I are going out to a new club tomorrow night. Why don't you come with us and meet someone new? As your identical twin, I feel in a unique position to remind you that you are far from past it and not so bad looking when you remember to lighten up a bit. You could borrow something of mine if you want to look your best." "Might I remind you of the fact that you actually own a bright pink shirt and leather trousers? I think I can dress myself, thanks all the same." "I never wear them together, you know," James protested. Then another factoid wended its way into his stream of consciousness. His face brightened. "So you'll come with us? Really?" Giles shrugged. "Someone has to stay sober." "We're hiring a limo." "To remember where the bodies are buried the next morning." * * * * * Willow inspected Anya's new passport. She frowned. "I thought your name was Jenkins," she said. "I thought it was Emerson," Cordelia added as she turned into the airport parking lot. "Sometimes it's nice to have a change," Anya said, taking her passport back. "I like my new name." "Anya Emmaline Christabel Pankhurst?" Buffy screwed up her nose. "How did you come up with that one?" "I met them in 1912." "Met who?" Buffy asked. "Emmaline and Christabel Pankhurst," Anya replied as if that answered the question. She looked at the three blank faces and sighed. "They were a mother and daughter team: the leaders of the most violent faction of the British Suffragette movement. One of the women in their movement had been scorned by her fiancé who didn't think women were intelligent enough to have the vote." Her voice turned wistful. "Christabel was an amazing speaker. And Emmaline's cook made the best fairy cakes. I learned a lot from them." "About feminism?" Willow hazarded. "About Marxism. Christabel's sister, Sylvia, was a very prominent Communist. At first, I was intrigued. Her views seemed to match with mine. Then I realized, watching her work with the poor, that there were two things Marx didn't take into account about human nature." "What's that?" Cordelia asked. She pulled into a parking spot and everybody began to pile out of the car. "Greed and snobbery. It works on paper, but not in the real world," Anya pontificated as she pulled out three suitcases and handed one of them to Willow who was struggling with her own suitcase and laptop. "I mean, share the wealth, everybody's equal, brotherhood and harmony... it's never really going to happen, is it?" The others grabbed their luggage out of the trunk. "But... but, that's the whole point of America," Willow protested. "Democracy. We're all equal. No matter who's got the most money or anything." "Okay," Anya said, "if everybody's equal and you're at the trendiest restaurant in New York and there's only one table left and you and Donald Trump both walk in the door at the same time, who's going to get the table? You or the guy who was probably diapered in thousand dollar bills?" "She's got you there, Will," Buffy admitted. "Any maitre'd in the world is going to give that table to The Donald. But that doesn't mean it isn't worth working toward. Equality. Something that's right is always worth it... and did I just say that? God, I sounded like Giles." "See," Willow said perkily, "you miss him so much you're channeling him. I wonder if he channels you when he forgets to be all responsible and grown up." "Giles? Forget to be grown up?" Cordelia scoffed. "You've got to be kidding! That would be like expecting him to know anything about designer clothes or serious shoes." The girls walked through the front door and headed for the ticket counter. A thought struck Cordelia. "Hey," she whispered to Buffy, "who's footing the bill for this, anyway? I'm totally broke." "Anya's got it," Buffy assured her. "She's got that much money? How?" "Y'know, sometimes with Anya, it's just better not to ask." * * * * * Some hours later, four weary young women trudged off their international flight and into Heathrow airport. Anya found a payphone and made arrangements for a place to stay. Nobody wanted to know how she knew where to book them in, or how she was going to pay for their accommodations. Even Cordelia had finally accepted that it was safer not to have the answers to some questions. "Okay," Anya said when she got through making arrangements, "I've got it all worked out. The hotel isn't exactly The Plaza, but it's clean and cheap - for London - and I'm too tired to drive all the way to Bath now." The other three shared an uncomfortable look. "Drive...?" Willow squeaked nervously. "Um, Anya, did you ever actually... learn to do that?" "Don't worry," Anya said airily. "I've got an international driver's license in with my passport and everything. Oh, and I arranged a rental car." She picked up her bags and headed off. The other three shared another nervous look. "And I thought the Slaying was gonna kill me," Buffy muttered. "It did," Cordelia reminded her. "Twice." "I think Anya's driving might be the third time that's the charm." Still, there was nothing for it. Willow, Buffy, and Cordelia picked up their bags and followed Anya. * * * * * "Could you just try to fit in for one night?" James begged as he selected a jacket. "Please don't embarrass me." Giles had to laugh, though he did his best to stifle it. He double-checked his reflection in the mirror. "Don't embarrass you?" he snorted. "I thought you and your friends were beyond shame. Sometimes you remind me of Buffy and her friends when I first met them at sixteen - except that they were already more mature and responsible than you are at forty-eight. At least when they made ridiculous mistakes I could chalk it up to youth and inexperience." They headed for the door of James' flat. "All the same," James persisted, "just try to be nice to my friends and don't get in the way of our good time." "I promise not to stop you all making monumental asses of yourselves," Giles swore solemnly. "Thanks," James said in relief. A moment later, he realized exactly what his brother had said. "Hey!" * * * * * "So what do you guys want to do tonight?" Buffy asked. "Well, we could always see what's on the BBC," Willow suggested. "No way," Cordelia protested. "We can watch TV anytime. How many chances will we get to check out the London night life?" "Or night unlife," Buffy offered. "I wonder if English vampires are different from American ones." "Why don't you ask Spike?" Anya asked. "Maybe 'cause he's out of his mind?" Willow suggested. "And maybe because I really don't want to talk to him anymore," Buffy added. "Anyway, he's not exactly here, so let's not even talk about him, okay?" "No problem for me," Cordelia said. "I didn't want to talk about vampires in the first place. I just want to go out dancing." "And possibly drinking?" Anya asked. "Very possibly," Cordelia agreed. "Dancing and drinking to forget our crappy lives," Buffy mused. "Sounds like a solid plan." "Which has never exactly worked for any of us in the past," Willow reminded them. "But we had fun while it wasn't working," Buffy said cheerfully. "Let's ask at the desk where people go for actual good times around here." * * * * * The club was a bit dark and throbbed to the bass line of the song playing. Bodies writhed together like snakes on the dance floor while others nursed drinks and scanned the crowd from the tables on the sidelines. Terry led the men to a relatively well-lit table and sat down. James looked delightedly around him. "This place is brilliant," he said. "Where did you hear about it?" "From Justin," Terry replied. "Apparently he and his friends come here all the time." "Justin?" Gary asked. "Your son, Justin, told you about this place?" "Not exactly," Terry admitted, "but I did hear him talking with Sonya about it." The others rolled their eyes. "Who would have guessed?" Patrick scoffed. "Sonya. She's made her choice, and it's not you, Terry." "I'm not upset about it," Terry protested a bit too emphatically. "Really. Anyway, it's been ages. She was just a fling. I was getting tired of her anyway." "Say it a bit louder, Terry, and perhaps someone will believe you." Giles snorted. "I need a drink," he said as he stood. "Does anyone else want one?" "I'd love one," came a feminine voice behind him. Giles wheeled around only to find himself face to face with a pretty brunette of about twenty-one summers. Her dress had a plunging neckline of the sort that always made Giles wonder what kept a woman's breasts from tumbling out for all to see. Her skirt was slit almost to the hip and she wore an alarming amount of makeup. "I didn't expect to see you here," the girl continued. "H-have we met?" was all Giles could come up with to say. James looked up with a smile. "Cindy," he beamed. The girl looked from Giles to James and back again, obviously bewildered. "Christ, James, did you get cloned or something?" she asked. "Or something," James laughed smoothly. "This is my brother, Rupert. He's just come back from a very long stay in America and he doesn't know anyone in town. Do us a favor and make him feel welcome, would you?" He grinned and slid a hand up Cindy's thigh. She slapped his hand away playfully. "Naughty," she giggled. "You'll give Rupert entirely the wrong impression of me." She turned to Giles and placed a hand in the middle of his chest. "I'm really not a pushover at all," she simpered as she took hold of his tie. "It'll take very good champagne to get anywhere with me. Come on," she said in a suddenly very young voice, "let's dance. I love this song." Cindy dragged Giles onto the dance floor. James and his friends laughed at his panicked expression. "I always thought Rupert liked girls," Patrick drawled. "He looks as if he's afraid she'll eat him." "If he's very lucky, she will," James said. "Mouth like a Hoover, that one. She's fantastic." "So why did you just hand her over to your brother?" Gary asked. "He desperately needs a dip in the shallow end of the pool. He's got so stuffy and annoying. If he gets laid, maybe he'll loosen up a bit." "And speaking of loosening up," Terry said as his eyes fastened on four young women entering the club, "take a look at what just walked in the door." One girl had fiery red hair, porcelain skin and wide, innocent looking eyes. Her clothes were brightly colored and a little Bohemian in style. The next was a bit taller and had short, dark hair with blonde highlights. Her eyes snapped with energy even in the substandard lighting and she held herself like a princess. The other brunette had large eyes that looked as if she'd seen centuries pass over her head and yet had only just arrived on the planet. The last had long, blonde hair and eyes that spoke of tragedy, yet her frail appearance was belied by the strong - albeit wary - way she carried herself. "There's four of them and four of us," Terry said. "The blonde's mine." "Do you think there's any chance the redhead is natural?" James gulped. Patrick slid his eyes over the girls much the way he would over the dishes in a buffet. At last he made his pronouncement. "The tall one, I think. She has... possibilities." Gary looked wildly from one to the other of his companions. "You don't think... I can't... Cheryl would bloody kill me!" he panicked. "She'd cut my dick off!" "Relax, Gary," Patrick soothed him. "It's not as if we expect you to go to bed with her." "You're only keeping her warm until Cindy realizes Rupert won't sleep with someone I've slept with," James explained. "Besides," Terry said quite reasonably, "even if you did, none of us would dream of telling Cheryl. How would she ever find out?" "You've been divorced too long," Gary retorted. "You've forgotten what it's like: if I so much as look at another woman, Cheryl knows. She won't let me watch Ground Force anymore because she said I couldn't take my eyes off Charlie's Dimmocks." He held his hands cupped at breast level to make sure his cruder meaning got across. "If she finds out I'm chatting up pretty birds in nightclubs with you lot, she'll perform unnecessary surgery first, and probably never get round to asking questions." "She wouldn't actually do it," James said reassuringly. "I've lost count of how many times Elizabeth threatened to emasculate me, but she's never had the nerve to follow through." "You mean every time she threatened, you ran too quickly for her to catch you," Patrick smirked. "Elizabeth is more obviously fierce, but I think Cheryl's temper has more stamina." "Just leave me out of this," Gary said firmly. "It's nothing to do with me. I'll let Rupert know where you've gone when he gets back." "I'll get the bubbly," James told Terry and Patrick, "then we'll establish contact." James sauntered over to the bar as Terry and Patrick readied themselves for battle. Jackets adjusted, ties straightened, winning smiles firmly in place, they headed over to the table where the four young women had settled themselves. Gary shook his head as they went. "Mad, that's what they are," he muttered to himself. He took another look at the pretty brunette they'd wanted him to 'keep warm' for Rupert. She certainly was attractive. He sighed, then wedged his legs a little closer together. "Cheryl would definitely have my dick," he reminded himself. * * * * * The girls found a table and sat down to observe the festivities before joining them. Buffy scanned the dance floor with her eyes. "What are you looking for?" Anya asked her bluntly. "Me? Nothing," she said a bit too quickly. "Looked like something to me," Cordelia said. "Did you sense undeadness on the dance floor?" "No," Buffy replied. "No, I really didn't... but... I just had this feeling... I'm not even sure what it was. I just felt like... I dunno... there was something I should be noticing out there. I am making no sense at all tonight, am I?" "You've made more sense," Willow agreed. "Maybe it's just all the coupleness going on," she suggested. "We've all been alone for a while, and I keep feeling a little strange, too. Everybody here is either with someone or looking to meet someone, if you know what I mean, and we're just... here. By ourselves. Not looking. It's a little funny." Buffy shook her head. "It's not that - or at least that's not the whole thing," she said. She frowned, trying to find the right words for what she was feeling. Again, she missed Giles terribly. He always had words, even when she didn't. "I can't describe it, Will. I just know there's no vamps or demons here - well, no dangerous ones, anyway - but there's something really, really wrong. Not Apocalyptic wrong, but... bad. Not right." "Well that just cleared everything right up," Cordelia snorted. "What's with you and Angel and the tongue tying, anyway?" "Okay, first off, Angel and me? Way past over," Buffy said emphatically. "And he's more cryptic guy. I'm babble girl. There's a difference." "Eiew!" Anya exclaimed. "What was gross about that?" Willow asked. "She didn't say any dirty words or anything." "Not that," Anya said. She pointed at a couple on the dance floor. "That. That's what I was eiewing." The other three craned their necks to see. The man's back was turned to their table, but all the girls knew instantly that he was old enough to be any of their fathers - except Anya's. It wasn't that he seemed bad looking from the back, but he was dancing with a girl who looked about their age... if dancing was really the word for it. Buffy had a sudden, uncomfortable flashback to the sexy dance she'd done at - you couldn't really say with - Xander so very long ago. This man was holding nervously still as the girl gyrated and thrust herself at him. She suddenly pulled his head down and kissed him passionately right in front of the entire room. The man's hands gripped her almost involuntarily and he was clearly kissing back. At last, though, he pulled back from the kiss, and took the girl's hand to lead her off the dance floor - probably to some more secluded place where they could do more than kiss. All four girls shuddered and grimaced. "That was so... yuck," Cordelia said. "Can't he find someone his own age?" Buffy snorted. "Can't she find someone her own age?" Willow added. Anya shook her head. "If she has to try that hard, she's going to get scorned. If I've seen it once, I've seen it a million times." "Who needs a drink after watching that?" Cordelia asked brightly. "'Cause I'm thinking tequila all around." "How about some champagne instead?" came a silky voice behind them. Four heads swiveled to see three handsome, middle-aged men standing before them. Actually, they only noticed one. "Giles...?" Willow squeaked. "Yes," James replied affably as he set down the champagne bottle and glasses on the table. "Who'd like some bubbly?" He smiled dazzlingly at Willow and sat next to her. Cordelia and Anya sat with their chins scraping the floor. Buffy scowled. "You're not Giles," she said in a dangerous tone. "Oh, but I am," James said. He turned his attention back to Willow. "And who might you be?" he asked. Willow looked confused, but she couldn't help blushing at James' intense gaze. She summoned up the inner strength to look him in the eye. "If you were Giles, you'd already know that," she said. "You'd know who all of us are." "And you'd know you belong with us," Anya said fiercely. "We came to bring him home. He has responsibilities to us." Buffy stood and strode over to James. There was cold fury in her eyes the like of which he'd never seen before. "What have you done with Giles?" she demanded. "If you've hurt him, you are so dead." One look at her face was enough to convince James of the literal quality of that statement. He gurgled helplessly. Terry and Patrick gulped nervously. Terry suddenly decided the blonde wasn't his type after all. "What the hell is going on?" demanded a familiar voice. Buffy rushed to Giles' arms and embraced him desperately. "Giles! You're okay! I was so worried!" In an instant, the other three joined in, squeezing Giles within an inch of his life. After a startled split second, he hugged them all back. James, Terry and Patrick shared a bewildered glance, then sat heavily and watched the love-fest. "They all came to see your brother?" Terry demanded. "Rupert? That's who they want?" James gurgled again and shrugged. "No wonder he hasn't been dating your castoffs," Patrick mused. "He's got himself a harem back in California, and every one a beauty." "I don't know," Terry huffed. "The blonde was pretty enough across the room, but when you really get a good look at her... well, she's not going to set the world afire, is she? Still," he admitted grudgingly, "the rest of them aren't bad." "If I'd known he was such a fanny magnet, I'd have begged for his secret," James sighed as all hope of bedding that pretty redhead went out the window. "Who knew my brother was a sex god?" "I always did think it was a shame he was so reticent," Patrick mused. "He had the equipment, but lacked the self-confidence." "He wasn't that big," James mumbled. "And now you've had your surgery, you're almost as big as he is," Terry said encouragingly. James looked wistfully at the redhead. He sighed. "What does she see in him?" he wondered. "He hasn't got much money, he's ridiculously shy with women, he dresses badly, and he's no fun. It can't all be because of his todger." Giles disentangled himself from his fair visitors with a smile for each of them. "It's wonderful to see you all," he began, "but what in the hell are you doing here?" Four voices piped up at once. Giles held up his hands and motioned for silence. "One at a time, please," he said. "And perhaps we should move this conversation somewhere we can hear ourselves think?" He went back to the table and spoke quietly to James for a moment. When he returned, he ushered the girls toward the door. "Come on, then. We can talk at James' flat." "Who's James?" Buffy asked. "My brother." There was a slight oomph behind him. Giles turned back to see that all four girls had collided when Buffy stopped dead in her tracks. He smiled slightly. "Look, I'll tell you all about it when we get there." He headed for the exit. A moment later, Willow managed to prod Buffy enough to get her moving, too. * * * * * Buffy began her interrogation almost before the door was closed behind them. "What brother? Since when do you have a brother?" "Would you all like some tea?" he asked quietly. "No!" Buffy said angrily. "I don't want tea; I want answers. You never once said anything about having any family when you were in Sunnydale and now I find out you have a brother?" "Not just a brother," Giles sighed. "We're twins." "Why didn't you ever say?" Willow asked in a hurt voice. "You never said even when I was here in England with you all Summer." "I could understand if there was something way embarrassing about him, but he's just like you, which isn't really all *that* bad," Cordelia added. "He's not like me," Giles corrected firmly. "He's got the mentality of a sheep and all the moral rectitude of a cat in heat. If it doesn't involve drinking, smoking, or women half his age of an accommodating nature, he's not the least bit interested in it." Willow stared at the picture over the mantelpiece. It was the naked body of a black man, shown from nipples to knees, with a large, rather phallic flower protruding from between his legs. "Um... Giles," she squeaked, "are you sure it's only women? I mean... he doesn't... with men, too, does he?" "What...?" He followed her gaze. "Oh. That. No, that's an investment. One of his friends convinced him it'll be worth a fortune in a few years' time. I've never heard of any men, though I've heard about far too many girls since I got here." "So if he's such a jerk, why are you hanging with him and not with me - I mean us?" Buffy demanded. "And you should talk about the girls! We saw you." "Saw me?" "Huh?" Willow added in a bewildered tone. Anya's eyes widened. "That was Giles?" she exclaimed. "Who was him, when?" Willow asked more confused than ever. "Oh!" said Cordelia as the penny dropped. "That was Giles dirty dancing out there with that Lolita sexbomb? Y'know, that reminded me of something, Buffy..." At the Slayer's glare she decided not to finish the thought. "Which I've totally forgotten." "You kissed her," Buffy accused. "No," Giles replied calmly, "she kissed me." "You didn't exactly sock her in the jaw for it," Buffy retorted. "That would hardly have been the gentlemanly thing to do, now would it? Besides, I hardly see what business it is of yours whom I kiss." "She was way too young for you, Giles!" "She was over sixteen, and knew perfectly well what she was doing!" "You'd do it with a sixteen year old? Giles, that's disgusting!" "It's perfectly legal here." "But... but... you're too old for a teenager." "Well at least we were born in the same century, unlike some of your lovers!" His eyes widened when he realized what he'd said. "Buffy, I'm sorry," he began. "No," she stopped him. "No, you're right. I guess someone like me doesn't have the right to talk. Maybe I'm just wondering when the hell you got so irresponsible." "Irresponsible?" he scoffed. "You're calling me irresponsible? Then perhaps you'd care to tell me how you financed this little jaunt and who's taking care of your sister - not to mention the Hellmouth - while you're here berating me for getting a life as you so often ordered me to do?" "Dawn and the Hellmouth are fine," Buffy gritted out. "Not that you give a damn. Xander is staying at the house to take care of Dawn. He and Spike are on patrol until I get back. Cordy called in a couple favors with some friends of hers in LA to help out. Anya paid for the trip, and I got the time off from work by telling Robin I had a family emergency to take care of. Does that answer your questions, Mister Responsibility?" "Robin?" Giles puzzled. "Who the hell is Robin?" "Otherwise known as Principal Wood of Sunnydale High," Willow explained timidly. "We figure we shouldn't get too attached to him," Anya said. "After all, if he's principal of that school, he's either evil or evil chow, one or the other. Possibly both." "And you paid for the trip?" Giles asked his former employee. "Why, may I ask? Not to mention how?" Anya shrugged. "I made a lot of money day trading," she explained. "And since you sort of scorned us all by being in England when we needed you, and since D'Hoffryn cast me out and is trying to kill me, I thought at least I could bring us all here to make you suffer for what you did. It's only fair. Besides, I'm hoping you know a way to get D'Hoffryn off my back. He's sending assassins." Giles whipped off his glasses and began to clean them. "Well at least now I know why one of you is here," he grumbled. "What about the rest of you?" "I sort of have this little problem with Angel," Cordelia piped up. "I kinda... fell in love with him, and then I sorta kissed his kid, and I don't know what to do now." "Wait a minute," Buffy said. "Since when does Angel have a kid? Are you telling me he actually sired someone?" "Not if you mean in the vampire sense," Cordelia explained. "See, these evil lawyers brought Darla back and Angel went all psycho for a while and somewhere along the line he did the nasty with her and didn't even bother to tell any of us. Darla went away again, but then she came back... about eight and a half months later and looking it." "When was all this?" Giles gasped. "And why wasn't I informed?" "Look, Connor was only born about a year ago. You guys were kinda busy then and Angel didn't want to talk about it until he understood more of what was going on." "But if the kid's only a year old, how can it be bad that you gave him a little, auntly kiss?" Willow wondered. "See, that's where it all gets a bit strange," Cordelia said. "As opposed to the perfectly average sense all this was making before," Giles muttered. "Wesley kinda stole Connor because of some fake prophecy he read and then Holtz, this freaky vampire hunter from like about two or three hundred years ago, had his way too young girlfriend - who was really pretty Faith-like - steal the kid from Wes, and then Holtz took the baby, jumped into this dimensional portal, and took him to a place on a totally different timeline than ours. When Connor came back, he was eighteen and a total hottie. Plus, I moved in with him when I got back from being a higher being and I didn't remember anything from up there and everybody was lying to me and Connor was right there, and he - I - well, I'm still not quite sure how it happened, but it did and now I remember that I loved Angel, and I remember what that was like for Buffy and I don't know what I'm thinking or feeling anymore and I just wanted someone to explain it all for me." Cordelia stopped and took a breath. "That would be you, Giles." The man in question moved to the bar and poured himself a glass of scotch. Tea was no longer enough. "Willow?" he said. "I - I had a thing happen the other day when we were dealing with the whole Anya question and D'Hoffryn took her powers again. Giles, I went all black magic woman for a minute. It was really scary. I think you sent me back too soon. I'm not ready to control this, yet." "Did you kill anybody?" he asked. "Well... no." "Try to destroy the world?" "Um... no. I kinda like it how it is." Giles smiled wryly. "Then I don't think you need anyone to control you, Willow," he said. "You're doing it yourself. The impulses don't go away; one simply learns not to give in to them." He turned to the final girl. "Buffy?" "What?" "What are you doing here?" "What do you mean, what am I doing here?" she asked in a hurt voice. "Don't you even want to see me anymore?" "I simply assumed you have a crisis, too. Everybody else has one they expect me to solve." Buffy frowned in thought. It had all seemed so clear before: find Giles, bring him home, and everything will be fine. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure what it was he needed to make right for her. But if she didn't come up with an emergency right now, how was she going to explain her presence without proving his point that she was completely irresponsible to leave the Hellmouth? "It's Spike," she said, grabbing at the first straw she could think of. "He's got his soul back." Giles downed the rest of his drink. He'd hoped Buffy had come because she wanted to see him, but obviously she just wanted his blessing before she took her vampire lover back. He poured another scotch. "And...?" he prompted. "I just... I thought you should know," Buffy finished lamely. "Y'know, since it's sort of a Hellmouthy thing." Giles nodded and tossed back his drink. He put down his glass firmly before he could pour another. "Where are you staying?" he asked quietly. "We've got a hotel in Bloomsbury," Anya said. "It's not much, but we were only planning to stay there one night." Before Giles could answer, there was the sound of a key in the lock and James walked in with Patrick in tow. "Hello... everybody," James said genially. "Are you done with your chat, or should we go elsewhere?" "No," Giles said, "this is your flat. Anyway, I think we're finished for the moment. I was just going to see about taking the girls back to their hotel." "A hotel?" Patrick said with an intense gaze at Cordelia. "Don't be ridiculous. I'll put them up." "You don't have to do that," Buffy said. "We don't want to be any bother." "Nonsense," Patrick scoffed. "My house is huge. I get lost, rattling about in it on my own. I'd consider it a favor if you'd keep me company while you're in town." The girls conferred in a corner. "We don't even know this guy," Buffy whispered. "But we'll save a lot of money," Anya pointed out. "Besides, you're a vampire Slayer and Willow's a witch. If he tries anything, either you'll stake him or she can zap him out of his skin. It'll be okay." "I say we go for it," Cordelia said. "He says he's got plenty of room." "I dunno," Willow said nervously. "Like Buffy said, we don't know this guy at all." "But Giles does," Buffy pointed out. "I vote we ask him and follow his advice." The others quickly agreed. Buffy motioned Giles over. "So what's this guy's deal?" Buffy asked without preamble. "Is he on the level?" "Well, he's a friend of James', so he's not a great friend of mine, but he seems the most harmless of the lot. I think you'll be perfectly safe if you decide to take him up on his offer." "And it makes sound financial sense," Anya added. "Okay," Buffy told Patrick. "I guess we're coming with you." * * * * * Patrick hadn't been exaggerating about the size of his home, but the girls soon learned that there were several rooms that were never used at all. There was still a great deal of house left even without them, but only two rooms were set up to accommodate guests. Buffy and Willow took one while Cordelia and Anya agreed to share the other. When their host had left them alone, Buffy and Willow began to undress for bed. Both were fairly quiet at first, lost in their own thoughts. At last, however, Buffy had pulled on her pale pink tank top and a pair of low slung pink and white striped pajama pants, and Willow had donned her bright red tartan flannel pajamas and both girls were giving their hair a final brush. "It's weird," Willow started the conversation. "What's weird?" "Giles' brother. That he's got one, and that he's so different from our Giles." "He's not Giles," Buffy said shortly. "I guess technically he is," Willow mused. "'Cause his name's Giles, too. He seems like a nice guy." "You heard what Giles said. He's not nice, Will. He was hitting on us like a big skank tonight." Buffy set down her hairbrush and crawled gratefully under the eiderdown quilt. "Him and his friends probably had us all picked out, who was gonna get which one of us. It was gross." Willow decided to try to find a safer topic. Unfortunately, the only other thing she could think of was what Cordelia had said earlier. "It's pretty strange, isn't it," she said as she slipped under the covers with Buffy. "Y'know, Angel having a son. And one of us being old enough to be the older woman." Buffy lay quietly for a moment and tried to decide what she felt about that situation. Angel had been the one great love of her life. She ought to feel something, but all she could summon up was a mild irritation and a sense of relief that it wasn't her problem. "It's weird, yeah," she said at last. "But at least it's one thing I didn't have to worry about, since I didn't know. I dunno... Angel and all his stuff... I used to think he'd always be the most important thing in the world to me. But he's not anymore. I hope Cordy figures out what she's feeling and I hope things work out for at least some of them, but... I don't really care *how* it works out. Does that make me a bad person? That it doesn't matter all that much to me?" "I think it just makes you a less obsessed person," Willow decided. "And less obsessed is pretty much always healthier and more fun to be around." "Actually, the thing that bothers me most is the idea of Cordelia as the older woman. We're way too young and hot to be the older women." * * * * * Giles looked up from yet another scotch to find James staring at him in awe. "What is it?" he asked sourly. "Have I grown an extra head?" "All four of them?" James asked inanely. "All four of whom what?" "Those girls," James explained. "You had four girlfriends in California and you made it sound as if you led the life of a bloody monk." Giles nearly choked on his drink. "I beg your pardon?" he managed at last. "No wonder you miss the place if that's the sort of female companionship you had there." "You mean you think I... James, do you have any idea who those girls are?" "Your harem," James said in reverent tones. "My Slayer and some of her friends." James goggled. "Shit," he said at last. "No wonder the Council wants you nowhere near her. Which one was she?" "The blonde one." "So... not the redhead?" James asked. "What does it matter to you?" Giles asked impatiently. James didn't answer in words, but the way he filled his pipe told Giles everything he needed to know. "It won't do you any good," he said. "You won't get anywhere with Willow." "Why not?" James asked in an offended tone. "Just because you didn't tickle her fancy doesn't mean I won't." Giles smirked to himself and headed for his bedroom. "Maybe she just doesn't like intellectuals," James called after his brother as he struck a match. Giles turned back. He couldn't stop his grin anymore. "It's not brains she doesn't like," he said. "It's boys. She's gay." He went into his bedroom, still laughing. A moment later, James swore as the match burnt his fingers. * * * * * Cordelia and Anya lay in bed, both staring at the ceiling. "This is all Xander's fault," Anya said at last. Cordelia knitted her brows for a moment. "Not that I plan to argue the point," she said at last, "but how do you figure that?" "If he hadn't scorned you, I would never have come to Sunnydale and I would never have granted you a wish and my power center would never have been destroyed and I would never have been a mortal teenager with mortal hormones and I would never have noticed how adorable he is when he's all puppy like and confused. Then I would never have had sex with him, and I would never have fallen in love with him and I never would have agreed to marry him and he wouldn't have left me standing at the altar and I wouldn't have asked D'Hoffryn for my old job back and I wouldn't have been so wimpy in granting wishes and I wouldn't have cared what happened because of the wishes and now I wouldn't have assassins following me. And I wouldn't be mortal again." Anya paused for a much needed breath. "And look what he did to you. Because of him, you were badly injured. He was why you left Sunnydale, wasn't he?" "No he wasn't," Cordelia protested. "I was going to be a star. I went to LA to make my dream come true. And because my parents hadn't bothered to pay their taxes for like, ever. I couldn't stay where people had known me as Cordelia Chase, rich bitch. It was too embarrassing." She was silent for a moment. "Okay, and I didn't want to see any of the Scoobies ever again as long as I lived. I'll admit that. Just my luck that the first friendly face I found in LA happened to be Angel's. And just because he saved me from a very, very rich vampire, I just had to barge into his life whether he wanted me to or not. And I had to get all hero worshipping about him and then I had to go and notice all over again how handsome he is and forget how aggravating he is." She sighed. "When am I going to meet a man who's just... not aggravating?" "If you ask me, they're all aggravating. It's a matter of finding one who doesn't get on your nerves too badly," Anya decided. "I'd settle for one who's honest about how slimy he is." "Well I'm holding out for something better," Cordelia said firmly. "Any man who wants to be with me had better be ready to prove it in a big way. And not be all broody and uncommunicative with me. And be able to buy me nice things." "And not be a vampire?" "That's number one on my list of requirements." * * * * * Giles lay in bed, but was unable to sleep. Reading hadn't helped. Even an attempt at a calming meditation failed to soothe him. He couldn't stop thinking about Buffy. And Spike. When would the girl learn that dating vampires simply wasn't an option? Slayer or not, what sort of future could it lead to? Giles hated the thought of a girl as bright and warm and whimsical as Buffy being hidden away in the dark for the rest of her life. And with Spike! Out of all the wretched choices she might have made, Giles couldn't think of one that would depress him more. Despite his hysteria-induced laughter at the news of Buffy's affair with Spike, he'd been appalled at the idea. Still, he could understand it as a symptom of the depression and rage she'd been so consumed by on her return from Heaven. But to turn to Spike again, in cold blood, simply because he had somehow managed to find - or convince her he'd found - a soul, that was too horrible an idea to even contemplate. He would have to take her aside and have a fatherly talk with her. That was the least he could do. Not that he wanted to stand in for her father. In fact, he'd fought against it every time someone had tried to squeeze him into that mold. Why did people - Buffy included - always try to saddle him with that role in her life? "I'm not anyone's father," he grumbled to himself. "And I'm not likely to become one, either." It depressed him further to think of that girl he'd danced with earlier. What was her name? Candy? No, Cindy. That was it. He'd felt a complete prat, standing there like a statue while she performed the dance of the seven veils against him in public. Worst of all, he had to admit he'd been aroused when she kissed him. He'd come very close to just hauling her into the alleyway and giving in to his endlessly frustrated cock. After all, she was pretty, she was more than willing, and she was quite old enough to do as she pleased. But she'd obviously slept with his brother. He just couldn't bring himself to let one of James' castoffs be the first woman he slept with now he was home. Worse yet, Buffy had seen him making a fool of himself. Giles groaned and tried to turn his brain off. At last he fell into a fitful sleep. He dreamed that he was dancing in that infernal nightclub again, but this time his partner was Buffy. She fixed him with a sultry gaze as she writhed and ground herself against him. A pleased murmur escaped his lips as his hips began to move involuntarily. His hands clutched at the bedding as his dream self slid his hands down Buffy's back until he was caressing her firm, round little buttocks. Dream Buffy threw back her head, closed her eyes and moaned at the feel of dream Giles' erection pressing against her belly. In a flash, she was on her knees in front of him and had undone his trousers, uncaring that they were in the middle of a crowded dance club. Suddenly all their clothes had melted away and he was making love with Buffy in the middle of the dance floor. She moaned and whimpered as he thrust deeply into her. She took him with a strength and passion that both thrilled and astonished him. His cries rose in both volume and pitch. * * * * * Buffy whimpered in her sleep and moved restlessly. In her dreams she clutched at a strong male back and raised her hips to meet his thrusts. His cock filled her completely. His passion set her afire with lust and delight. The way he held her as they rocked together made her feel safe; loved. She'd never felt so fulfilled. Her dream hands combed through his soft hair, her dream breasts were teased by chest hair, her dream belly clenched as she reached release. "Giles!" she cried. "Buffy! Buffy, wake up!" Willow's voice broke through the haze. "Are you okay?" "Huh...?" "You were having a bad dream," Willow said. "It wasn't... you don't think it's gonna come true, do you? 'Cause it sounded like something happened to Giles, and I don't want anything to happen to him." Buffy rubbed her hands over her face and shook back her hair. It took a moment to come to terms with what had just happened. She'd dreamed about Giles. She'd dreamed about sex with Giles. And it had been good. So good she'd actually gotten off from it. She still felt squishy between her thighs. "Buffy?" She turned, startled, at the sound of Willow's voice. "What? Oh. No. Not prophecy," she assured her friend. "I don't see this one coming true. It was just a dream." She wondered why she felt such a stab of disappointment at the thought. "Um... I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom." She only hoped Willow wouldn't realize the state she was in from her slightly bowlegged gait. * * * * * Giles woke suddenly to find himself in a mess he hadn't been in for years - decades, actually. He tossed the damp quilt aside, grimacing when he saw the wet spot on the sheet. He became aware of knocking at his door. "Rupert? Is everything all right in there?" Giles gave a mirthless chuckle. No, everything was not all right. It wasn't as though he'd never noticed Buffy was pretty. He had. It wasn't even as though he'd never had a stray erotic thought about her. He'd done that, too. It was impossible for a man of his libido to be constantly surrounded by such gorgeous girls and ignore their budding sexuality completely. But wet dreams? That was quite a bit more than he'd ever done before. And it was impossible to forget this one now he'd woken up. He could still see her heavy-lidded eyes, hear her breathy cries of passion, feel her strong thighs wrapped around his own. No, nothing was right anymore. The knocking came again. "Rupert?" James sounded a little panicked by this time. "Rupert, can you hear me?" "Yes," he called shakily. "I'm fine. Just a bit of a bad dream. Go back to bed. I'll be okay." "Don't scare me like that," James snapped, even as Giles heard him sigh in relief. A moment later, he spoke again. "I can put the kettle on if you're going to be up all night, as per usual." "No, no, I'm fine," Giles protested. "But thanks. I'll see you in the morning." "If you're sure?" "Absolutely." "Good night, then," James said. "And no more dreaming." Giles smiled slightly to himself. James might be a bit silly and immature, but he really did have a good heart when he paid attention to it. A moment later, he frowned when he realized how uncomfortable he was going to be if he didn't clean up after himself. He stripped himself and then the bed. Luckily there were spare bedclothes in the cupboard and a bathroom en suite. For once he was glad of his brothers' extravagant lifestyle. At least he would have privacy in his embarrassment. * * * * * The next morning, at Patrick's insistence, everyone met for brunch. Gary bowed out because of family obligations - or perhaps, as Terry said, Cheryl didn't want him having brunch with pretty girls half his age. Terry himself only came along because Patrick wanted him there. He'd already decided these girls were nowhere near as attractive as they'd seemed from a distance, and he frankly disliked Rupert's company. He always had done. Even at school, he'd had a strange air about him that Terry distrusted, as if he held the key to secrets most of the world could only guess at. And he'd never been any fun whatsoever. Well, all right, there had been that time with the dartboard and the treacle. The Headmaster had nearly expelled Rupert for that one. But that was the one and only time Terry recalled him being fun. Besides, the girls had always gone a bit mad about Rupert. Between his good looks, his slight air of mystery and his guitar playing, Rupert could have been a sex god. Certainly whenever he walked into a party half the women there dropped whoever had been patiently and skillfully maneuvering them into going home with them and did their best to catch his eye. When he was in the mood for it, Rupert could have his pick. When he wasn't... he could still have his pick; he just didn't bother to. And then none of the girls bothered to, either. To discover that young women on the other side of the world were just as eager to be with him - even to share him! - thirty years later was too damn depressing to even contemplate. "I'll have eggs Benedict and a Buck's Fizz." Terry started. The little brunette on his left had been the one to order. He'd barely noticed her the night before, but now he took a look, she really was awfully pretty. Wide, innocent hazel eyes, bright smile, a slightly mysterious air about her... yes, she really was quite attractive. He smiled in her direction. "I'll have the same," he told the waiter. The girl smiled back. Yes, definitely, this was the prettiest one. As the others placed their orders, Giles thought about Buffy. She looked tired. He wondered if it was just jet lag or if he ought to be worried about it. Or was she just missing Spike? Why Spike? After everything, why that bloody vampire? He became aware of a voice in his ear. "Giles? Hey, Earth to Giles?" Buffy teased him. He relaxed his death grip on the menu and ordered tea and a ham and cheese omelet. Across the table, Willow giggled. "That's funny," she bubbled. "You guys ordered the same thing - except Buffy got coffee and you got tea," she explained to a befuddled Giles. "You're like twinsies." "Yeah," Buffy said, rolling her eyes. "Twinsies who were born about thirty years apart in different countries." Giles busied himself inspecting his cutlery and tried not to look at her. When he'd seen the girls walk into the restaurant, his first impulse had been to take Buffy in his arms and kiss her senseless. That dream had been so real! He could still feel her hands clutching his back, hear her moans, taste her, almost. But it had only been a dream. A dream that would never come true. For her part, Buffy looked everywhere around the table except at the man sitting to her right. She couldn't get that dream out of her head. The idea that Giles - her stuffy, repressed, safe Giles - might be that good in bed was a bit... disturbing, she decided. Yes, that was definitely the word. Disturbing. Not intriguing. Not exciting. Disturbing. Then again... She knew other women found Giles attractive. Miss Calendar, Olivia, Willow at one time, even her own mother. Buffy had finally looked up stevedore in the dictionary, but was still puzzled by the comparison. Giles didn't seem much like a dockworker. Strange. She distracted herself at last by looking at Willow. More strangeness there. If Buffy didn't know better, she'd swear James was flirting with Willow. And that Willow was flirting back. She chanced a glance at Giles only to discover he was looking at the same sight with the same expression of bewilderment on his face. Great. Twinsies again. This had to stop. Willow giggled again. She could feel herself blushing. This was... okay, not exactly wrong, but really not right, either. James was being so charming and sweet and... and... cute. That was really the only word for him, Willow decided. Cute. But he was a guy and she wasn't into guys anymore. So why was she all blushy? And why was she noticing the adorable way the corners of his eyes crinkled up when he laughed? Bad Willow! Tara hadn't even been dead a year. How could she even think about thinking about someone else? Let alone a guy someone else. James worried when he saw an expression of apparent distress cross Willow's mobile features. All he could think was that he wanted to replace the furrowed brow with another of those dazzling smiles. He leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Is your friend always so picky about things?" He nodded slightly toward Cordelia who was taking the waiter to task for not having soy milk for her latte. "She's not exactly what you'd call my friend," Willow said with a wry smile. "More sort of what you'd call a lifelong enemy I've reached a permanent detente with." The pair giggled quietly, and suddenly Willow felt better. Not good, but better. "My good man," Patrick broke into the argument between the waiter and Cordelia, "if the lady wishes soy milk, then she shall have soy milk." "But... I'm afraid we haven't any," the waiter demurred. "We've run out." "Then get some more," Patrick ordered. "Or shall we leave and find someplace that has what we want?" "No, no, sir," the waiter assured him, "there's no need for that, sir. I'll see to it right away." He skittered off nervously to deal with the situation. Cordelia beamed at Patrick. "You didn't have to do that," she said. "If you can't get what you like in a restaurant, what's the point?" Patrick returned with a broad smile. "It's just I'm lactose intolerant," Cordelia explained. Willow and Buffy rolled their eyes at one another. Cordelia and Patrick smiled and positively simpered. Terry decided the conversation had focused on everyone else quite long enough. Before he could speak, though, Anya beat him to it. "How do you make your money?" she asked him without preamble. "Wh- I... I deal in stocks and bonds. Dreadfully dull stuff," Terry said. "Investments wouldn't interest..." "A girl?" Anya supplied. "Actually, I like investments. Stocks, bonds, T-bills, it's all very attractive to me." "Really?" Terry grinned. "Do you ever dabble, yourself?" "Oh no," Anya replied. "I never dabble." "That's a pity..." "I'm always very certain of my investments. I've never lost money on a single one." Terry's jaw hit the table. "Never?" "Never once." Terry blinked and smiled. "I say, when we're done with brunch, would you like to come over to my place and take a look at my portfolio?" * * * * * Two hours later, Anya sat next to Terry on the sofa in his flat. She pored over his papers seriously, her reading glasses balanced precariously on the end of her nose. Terry watched her scribble notes, dividing his investments into three columns on a notepad. When she'd finished, she tore off the top sheet and handed it to him. "These ones on the left are keepers," she explained. "The ones in the middle aren't very good, but not disastrous either. You can keep them if you want, but you'd make more money if you sold them and bought something else - preferably more out of column A. The ones on the right, you're selling now." "Why? They're all great investments. If things go right, I should make a huge return off of them." "They're huge gambles. You shouldn't gamble. People who gamble often lose. That's why they call it gambling. Besides, anyone who has an ear to the ground knows these companies are in trouble. Sell out before they go belly up and take you with them." Terry frowned skeptically. "You're absolutely certain about this?" "I've never lost a cent in the market." Terry picked up his phone. Anya beamed at him. Terry hesitated, his finger hovering above the dial. "Do you know," he said, "I've never met anyone like you in my life?" "That's probably true." "You should probably also know I find that very attractive." Anya thought for a moment. "Yes," she said at last. "I think I should know that. Thank you for telling me." Again, Terry was lost in that blinding smile. He pulled himself together and dialed his broker. * * * * * "Have you ever ridden on a motorbike?" James asked. "Uh... no, I haven't," Willow answered. "Don't be nervous; it'll be okay." He handed her the spare helmet. "Just get on behind me and hang on tight. Oh, and lean into the curves." He mounted the bike smoothly and put on his helmet. After a moment's hesitation, Willow donned her helmet as well and clambered on behind him. She put her hands timidly against his sides. "Not like that," James said. "You'll fall off, and we wouldn't want that, now would we?" He took her hands and pulled them all the way around his waist. "That's better." "You're sure this is how it's supposed to be done?" Willow asked dubiously. "I've been riding these for years. I know what I'm doing," James assured her. "You're perfectly safe." "Okay. But I still feel a little weird about this. You haven't told me where we're going yet." "I told you. I think Rupert and Buffy need some time to talk, and I have a place we can go while they do." "So where is it?" "You'll see." James kicked the bike into gear and took off. Willow gave a surprised 'eep' and felt a sudden need to hold on tighter. At first she kept her eyes squeezed nervously shut, but soon the rush of the wind and the giddy freedom of riding along so exposed to the elements began to seduce her. This felt oddly powerful and rebellious. The bike vibrated between her thighs, reawakening feelings she hadn't wanted to explore since Tara's death. And James felt so pleasantly solid - so... warm and human. She rested her cheek against his leather-clad back and let the joy of being alive fill her. When James turned the bike off the road and came to a halt by the railroad tracks, she felt a stab of disappointment. "Come on, then," James urged as he removed his helmet. "I want to show you something." Willow pulled off her helmet and smoothed her hair. James was dazzled by her pink cheeks and sparkling green eyes. He swallowed hard. Again, he regretted that he wouldn't have a chance with this lovely creature. He turned and led the way. "This way," he called over his shoulder. "Are you sure we're supposed to be here?" "Doing what you're meant to is awfully boring," James grinned back. The girl shrugged and followed him. James walked up to one car on the tracks and pulled out a key. "Here we are," he announced. He opened the door and ushered his guest inside. "Wow," said Willow. "This is really nice. It's like The Wild, Wild West. Y'know, how they live on this train, only I guess you don't fight bad guys here." "No, I leave fighting bad guys to my brother. I really have no talent for it myself." "W - what?" James shrugged and headed for the bar. "Would you like something to drink? I've got champagne," he offered. "Or I could provide you with something harder, if you like." "No, thanks," Willow said hastily. "I really don't need anything like that. And what did you say?" "You didn't know? That I was meant to be a Watcher, too?" James came and sat on the sofa. After a moment, Willow sat next to him with a small thump. "I'm afraid I was simply no good at it. We were ten when our father sat us down and gave a tiresome lecture about duty and sacrifice. Then we were packed off to the Council for testing. I barely scraped by to get into the training program, and I washed out at fourteen. I just couldn't wrap my brain around all those languages and all that demonic rubbish. I went into cosmetic dentistry instead." "So... you know all about Slayers and vampires and demons and stuff like that?" "Well, not all about them. I daresay Rupert knows a few things about them that I don't. Still, I know more than the average person, yes. I even know about you." "What do you know about me? Is it anything bad? Because there were extenuating circumstances." James frowned and lit a cigarette. "You think there are extenuating circumstances for trying to destroy the world?" he asked. Willow flushed and looked at the floor. "Look, it's none of my affair," James continued, "but I hope you've got over any urge to end life as we know it, because I rather like my life. I've got good friends, lots of money, a nice flat, this railway carriage, and as much bubbly as I can filter through my liver. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to keep things pretty much as they are. Why would a pretty thing like you, with her whole life ahead of her want to flatten the Earth?" "You don't understand," Willow muttered, still taking an inordinate interest in the floor. "You don't know what it's like to lose the person you love more than anything." James pulled his wallet out of his pocket. "Look, can I show you something?" he asked. At Willow's nod, he pulled out a photograph. "That's Elizabeth, my ex-wife. Beautiful, isn't she?" He smiled fondly at the picture. "We met in the street - quite literally. Car accident. A very minor one. Anyway, there we were, shouting at each other, and suddenly, well... I stopped shouting. I'd never seen anything like her. Never have since. We were married for twenty-two years." "What happened to her?" Willow asked. "She runs a stable. Always was mad about horses," James said as he replaced the photograph. "You see, I was always looking for more than I had. You'd think a wife like that and two kids would be enough, but I didn't think so at the time. Now I live alone and my kids won't even speak to me. All the same, I think I'm finally content with my life. I loved Elizabeth very much, and I lost her through my own stupidity, but I didn't feel a need to blow up the world. It's simply not worth it." * * * * * As Cordelia and Patrick walked in his front door, a chocolate lab came running up, barking happily and wagging its tail. "Hello, girl," Patrick said smiled as he rubbed the dog's ears, "did you miss me?" "Nice dog," Cordelia said. "Purebred?" "Of course." The dog came over, sniffed Cordelia's hand, and offered herself to be petted. "I think she likes you," Patrick beamed. "She really does have excellent taste." "Which one of us are you talking about?" Cordelia teased. "Ah, that is one of the great mysteries of our time," Patrick said affably. Oddly enough, Cordelia found that she was more amused than insulted by the idea that he might have been talking about the dog. "So tell me all about yourself," her host continued as they walked into the sitting room. "How do you know Rupert? And what brings you here?" "Long story," Cordelia said. "And I'm not really sure what to say about most of it." "Say what you can, how you will. Would you like a drink?" "Do you have mineral water?" Patrick just smiled again and went to the bar. A moment later, he handed Cordelia a chilled bottle. "Or would you prefer a glass?" "No," Cordelia said, "this is fine." She took a sip and gathered her thoughts. There was so much to edit from her conversation. At least the beginning of her tale was easy enough to tell. "Giles was the librarian at my high school. I had to get books and there he was." Patrick gaped. "A librarian? At a school? Rupert?" "Yes, yes, and yes. That's how I know him." "But he was head curator of The British Museum! I thought he was abroad on an exchange program with another museum or something of that nature. What was he doing in a school library?" "Hanging out with Buffy and Willow and Xander, mostly. You don't know Xander. He didn't come along. Anyway, they were always in the Library... doing stuff... researching and that sort of thing. Real brainy stuff. They helped me with a couple problems, and well... I sorta started hanging out with them, too, after a while. I'm still not sure why. Anyway, Buffy had this... older boyfriend back then. He moved to LA about the same time I did. I was going to be an actress. I actually did a couple commercials. One of them even went National. But, to tell the truth, I don't think I was really very good at the whole acting gig. So, I started working for Angel and... well... there were some... complications, and I needed some advice and I went back to Sunnydale, but Giles was here, so here I am. That's it. The story of my life in two paragraphs or less." "These... complications, with your employer - you needn't tell me if you don't like to, but were they... of a romantic nature?" "Are you some kind of mind reader?" Cordelia asked suspiciously. Patrick shrugged. "An attractive older man and a lovely young woman thrown together by mutual interests, an old rival you'd like to get one up on; it's not a difficult deduction to make." "Buffy was so not a rival," Cordelia scoffed a bit too emphatically. "She was a total outcast. She was always getting into trouble and getting me stuck in the middle of stuff I didn't want to know about. And okay, all the cutest and most interesting guys were more interested in her than me, but I can't help it if they didn't have any taste." She got up and began to pace the room, gesticulating wildly with the water bottle. "I mean, okay, Angel didn't notice me when Buffy was around, and neither did Xander for a really long time, and even Giles and Wesley were more interested in her than me, but that doesn't make her my rival. I had way more money then, and better shoes, and... and... so she had more real friends and a nice mom, but..." The fight went out of her and Cordelia flopped back into a chair. "Wow," she said wryly after a moment, "that was some Freudian tirade, wasn't it?" "You didn't get on with your mother?" Patrick asked in genuine surprise. "How do you get along with someone who has Epstein Barr? From the time I was fifteen, she was in bed most of the time. Not that we were all that close before. And my dad figured as long as he bought me clothes and kept me fed, he'd done his part. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. What about you? How crappy were your parents?" Patrick sat quietly for some time, looking at his hands. At last, he stood. "Come with me," he said. "I want to show you something." Cordelia followed him out of the room a bit hesitantly. They went up the stairs and down a long corridor until Patrick stopped at a locked door to one of the unused rooms. "My father died when I was a very small boy. I hardly remember him. Mum never remarried. She spent her life taking care of me until I was old enough and had enough money to return the favor." He took a key from his pocket and stared at it for a moment. At last, he slid it into the keyhole and opened the door. Musty air wafted out to greet them. There was a fine layer of dust over the entire room. The furniture was much less elegant and expensive than the pieces in the rest of the house. A handmade patchwork quilt graced the bed and a variety of bottles and jars stood long unopened on the vanity. On the walls hung a couple small paintings with religious themes and autographed photos of Frank Sinatra, Mel Torme, and several other famous crooners of a bygone era. "This was Mum's room," Patrick said at last. "It hasn't been opened since her stroke." "How long ago was that?" Cordelia asked in a low, sympathetic voice. "Just over a year, now. I - I... unplugged her a few weeks ago." "Good," Cordelia said. Patrick looked at her with wounded eyes. "Not good she's dead, but good you were finally able to let her go," the girl explained. "I know I'd be pretty pissed off if someone left me hooked up to a bunch of machines for years when I was already gone." Patrick closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "I know," he said at last. "That's exactly what she would have told me if she'd been able to. I think... I think she would have liked you." "I'm guessing that might be your way of saying you like me?" "I suppose it might be, at that," he chuckled. * * * * * Giles came out of the kitchen with a pot of tea and all the accouterments on a tray. Buffy sat a bit stiffly on the sofa waiting for him. Now that they were alone, she felt even more awkward than she had in the restaurant. She knew Giles wanted details on the Spike situation - ones that would more fully explain what she was doing in London. All she could think about, however, was her dream. She found herself mesmerized by the tuft of tawny hair that peeped over the neck of his shirt. She'd seen it a hundred times or more over the years, but now all she could think of was what it would feel like between her fingers or rubbing against her breasts. She wanted to know how accurate her dream had been about how much hair he had on his body and the configuration of it. She wanted to know if he felt the same in reality as he did in her dream, if he tasted as good. But she knew all he was interested in was what was going on with Spike. What was she even going to tell him about that? As he poured the tea, Giles reminded himself yet again that his dream had been just that - a dream. One that would never come true. He was surprised at how that thought stabbed him to the heart. He resolutely kept his eyes above her neckline, only to find himself almost unable to resist leaning over to see if her lips tasted as sweet in reality as they had in his fantasy. He turned his attention to pouring the tea. Giles cleared his throat as he handed Buffy her cup. "So," he said at last, "Spike has a soul? When did this happen? How?" "I don't really know," Buffy replied. "He sorta disappeared right before Tara... y'know. I didn't think much about it with everything that was going on. Later I thought maybe he finally got it through his head that it was really over with us and went away so he wouldn't be underfoot, or something. I didn't see him until Dawn's first day of school. I was sort of hanging out, trying to see what I could see about the new Hellmouth High and when I went down to the basement, there he was. Spike. All soul-having and really, really out of his mind." "You think the guilt drove him mad?" "That or maybe whatever's down there with him. I was thinking of moving him out of there. It's not healthy for him." "I see," he said quietly. "No, you don't see. I'm not moving him in with me. That's over, Giles." "Ah. Well, I'm glad to hear it." Buffy smiled wryly. "Way to go with the smooth," she said. "When I leave the room are you gonna do a happy dance?" "Perhaps a small one," Giles admitted with a breathy laugh. Buffy shook her head slightly and joined in the laughter. "Actually, I'm embracing a life of celibacy of late," she said. "Not that you would know anything about that." "I beg your pardon, but I know far more than I'd like about that particular condition," he retorted. "Didn't look like it to me last night," Buffy snorted. Giles choked on his tea. "W-what...?" "That girl you were dancing with last night," Buffy accused. "Does she give the world's fastest blowjobs, or what? You were back in about two minutes." "I don't believe it's any of your business what she and I did or did not do when we left the dance floor," Giles gritted out. "Now, what do you know about this soul of Spike's? Do you have any idea where or how he got it?" "We haven't finished talking about this girl, yet," Buffy insisted. "Giles, we live in a world of herpes and AIDS. Having sex with someone you've known about a second and a half is not safe. I thought you were smarter than that." "And I thought you were intelligent enough not to sleep with another bloody vampire," Giles retorted angrily. "Okay, one, I haven't slept with a vampire in months. Two, if I did, it wouldn't be any of your business." "Then what business is it of your who I sleep with?" "Duh, Giles! You're dating probably a million teenagers and you never once even looked at me that way! Is there something wrong with me? Am I gross somehow?" Giles felt his jaw working, but he couldn't seem to make any sound come out at all. Buffy stood before him, flushed and panting with emotion. He decided she'd never looked as desirable as she did at that moment. Before he could think enough to stop himself, Giles had grabbed her in his arms. She clutched him back desperately as their lips fused together. Only one thought managed to invade the fog of his mind: she didn't taste like she had in the dream. This Buffy was much sweeter. * * * * * "You're kidding!" Terry said into the phone. A grin spread from ear to ear. "Really? You're sure?" Anya smiled smugly as she straightened the papers she'd been working on. Terry hung up the phone and turned to her. "That was my broker," he said in a stunned - but happy - voice. "By following your advice, I avoided disaster by mere hours. One of the companies you suggested I get out of, collapsed minutes ago. If I'd still had my money there, I'd have lost eighteen thousand pounds." "It's all about timing," Anya said. "Know when to get in, know when to get out. It's about not hanging onto things after they're no longer useful to you." "My precise philosophy," Terry agreed. Suddenly he stood. "Come on, then, let's go celebrate." "That you didn't lose your money?" Anya asked brightly. "Well, that," Terry said, "and that I found myself such a lovely financial advisor." Anya's smile broadened still further. "How do you want to celebrate?" she asked. "I'm going to take you out for the best dinner you ever had and enough champagne to launch a fleet." "That sounds like you're just losing your money in a different way," Anya decided. "But at least this is a fun way, so, okay." They headed for the door, when suddenly, there wasn't one. In the swirling cloud of dust where it once stood, there was a huge, unearthly creature the like of which Terry had never seen. He gulped. "Oh this is so not fair!" Anya complained. "Doesn't D'Hoffryn ever quit?" "Anyanka," the demon growled, "your life is forfeit. Prepare to die." "Shit," Terry gulped, trying desperately not to match his action to his words. * * * * * "You don't understand," Willow protested. "I didn't lose Tara because I did something dumb; she was killed. Right in front of me. Right when we got back together. It wasn't fair!" "I never said it was," James said mildly. "All I meant was... well, life goes on, doesn't it? And it's not so bad, all things considered. Aren't you glad now that the world is still here?" "I - I guess so," Willow faltered. "And do you really think Tara would have wanted you to cause such a fuss over her death?" "Well... maybe not..." "From what Rupert's told me, she sounds a very gentle person." "She was," Willow sniffled. "And she thought I was something special. I miss that." "You miss it?" James asked incredulously. "Well, wouldn't you?" Willow bristled. "No, well, I mean of course I would," he explained. "It's just... I can't imagine anyone not thinking you were special." Willow turned huge green eyes to James. "Y - you really mean that?" she asked. "Of course I do. You're an incredibly powerful witch, you're a whiz with computers, and you're gorgeous on top of all that. Why wouldn't I mean it?" "Um... you do know that I'm... sorta gay, right?" James sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. "So my brother informs me. I hope you won't be angry if I say it was a bit of a disappointment." "No... not angry," Willow assured him. "Just, I'm still gay. And besides, I don't really know you or anything." She wasn't sure why she'd felt the need to add that in. She fidgeted slightly and looked nervously around her for another topic of conversation while James went and poured himself a drink. "So," she blurted out at last, "that picture at your place? Does that mean you like guys?" James choked on his drink. * * * * * "Okay, the first thing we're doing, we're cleaning this room," Cordelia said firmly. "Let me know what to keep and what to trash and I'll take care of it." "Cordelia..." Patrick began to protest. "Trust me," she told him, "you'll feel better once it's taken care of. I promise not to throw out anything important to you. It's just not good for you to keep this shrine thing going. Choose a few things you want because they mean something to you, and get rid of the rest. Did she make that quilt?" "Yes, she did." "Then that's a keeper. And the photos are worth something to collectors, so those stay and you can decide whether to sell them later. Did she have any good jewelry or anything like that?" "I wanted to buy her some, but she would never take it. She said it would be better if I gave it to some pretty girl instead. She said at her age it would look ridiculous, and she'd be afraid of losing it anyway." "That's so not like my mother," Cordelia said shaking her head. "If there wasn't at least one diamond under every Christmas tree, she threw fits about Daddy not loving her and threatened all sorts of punishments. She was such a drama queen. Maybe she still is. I don't know. We... don't really talk or anything." "You should call her," Patrick said. Cordelia shrugged. "No, really, you should," Patrick urged. "You only ever get one mother. It would be sad if you lost her before you became friends." "I'm not sure we could ever be friends," Cordelia said. "I think we live in sort of different worlds now, and she really doesn't want to know about mine." Patrick was struck by the matter-of-fact tone of her words. There was no self-pity or hinting for sympathy; simply an acceptance of a reality he couldn't begin to guess at. "What doesn't your mother know about your world?" he asked. "Trust me, you don't want to know, either." She stood quietly for a moment, then seemed to pull herself together through sheer willpower. "So, I'll need a broom and garbage bags and all that cleaning stuff. Where do you keep them?" "We can do this later," Patrick said. "You've already put it off too long." "It'll keep until tonight. I have something else I want to show you." He ushered her out of the room and locked the door behind them. "We're going for a drive. We may be some time." * * * * * Giles pulled Buffy still tighter and deepened the kiss. He gave a muffled groan at the feel of her soft tongue slipping eagerly against his. She felt so good - tasted so good - he never wanted to stop. Stop. He had to stop this. This was insanity. But it felt so... right. When he felt Buffy's fingers begin to tug at his shirt buttons, he knew he had to slow things down immediately, before they got even more out of control. He took her hands gently in his and pulled back from the kiss. She looked up at him with stricken eyes. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked. "Wrong... might be an overstatement," he laughed shakily. "Then why are you stopping us?" "Quite possibly because I'm insane," he muttered. He led her to the sofa and sat them both down. "This is all so very... sudden, Buffy. I want to be sure you know what you're doing." "Um, Giles? I've done this before. I'm not a kid." "I'm well aware of that," he replied with some asperity. "I'm hardly a virgin, either, you know. That doesn't mean I go to bed with every woman I know. Are you sure this is something you want?" "Don't you?" "I - I don't know," he admitted. "Buffy, you're a very attractive young woman. You're beautiful and strong and brave. A man would have to be blind, deaf, and extremely stupid not to find you desirable." "So... you desire me, right?" Buffy double-checked. "And in case you didn't notice, I was right there for that whole kiss. I'm not really sure which one of us started it, but it was incredible. Believe me, I want." Giles shifted uncomfortably and began to clean his glasses. "Perhaps 'want' wasn't the word I was looking for," he said. "I know you'd... like to. I could tell that from your kiss. I just... I suppose I'm wondering *why* you want me. You've never given me any indication of this before." "I know," she said softly. "I feel like I've been completely blind and I just got new eyes that work or something. I never used to think about you this way. If you'd asked me last week, I'd have said it was the dumbest idea I'd ever heard. But now... now I don't know how I could have not thought about it; how I could have not wanted this. I don't know why this happened now, but I know it's real. I know what I want." "Buffy, you could have anyone..." "Anyone I want?" she interrupted him. "Yeah. I've heard that line before. It's pretty much never been right, has it? I wanted Angel, but having him hurt a whole lot of people. Hell, it got good people killed. Can't have him. And before you can ask, I don't want him anymore. Riley? Well, if I'd really wanted him, I might still have him. Of course, now I can't have him even if I did want him. He's a little married, and there are a few depths I won't sink to. And then there's Spike. I didn't want him when I had him." "Is that true?" Buffy thought for a moment. "Okay, maybe it's that I didn't want to want him," she admitted. "And I knew that why I wanted him wasn't very healthy for me or fair to him. One way or the other, it was a bad idea and it hurt people. It's not going to happen again. Even if I wanted it to, it can't. I'm not going to use anyone like that again. It's wrong on way too many levels. So no, I can't always have who I want. But this one time, it looks like I could and it feels like a minor miracle. I know you want me, Giles. I could feel it." Giles crossed his legs and slipped his glasses into his shirt pocket. "Just because there was a... physical reaction doesn't mean I'm ready to leap into bed with you," he snapped. "Crude much?" Buffy snorted. "That wasn't what I was talking about, actually. Yes, I know you got kinda... y'know. I mean, it was sorta hard to miss - or maybe I should say 'too hard to miss'. What I was talking about, though, was that kiss. It was serious. It was... I dunno... I can't come up with the words. You're the one with the vocabulary here, y'know. But it was... it was like... like nothing I've ever felt before. Like you were trying to get inside me, and I wanted to let you in and be inside you, too." She gave a little sigh of frustration at the way the words wouldn't come for her. "I think... I think it gave new meaning to the term 'soul kiss'. That's how it felt to me, anyway." "So it wasn't... you're not...?" "Using you? Trying to get you to come back to Sunnyhell by working my womanly wiles on you? Is that what you think? Wow, that's some opinion you have of me," she said angrily. She stood and moved to the other side of the room. "I think maybe I'd better go." "Buffy!" he protested. "No," she cut him off. "I think I'd better. I wouldn't want to stay where I'm not wanted." "But you are wanted," Giles snapped. "If you'll only listen to me - damn!" He stopped when the phone rang. "You stay there!" he ordered as he answered the call. "Yes?" He paused to listen. "Yes, of course. We'll be right over. Try to keep it distracted until we get there. Yes, we're on our way." He set the receiver down and sighed. "We have to go to Terry's." "We? Why?" "D'Hoffryn's sent an assassin there," Giles explained as he shrugged on his leather jacket. "Did you bring any weapons?" "Think, Giles. You can't even bring nail clippers on a plane anymore. I don't think I would have gotten very far with Mr. Pointy and a collection of swords and crossbows." Giles simply nodded and went into his bedroom. A moment later, he emerged with a pair of broadswords. "Perhaps not the best weapon for indoor use, but these will have to do, I suppose," he said. Buffy took one in her hand and tested its balance. "Yeah," she said. "This'll do. And when we get done with Anya's little demon problem, we're gonna talk some more about us." They headed out quickly. * * * * * Terry shrieked and dove behind the sofa as the beast advanced. Next to him, Anya hung up his mobile phone. "Don't worry," she said. "Buffy and Giles are on their way." "Buffy?" Terry sputtered. "That little thing? What the hell good will she do? What we need is the army!" Anya rolled her eyes. "We need to keep it busy while we wait for them," she said. "Do you have any swords or guns?" "Of course I don't have any swords or guns!" The thing tipped the sofa over. Anya grabbed Terry's hand and pulled him into the next room, shutting and locking the door behind them. "Well what do you have that's any use?" she demanded. "Nothing." "It doesn't have to be a gun," Anya explained patiently. "It could be a baseball bat or a frying pan or even an anvil that we could drop on its head." "That thing's at least seven feet tall. How are we going to drop an anvil on its head?" "Stop being so literal," she scolded him. "You need to be creative now." "I'm trying, but it's a little difficult to be creative when something out of Grimm's Fairy Tales has just knocked down the door to my flat!" Anya scanned the room. It was clearly Terry's bedroom. She was pleased to note that the furniture was expensive and showed a good eye for quality. Her gaze lit on something useful. "Here," she said. "Use this golf club. It will be very painful for the demon to be hit with this." Terry took the makeshift weapon in a daze. He barely noticed that Anya took one as well. He shuddered when she opened the door and peeped out at the havoc the beast was causing. There came a particularly loud crash from the sitting room. Anya turned back to him. "I hope you didn't pay too much for that stereo system," she said. Terry winced. The pair advanced into the sitting room, Anya in the lead while Terry brought up a very reluctant rear. The creature seemed to have decided to simply destroy everything in the flat until its occupants showed themselves again. Terry whimpered when he saw what had happened to his brand new big screen television. Then he pulled himself together. The time had come to prove he was a man. He gave a fierce cry and lunged at the demon. The creature turned slowly to face the puny man coming his way. It laughed. Terry swung wildly with the golf club. It connected with the demon's skull. There was a sickly crack of bone. Still the creature laughed at him. Terry whacked it wildly about the head and shoulders with little effect. "Why won't it die?" he yelled to Anya. "It ought to be dead by now!" The girl calmly advanced, aimed her golf club between the demon's legs, and gave a mighty swing. The creature's eyes crossed and it gave voice to a strangled groan. A moment later, it fell to its knees with a whimper. Another moment, and it lay inert on the floor. "How... how did you know to hit it there?" Terry asked in wonder. "It's male," Anya explained. "If you hit anything male in the groin, it topples almost instantaneously." Terry shifted his stance nervously. * * * * * "Oooh, sorry," Willow said with a grimace. When James simply continued to choke, she slapped him on the back. After all, wasn't that what you were supposed to do when someone started choking but wasn't up to Heimlich-needing status? It seemed to help, anyway. At last James stopped coughing and took a deep breath. Somehow, though, Willow couldn't seem to stop rubbing his back comfortingly. He felt good. Really good. Better yet, he turned his head and smiled at her. A battalion of butterflies set up residence in her tummy and started doing formation flights. "Thanks," he said when he could talk again. "That's better." "Well, you wouldn't have needed me to make it better if I hadn't made it bad in the first place, but... you're welcome." "I'm okay," he reassured her. "Oh, and the answer is no." "No?" "No, I've never had sex with a man. And no, I don't want to. Like you, I prefer girls." Willow matched his smile. Again, James reflected on the unfairness of the universe. He hadn't been so struck by a woman since... since Elizabeth bent his fender all those years ago. Of course, Elizabeth would probably say it was karma getting its own back for the way he'd treated her. She might even be right. He decided that he would treat Willow well - no matter what capacity she allowed him to fill in her life. It was really the least he could do after all his cock-ups with his ex-wife. It didn't escape his notice that she was still rubbing his back and it felt very, very good. It had, however, escaped his notice that she'd been talking while he had been thinking. "I'm sorry...?" "I asked if you were okay now," she said with a lopsided smile that melted James' brain all over again. "Hmmm...? Oh! Yes, fine," he said as soon as he could make his speech center function again. "You?" "I'm not the one who was choking," Willow observed. "But I feel kinda better now you're better." "Then that makes two of us, doesn't it?" "Yeah, I guess so." James watched, mesmerized, as her cheeks reddened and her eyelids lowered in pleased embarrassment. Her lips had parted slightly. He was so close to them. Involuntarily, he began to lean forward. Willow took a sharp breath, but didn't pull back. "Blast!" James swore as his mobile rang. He stood and answered the phone. "Yes? Really? Are you sure? No, no, I'm on my way. I'll bring her with me. As quickly as I can." He snapped the phone off and reached out a hand to his guest. "Sorry, but we've got to go," he told her. "It seems your friend Anya is having a spot of demon trouble over at Terry's." "What sort of demon?" Willow asked. "Did they say?" "No word on that, but Rupert thought you might be useful." "Useful? As in: in a magicky way?" she gulped. "'Cause I'm not so sure I'm ready for that." "I'm sure you'll do fine. Come on, then. Best get there as quickly as we can." Willow was glad James didn't let go of her hand until they were back at his motorcycle. This time, she didn't hesitate to hold him tightly. * * * * * "So where are we going, already?" Cordelia asked yet again. "You'll see," Patrick replied patiently. "We're nearly there." "Good thing," she grumbled. "I'm gonna need a potty break really soon." She slumped into the butter-soft leather of the seat and reflected on how odd it felt to be in a chauffeured car again. Once upon a time, limousines had been a fairly common thing in her life. They took her to parties, both with and without her parents. They took her parents places she wasn't invited. They brought other people to her front door. But they'd always felt a bit too passive for her liking. Not that she'd ever said so when they picked her up. That would have been tacky. Besides, the cars provided jobs for drivers, as her mother always said, and so were a good thing. Still, one of the happiest days of her life had been the one when she passed her drivers' test and her father bought her a convertible to celebrate. The car had represented so much more than money, even then. It was all about freedom. Autonomy. Self-determination. She still wanted to cry whenever she thought about the day she'd been forced to sell her car to help raise the money to move to LA. Patrick seemed to have no qualms about sitting back in a limo with someone else at the wheel. He sipped at his champagne with an air of barely repressed excitement and occasionally reached down to rub his dog's head with real affection. At last, the driver turned down a narrow path and into a grassy clearing among some trees in the middle of what looked like nowhere. Patrick's smile broadened until it threatened to split his face in two. Despite his graying hair, he looked almost boyish for a moment. "Here we are," he announced grandly. "And where exactly is 'here'?" Cordelia asked. "My river." "Your... river? You own a river?" The driver came around and opened Cordelia's door first. Before she could accept his help in leaving the car, the dog leapt out and barked happily. Patrick opened his own door and got out at a more leisurely pace than his pet, but with equal pleasure. He took a deep breath, exhaled with a satisfied sigh, and grinned at Cordelia. "What do you think of it?" he asked. "I'm not sure yet. Where's the actual river part of the river?" "Over here," he gestured. Almost before he'd finished talking, he turned and headed down the path. Cordelia followed. She gave silent thanks that she'd worn flat shoes. The last thing she needed was to ruin one of her few remaining good pairs of heels on a muddy riverbank. Two minutes later, the pair came to the edge of the water. Trees grew tall and ancient all around, cutting them off from the workaday world. Patrick spread his arms wide and gazed happily down at the rushing water below. "There's my river," he said with a nod down at the banks. "Lovely, isn't it?" "Great," Cordelia agreed. She hoped she sounded enthusiastic enough. "What's in it?" "Salmon, so they tell me." "They tell you? Wait a minute... don't you know? I mean, you must go fishing sometimes, right? Otherwise why own a river?" Patrick went silent for a moment. "Because I can," he said at last. "I have the money. I have nowhere I have to be most of the time. Nobody to care very much what I do or where I go. And because it makes me feel... real." Cordelia nodded. "You didn't start out rich, did you?" she asked. "No. I didn't. I got scholarships to good schools, and then I got lucky dealing in art. I owe much of my present fortune to Yoko Ono, as a matter of fact. I took a liking to her work early on, and simply hoarded whatever I could get until some others caught on...and then I sold it. Bought a house, furnished it well, taught myself to speak in a beautiful way. It's all put on." "Like you're playing a part. You're good at it." "I'm not sure I should thank you for the compliment." "It really was one," she said frankly. "It's not easy to reinvent yourself. I know." Patrick turned to look curiously at his companion. "Somehow I had the feeling you might understand," he told her after a moment. "How much reinventing have you had to do?" "A lot. Only I started out at the top and sort of slipped. I know this is gonna sound funny, but I don't think I was ever really me until that happened." Patrick cocked his head and thought. "I thought I was finding myself as I honed the person I wanted to be. Now... I just want to... connect with someone, or something." "But you've got friends," Cordelia reminded him. "You've known these guys like forever, haven't you? I mean, you spend all your time with them. That's got to be some sort of connection." The pair stood silently and watched the water for a while. "Maybe... maybe it's not that you don't connect to them," Cordelia said finally. "Maybe it's that you think you're not connecting to you anymore." "Perhaps you're right." Patrick watched his dog frolic a few yards down the riverbank. "She makes it look so easy." "Hey, the less layers between you and everybody else, the easier it is. How many layers does a dog have?" A wide grin spread across Patrick's face, and he began to laugh. It was a deep, warm, rich sound. Cordelia decided she really liked it. She sidled just a hint closer to him. A few seconds later, a large hand wrapped itself around her slender one and an arm wound itself around her waist. "Let's dance," Patrick suggested. "There's no music," she giggled. "Of course there is. The music of nature is all around us." Cordelia gave a mental shrug and followed Patrick's lead. She relaxed against him with a happy sigh. Down the riverbank, the puppy splashed into the water and barked at the salmon. * * * * * Buffy and Giles raced through the hole where the door of Terry's flat used to be. "Anya," the Slayer cried. "Where is it?" "Over there," Anya said calmly, pointing to the unconscious demon. Giles hurried over and examined it. "A Morthanna demon. Violent, strong, but not terribly intelligent. Well, it's not dead, but it's certainly not doing any harm at the moment. A good beheading will take care of it, I imagine." "Okay," Buffy said. "Everybody stand back, and I'll do my thing." She raised her sword. Everyone else took a step out of the way. "What's the trouble?" James called from the door. Buffy stood down. "Is it dead, already?" Willow asked. "Buffy was just about to decapitate it," Anya said calmly. "Decapitate it?" Terry yelped. "You're not seriously going to decapitate that... that thing in the middle of my sitting room, are you?" "I don't think it can make the room much worse," Buffy shrugged as she surveyed the wreckage. "We could move it to the bath," James suggested. "Nah. This room's pre-trashed," Buffy decided. "Might as well keep as much of the redecorating in one room as possible." "That makes sense," Anya said soothingly to Terry. "If we move it to the bathroom, you'll have to repaint in there, too. Plus, demon never comes out of the carpet. Trust me on this." James noticed the golf club Terry still held in a death grip. "I say, did you knock it out?" he asked. "I - I tried. I kept hitting it in the head, but it wouldn't fall." "Can I see that?" James pointed to the club. Terry handed it over in a daze. James examined it critically. At last, he gave a disgusted sigh and handed it back. "Well, of course it didn't work," he said. "That's a putter. You never, ever raise a putter above your ankles. What you wanted was a mashie niblick." Buffy rolled her eyes. "If you guys are through with the sports update, I'd kinda like to deal with this thing before the cops get here. They usually take a pretty intolerant view of dead demon bodies. We need to make this thing dead and find someplace to dump the body before anybody calls 911." "911?" James asked. "999," Giles explained. "Guys?" Buffy asked. "Can I do this already?" Everybody stepped back to give her room. * * * * * Cordelia laughed as Patrick twirled her around the bank. For once, she felt as young as she really was. She was away from all the pain and misery and free to just be... Cordelia, whoever that might be. Best of all, she hadn't had a vision in days. The surroundings seemed to be having a similar effect on her companion. Patrick looked a good twenty years younger out here, laughing and dancing and playing with his dog. He was warm and solid and whatever angst he was dealing with was just the ordinary sort that could be expected of someone who had lived a relatively normal life. His guilt at turning off the machines that had kept his mother artificially alive for months was terrible - but what was that to the guilt Angel waded through on a daily basis? Patrick hadn't killed hundreds - perhaps thousands - of people and tried to destroy the world. He hadn't attempted to commit patricide, or grown up in a strange warrior dimension that made him unfit for life in the here and now, like Connor. He hadn't kidnapped his friends' son, like Wesley. Just being around someone who didn't bear unbearable guilt was making her so much calmer. The fact that he was funny, genuine and apparently very rich wasn't hurting things, either... "What?" she asked, when she realized Patrick had said something and she had no idea what it was. "I was saying what a very good dancer you are," he said gallantly. "And now I realize you were miles away, I suppose I ought to say you're an excellent dancer." "Sorry," Cordelia grimaced. "I didn't mean to go wandering like that. I just... I was trying to remember the last time I had this much fun with someone." "Did you come to any conclusion?" "Only that it's been way too long. And that I don't want it to end." "Then I hereby declare that it won't end - not so long as I can help it." "Wouldn't it be nice if it was that easy?" she sighed. "Couldn't it be?" he asked. "At least for a little while?" "Not very long." Cordelia extracted herself from Patrick's arms and stuck her hands in her pockets. She looked down at the water with a frown. "Happy never seems to last in my world." "Perhaps you need a new world, then." "Got one for sale?" she asked wryly. "And a hell of a credit plan?" "I could be persuaded to give you very generous terms." "I only wish you could." she looked up at the sky. "It's getting late. We should probably go." Patrick offered his hand to help her up the riverbank. "Let's go back to civilization, then," he said. They walked silently, hand in hand, back to the car. As the driver came around to open the door, Patrick gave Cordelia's hand a light squeeze. "If you ever want to tell me about this world of yours, I'll be happy to listen." "I'll keep that in mind." * * * * * Terry watched in numb astonishment as Buffy hacked the demon body to bits and gathered up the parts - with Giles' help - so they could be buried elsewhere. James pressed a large glass of whiskey into his friend's hand. "Drink this," he said. "You'll feel better." Terry didn't even notice the flavor as he downed the alcohol in one swallow. He handed the glass back to James without even looking. A moment later, the glass was full and in his hand again. "What the hell was that thing?" he asked yet again. "I told you; it's a demon." "No," Terry objected. "No it isn't. It can't be. It isn't possible. Demons don't exist." "I'm afraid they do," James said. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but it's a lucky thing you had Anya about. What the hell was it doing here, anyway?" "Trying to kill me," Anya said, looking up from her attempts to straighten the room. "And demons do exist, Terry." "Wh - how do you know demons exist?" he demanded. "Because I used to be one." She turned back and picked up the pieces of a chair that would work only as firewood in its current state. Terry dropped his glass. "You what?" he demanded. "Bloody hell," James added with feeling. "I. Was. A. Demon," Anya said clearly. "A vengeance demon, to be precise. I granted wishes to scorned women." She dropped the chair and ran over to pick up the shattered glass and wipe up the whiskey. "And you're making an even bigger mess!" "I think I need to sit down," Terry said in a dazed voice. James looked around the ruined room. "There's nowhere to sit," he said. "The floor will do." Terry slid down the wall until his backside hit the aforementioned floor. "This is not happening. I'm going to wake up in a minute, and my flat will be just fine." Anya shook her head. "He's in denial. I've read about it." "What are we going to do with him?" James asked. "He can't stay here with the door off its hinges. I'd better call in the workmen, I suppose." He pulled out his mobile phone and began making calls. Anya found Terry another glass, filled it with whiskey, and handed it to him. The only response he gave was to drink it in one gulp. She was still cleaning and James was still phoning repairmen when Buffy and Giles got back. One look at Terry was enough to make Buffy grimace. "I don't think he's taking it very well," she said quietly to Giles. "He always was pretty inflexible. Once he got an idea in his head, that was it." "We need to take him somewhere else." "Yes, I think that might be best." James came over to his brother. "Right," he said. "I've called the cleaners, the builders, an interior designer, Gary, Patrick, and the Savoy Grill." "The Savoy Grill?" Giles asked in bewilderment. "What on Earth did you call them for?" "Well, we have to eat somewhere." * * * * * Patrick put up his phone and turned to his companion. "Well, it would seem there's been a change in plans," he said. "We're dining at the Savoy." "The Savoy? That's sort of a fancy place, isn't it?" "We'll go back and get cleaned up first, of course," he assured her. Cordelia smoothed her hands down her jean-clad legs and managed a weak smile. "Of course," she said. Patrick looked at her sharply. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Nothing, nothing," she said. "It's great." "Then why doesn't it sound great?" Cordelia sighed. "It's stupid, really." "Let me be the judge of that." For a moment she considered lying and saying she didn't feel well or making up a story about some disaster at the Savoy that had resolved her never to go there again. In the end, though, she told the truth. "Well, it's just... I don't have anything to wear someplace like that." "Is that all?" Patrick scoffed. "That's easily taken care of." He conferred with the driver, then turned back to her. "We've plenty of time to do a bit of shopping." "But I don't have any money." "Never mind that. I'll pay." "I couldn't ask you to do that." "You didn't," he pointed out. "I offered. I'd like to see you beautifully dressed and I have the means to make it happen. And you can't eat at the Savoy in jeans." Cordelia bit her lip and looked out the window. "I probably can't ever pay you back," she said at last. "Not that I don't want to take you up on it, but I don't have any money, and I can't take something like that as a present." "Then consider it repayment." "Repayment? For what?" "For a bit of good advice, and for helping me do something I ought to have done long ago." "So this is about cleaning out your mom's room? Which I still haven't done." "Partly," he said. "What's the rest?" He shook his head and smiled like the Mona Lisa. "That, I may tell you one day, but not today." * * * * * "Fuck!" Gary exclaimed as he walked through Terry's open doorway half an hour later. "What the hell happened here?" "It's a bit of a long story," James began. "I'm not quite sure where to begin." "I know where to begin," Terry retorted. "Some... some maniac in a Halloween mask knocked my door down and tried to kill Anya and me. We scared him off with golf clubs, but now look at the place!" "All this damage was done with golf clubs?" Gary snorted. "No wonder he buggered off." He looked again at the mess. "Do you think your insurance will cover this?" Terry made a strangled sound and slumped down the wall again. "Oh great," Anya fussed. "We'd just gotten him standing." "Come on, Terry," Buffy tried to cajole him, "it's gonna be okay. A couple carpenters, a little paint, and it'll be as good as new. Just think of all the shopping you can do." A glimmer of hope appeared in his eye. Buffy couldn't help smiling. She'd had the feeling he was a retail junkie. "Well you can't stay here while the workmen are at it," Gary said. "You can stay with Cheryl and me. She'll be thrilled to have you for a few days." "Cheryl hates me," Terry muttered. "She doesn't hate you. She just... well, you know what she's like. She likes to wind people up a bit. Anyway, we just redecorated the guest room and she can't wait to have someone stay there." "It sounds like a great idea," Buffy encouraged him. "Besides," Anya said helpfully, "you have to stay somewhere." "Go on, Terry," James added. Giles decided it was time to step in. "Look, why don't we go to dinner and give Terry a chance to get his bearings before we push him too much? This has been a nasty shock." "Um... maybe before we go eat, I could go clean up?" Buffy suggested. "I got a little grimy cleaning up after that... intruder." "Fine," Gary said. "I've got a key to Patrick's, so I'll take you girls there to get primped up, and you lads can go to James' and we'll meet you at the restaurant. What time are the reservations?" "An hour from now," James informed them. "I wanted to make sure we had a chance to dress and find Patrick." Gary led the girls out to his car, while Giles and James supported Terry between them. They shoved him into the back of James' car and headed back to the flat. * * * * * An hour later, Giles, James and Terry stood at the entrance to the Savoy awaiting the arrival of their party. Terry checked his watch and sighed. "Oh do stop that, Terry," Giles said impatiently. "They'll be here." "They're late. I don't want to lose our reservation." "If we lose the reservation, there are plenty of other restaurants in London. I have no doubt we can still get a decent meal elsewhere. We could even just have a take-away curry." The other two looked at Giles as if he'd suggested they dig in rubbish bins for their dinner. In their horror, they never noticed the way he was carefully controlling his lips to keep from smiling. A moment later, his eyes lit up as he looked down the street. Buffy, Willow and Anya had just emerged from Gary's SUV. When Buffy smiled at him, he barely stopped himself from running to her. He settled for strolling casually in her direction, hands in his pockets. "You're late," he accused mildly. "Will had a fashion crisis," Buffy explained. "She didn't think anything she brought was fancy enough - not that Anya and I were any better prepared, but I loaned her a blouse and some shoes, and Anya had a nice scarf, and voila! 'Fashion plate Willow'." "Willow is wearing your shoes?" "We wear the same size. Why, did you want to borrow them? I don't think they'd fit more than your big toe." "That's perfectly all right," Giles said with a grin. "I prefer a slightly more classic pump, anyway." "We still have to talk, y'know," Buffy said. "After dinner? We could take a walk." "After dinner," he agreed. "I promise." "Cordy's not here yet, is she?" "Not yet." "Great," she grumbled. "I'm hungry." "So long as you don't nibble on my shoulder." "I was thinking more your ear, but I'll take what I can reach at this point," she returned dryly. "You're suddenly being all flirty. What's up with that?" By this time, the others had all reached the door and stood waiting impatiently. "Come on, then," Terry called. "I don't think Patrick's coming. Let's go in." Giles turned on his heel and walked back to the group. Buffy gave a frustrated snort and followed grimly behind. "Hey! Wait up!" Everybody turned to see who had spoken. "Cordelia?" Willow choked out. "Wow!" Anya added. "That must have been very expensive." James, Gary and Terry gulped. Buffy's eyes narrowed slightly. Giles gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Not a candle on you," he whispered in her ear. She looked up at him, half startled, half deeply grateful. "You like?" Cordelia asked as she twirled, her arms akimbo, a huge grin on her face. She was a vision in violet velvet and silk. "It's an Armando De Guerro." Terry shot a miffed glare at Patrick, then recovered. "Yes, it's very nice, I'm sure," he said grudgingly, "but it's made us late. Come on, let's get inside before they give our table away." * * * * * After dinner, Buffy and Giles excused themselves to take their walk. "So, Giles," she said as they sauntered along the pavement, "any vamps in London? Should I be on the lookout while we talk?" "Not many," he replied. "At least, not simply walking the streets in this part of town. They tend to stick to nightclubs and Whitechapel. There are a few upscale ones in the better parts of town, but they aren't inclined to hunt here." "Too swanky?" "The police and the press tend to get involved when someone rich or important is violently attacked. They don't waste too much time on drifters and prostitutes. Vampires generally prefer to stay low profile, as it were." "Either that, or they're totally into the 'look at me' vibe. Dracula was such a publicity hound. It was pathetic." "But he only courted notoriety among those already aware of vampires," Giles said. "He played to a limited audience." They walked in silence for a few yards, both keeping their hands in their pockets and their eyes straight ahead. At last, Buffy made a small, frustrated sound. "This is ridiculous," she said. "We said we were going to talk, and we're not saying anything. And when we are, we're talking about vampires. I don't want to talk about vampires. I want to talk about us." "All right, then, let's talk," Giles said. "Ladies first." He leaned against a building and faced her with a blank expression that told her precisely nothing. "See," she snorted. "This is what I'm talking about. When we're just talking, you flirt and you say stuff and you almost let me in. When we're talking - really talking - you don't say anything. You won't let me anywhere near you. Why is that?" "What do you want me to say, Buffy?" "Anything! Something! Tell me what's going on in your head. I'm not a mind reader, y'know. In fact, I'm 'clueless girl' who couldn't even tell her boyfriend was sneaking out on her to get sucked off by vamphookers until Spike decided to play show and tell. I'm the one who didn't have a clue you'd desert me until you were waving airplane tickets in my face and saying 'too bad, Buffy. Time for you to just deal 'cause I don't feel like watching your little breakdown'. And this whole Jekyll/Hyde thing you've got going on? So not attractive. Do you want me to just go away? Is that what you really want?" Giles pushed off the wall and began to walk quickly down the street. After a stunned moment, Buffy followed him. She almost had to run to keep up with him. When she reached him, she grabbed his arm and forced him to stop and face her. "What the hell was that?" she demanded. "Why do you keep running away? Am I that awful? Is it that bad to think I might want to be with you?" "Did it never occur to you, Buffy," he asked in a clipped