"F*ck!"

A tousled head appeared a moment later and looked around sheepishly before a hand emerged and rubbed the grease-stained bump on one temple. The other hand appeared a moment later, holding something, in an even greasier rag, up to the light where he could get a good look at it.

A moment later a large splotch of hydraulic fluid hit him right across the bridge of the nose.

"Argh! Bloody thing!" he muttered.

"Evil car parts...should I get a stake?" An amused voice asked.

Giles rolled his eyes at the inevitable timing, then used his feet to push the mechanic's trolley he was lying on, out from under the BMW.

Buffy's eyes went a little wider and her mouth forgot to close. It was a warm California summer's day, and Giles must have been working on his car for some time because, apart from the streaks of grease and dust, he was glistening with sweat...lots of sweat...on lots of skin, which was rippling in the most...interesting...way in the light, as he got to his feet.

She finally closed her mouth to swallow. The jeans he was wearing were very old. A knee was ripped, and they were very faded and worn, some areas more than others. They were also tight, Buffy guessing that he'd had them since he was about half a size lighter than he was now.

"You..." she squeaked. "You left your glasses under the car."

Giles fixed a brilliant green gaze on her then cocked his mussed head to one side. "What makes you think that? They're on the dashboard," he gestured.

"Oh," she said lamely, and focused valiantly on the item in his hand. "You broke your car...?"

"What?" He looked down. "Oh, this? Not exactly; I discovered a leak in the power-steering..."

"Which...required punishing the power steering...?" she guessed.

He scowled in that exasperated way of his. "This is an actuating piston. I couldn't see any reason for the leak while I was under the car, so I brought it out into the light to see if I could find anything amiss."

"And is there...anything amiss? I-I mean, I never thought of you as the y'know, car-fixy type. You're more like the 'shake your head and call the garage' type."

He shook his head and started cleaning the part with the rag, which Buffy reckoned was a tad redundant, given the amount of grease already on the cloth.

"I'll have you know I've been fixing...in one sense or another...cars since I was sixteen. Don't assume you know a person when you've never been the least bit interested in anything about them."

"Hey," she objected, momentarily stung. "That's not true. I was always interested in...in what you were doing...a-about research...weapons...stakes, with the whittling...um, whether your head was better or not...I even worried about you at Christmas once... a-and sometimes I think about you jogging...sort of...with motorcycle magazines ...which..." She paused, dazed.

Almost as dazed as Giles. Something was agitating his Slayer in the extreme.

"Is there anything wrong, Buffy? You seem...out of sorts." He stepped a little closer, so that Buffy could smell the faint male scent of him mixed with the remnants of the subtle cologne he always wore and the ever-nasty smell of the underside of cars.

"I'm fine," she said a little too quickly, watching a trickle of sweat track from the point of his throat down through his chest hair, then slow down even more before gradually wending its way down to the faint line of hair leading to his navel. "I-I just came over to-to...what did I come over for?"

"I believe you're telling this story," he drawled.

"Oh..." She frowned, trying hard to focus. " I...ah...oh yeah...I came to ask you if we could skip training tonight. Dawn wants me to stay in, so..."

"She's all right?"

"Oh...oh yeah. It's just, kinda, a little Slayer-sister bonding thing."

"Well, as long as there are no Fraternity houses involved," he deadpanned.

It took Buffy a moment then she grinned widely. "No snake demons, no Frat Boys. Just Mexican and chocolate ice-cream and old movies, I promise."

"Ah," he said, but it was clear they were both remembering better times. "In that case I should leave you to it and get on with tackling this job."

Buffy watched him half turn, enjoying the view, and the way the muscles in his back flexed as he twisted at the waist.

"Um...you know, if you don't have anything to do tonight, after you've finished punishing the car, there'll be enough tacos and burritos...we'll even throw in a gordita or two...and double chocolate, chocolate-chip ice cream...Dawn even got hot fudge sauce to go with..." Her voice trailed off as in her mind's eye another trickle of sweat became a trickle of chocolate sauce as it wended its way south. She cleared her throat, unaware that her cheeks were glowing like stoplights. "So...?"

Giles looked up from studying the now relatively cleaned part. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the damned thing...hmm? Oh, yes, sorry. Mexican? Well, I am rather partial to those chalupa things...but won't I spoil your um...bonding?"

"Nah," Buffy grinned. "We can all bond together...there hasn't actually been much Watcher/Slayer bonding of late, either." Giles raised an eyebrow. "Okay, so not much of early, either... but that's about to change, right?"

He smiled. "All right. What time? I have to put this thing back and get cleaned up..."

Buffy's face dropped involuntarily. Somehow, the thought of Giles all spic and span again, hidden behind his glasses and his business clothes and his closer-than-close shaving, and... She sighed.

"How about seven? I don't think Dawn can hang out much longer than that. I don't know where all the food goes...but boy is that kid like Xander in a skirt..." Her face screwed up. "Did I really say that...? Forget I said that."

"Already done," he said pointedly, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans, accentuating how tight the denim was.

"Uh...and...uh...make it casual," she managed. "We like to veg on these kinda nights...so no suits, no ties...just...well...jeans are good." The last ended almost in a squeak but Giles didn't seem notice.

"Yes, fine. See you at seven then," he told her affably, a thousand-watt grin flashing in his grimy, unshaven face, then wiped his glistening brow with an equally glistening arm before turning and bending over to pull the trolley out a little further.

Buffy stopped breathing momentarily and just gaped at the perfectly shaped rear straining against denim that looked like it might split artfully at any moment, but didn't, much to her disappointment.

"S-seven..." She eventually managed, and moved off on autopilot, heading not toward Revello drive, but in the opposite direction. She'd gone several metres before she realised, about faced and hurried back in the other direction.

Once she was well past, Giles finally turned and watched her receding back, chuckling to himself.

"Round one to me," he smiled.

Giles walked across the lawn carrying a grocery sack and a bottle of wine. He was pleased that the BMW didn't seem to be leaking transmission fluid any more, but less than confident about his choice of attire for the evening, despite earlier events.

He'd never seen Buffy so disconcerted before and he'd enjoyed it immensely. Normally even if he'd had another head growing out of his chest, she'd wouldn't have noticed, always having been too preoccupied with such profundities of life as her next date, or her last one, or... He sighed. That wasn't entirely fair. Much of the last five years had been spent preoccupied equally by the omnipresent question of her mortality, the chaos of her life, and the welcome distraction...for her...of such normalities as boyfriends, fashions...even college. He knew that the impending fight with Glory was weighing more heavily on her than perhaps any other threat ever had, and that they both had an ominous sense of foreboding about the consequences of having the arrogance to believe they might be able to defeat a god.

The door opened just as he reached it.

"Great, now we can eat," Dawn grinned, stepping back to let him in, and watching his back as he passed. "Wow, Giles. New look? Not bad. What's in the bag?" she asked as she fell in beside him again.

"Thank you. And wait and see," he grinned as they headed into the kitchen. "Where's your sister?"

Dawn hovered while Giles put his bottle in the refrigerator. "Upstairs. She's been up there for an hour. I can't even go to the bathroom."

He turned, eyebrow raised. "Are you sure she's all right? That she's still actually in-?"

"Oh yeah, she's fine, just the usual Buffy. She just told me to hold it if I expect to get any ice cream. And she did say I could choose the first movie if I shut up about it."

Dawn's eyes narrowed as Giles turned slightly to get a mug from the cupboard and a silver hoop in his left ear caught the light.

"Something going on that I don't know about?" She asked, with the tactlessness of youth.

Giles straightened unaware of any undercurrents. "Um, no. Should there be?"

"I guess not, but Buffy's upstairs locked in the bathroom, and you're all..." She spread her hands and gestured at his clothes and the earring.

He turned to the sink and filled the kettle. "I'm all what?"

"You're all anti-Giles. What's with? I mean, okay with the suits and the old-guy sweaters..."

He continued to make his tea, faint amusement in his expression. "You've seen me in jeans before, Dawn."

She ran her eyes over the black jeans and open-necked grey designer shirt, earring and lack of glasses. "Yeah, but you didn't get those 501s from K-mart."

"There's something wrong with the way I look?"

"Yeah, it's scary."

He finally looked up from the tea. "Scary?"

She shrugged. "How good you look. There should be a law. Anyone over thirty-five shouldn't be allowed to look that good in anything. It's unnatural."

Giles' eyes danced, but he maintained his sober expression. "So you don't like the clothes? I rather like them, myself. Been too damned long, really."

Dawn's eyes widened. "This isn't...?"

He shook his head. "No, these aren't new, love. I just haven't had any reason to wear them for a very, very long time."

She sobered at the almost sad note in his voice. "You mean...because of us?"

Giles almost smiled then. Typical Summers woman. They all surprised him, not least this child who in the midst of a typical, annoying adolescence, could sometimes suddenly, for just a few moments, become wise beyond her years...

"Not exactly. Let's just say one generally reflects one's environment. Would you have had me work in the library or store, mooch around the flat, or go to business meetings dressed like this?"

She giggled. "Well, Snyder would have been way jealous and probably fired your butt...but Anya would've appreciated the view. Might have been a little restrictive for training with Buffy though...still, you could always take the shirt off, I guess."

Giles smirked at something over her shoulder.

Dawn turned. Buffy was standing in the doorway, looking very lovely but rather overdressed for what she termed a 'veg' night, it had to be said. She was also doing her guppy impression again, seemingly rather struck by what she'd just overheard.

He looked directly at her. "Perhaps, though I'm not sure your sister would approve."

Buffy stared back until she found her voice. "We-e-ll, it wouldn't very...uh...safe. The, uh, distraction I mean, no, I mean, the nak...the lack of protection...I mean, you could, um, get hurt...or-or..."

Dawn turned around to stare incredulously at her sister. Buffy's cheeks were flaming and she sounded like her...Dawn...at her last school dance, trying to sound cool in front of a guy she really... Her eyes went very wide again and she turned back to Giles, who was doing that thing that really hot, older movie stars do in the movies...the casual, but amused, totally together look, while he sipped his tea. At that point she decided she was probably going to be scarred for life, whatever happened next...

Giles quirked an eyebrow. "In that case perhaps I should stay with my unattractive but terribly protective sweats: the ones with the sword slash across the chest, the bloodstain on the right shoulder from that time you caught my brow with the quarterstaff, and the almost worn out knees from the number of times I've ended up spreadeagled on the floor..." He suggested, and took another draught of the tea.

Buffy nodded numbly. "M-might be a plan. W-whatever happened to those pads you used to use at school?"

Again, he looked directly at her, that sea-coloured gaze, unobstructed by glasses, making her internally squirm on the spot. "I was just as bruised with them, as without them. They seem to encourage you to carelessness, probably because you thought I wouldn't be hurt if I wore them...so I got rid of them."

"Oh," she said quietly, realizing how very right he was about those days. He looked so safe, and so dorky, in all that padding that it didn't occur to her that with her strength she could still hurt him while she was making fun of him... Or at least, of the stuffy Watcher part of him, she told herself unconvincingly.

At that point Giles decided to create a diversion, burrowing into the sack he'd brought, and withdrawing a very large box of popular chocolate candies for Dawn and a small ivory box with a clear lid, for Buffy. It contained a single, beautifully sculpted, half-open chocolate rose. It was almost too pretty to ever eat.

Bubbling at the selection she would have all to herself for once, Dawn finally looked up and saw what Buffy was holding and the look on her sister's face. She blinked. The earth had definitely tilted on its axis...or she'd fallen into another dimension...or Willow had cast another spell...or *something*.

She looked from one to the other, Buffy staring at her gift and Giles looking...well, how about: smug, and maybe a little worried...and what...? She rolled her eyes. <Oh, *so* don't go there...>

"Wow, thanks Giles," she announced far too perkily. "I'm just going to the bathroom now, and then I'm going into the living room to eat my candy and pretend that I'm back in my own dimension where all I have to worry about is evil and homework." She frowned, though not because no one was taking any notice of her ...because, well, that was no surprise. "Make that just evil. Homework is way more evil than stupid demons or snake monsters or bimbo gods," she babbled over her shoulder as she vanished.

"It's...it's so pretty." Buffy looked up slowly.

Giles smiled. "But quite edible."

She shook her head. "It's too...no, I couldn't." She seemed to pull herself together then. "Will you drive me to get dinner...I'm guessing the Tramp is operational again?"

"Tramp...? Oh, yes. Quite. Something must have worked loose. Since I've cleaned it all up and tightened everything, it's been fine."

"Cool. I'll tell Dawn and get my purse, and meet you at the front door."

Giles watched her go, her colour high, tension in her shoulders. He smiled again, and headed for the front door.

"Have you reconsidered getting a license? It would seem a logical thing to do, since you have the Jeep, which is costing you money to keep registered and insured, and you have responsibilities..."

"I already have a license. I'm just not sure why they gave it to me. Buffy and cars: still majorly unmixy things."

"I should think you'd make a fine driver, with your reflexes." Giles pulled the BMW over to the side of the road. "Why don't you drive? You're quite used to the night...and I'll be right here with you. Just remember to stay focused and don't let yourself get flustered."

"I'm so gonna get you for this," she muttered, opening her door, nonetheless.

Giles smiled to himself as she put the vehicle in gear and slid back out effortlessly into the traffic.

"No radio," he murmured when her hand snaked out toward it. "Focus."

"Focus," she muttered as she indicated and turned. "I haven't driven seriously in how long...? And now I'm supposed to not only drive this thing, but park it as well."

"If you can't park a car you shouldn't have been issued a license."

"I didn't say I couldn't. That was a hint that I'm more than a little rusty, not to mention that I'm driving someone else's expensive car...so not scratching, denting, folding, spindling or mutilating is going to be even more important than if I was in the Jeep."

"You're doing fine, Buffy. Automatic transmissions appear to suit you. You should perhaps consider adjusting the mirrors at some point, though."

End part 1