"I'm going to call Xander now. Make sure everything is all right. He better have that bloody phone turned on this time. I didn't buy it for them to leave it switched off all the time," he muttered, still without looking at her.

Buffy's insides were in turmoil. She knew that she'd handled things badly again, but she was utterly at sea as to what to do about it. In the past it had been so much easier to simply rationalize it away: can't worry about personal stuff when I've gotta worry about staying alive and Slayage and regularly-scheduled world saving. Later...always later...but later mostly never came.

She watched him sit down in his armchair with the phone, cursing when he punched in the wrong numbers, probably because he hadn't put his glasses back on, then trying again. For the first time in a long time she really looked at him. He had changed...a lot. He'd gotten a little greyer, and there were more of the cute laughter lines at the corners of his eyes, but he'd also gotten leaner and fitter and kind of tanned. She let her eyes roam over his whole person. His clothes had changed and he wore his hair in a spikier, much more sexy style. Sexy? She wrinkled her nose. Where had that come from? Nevertheless, she noted, she had managed not to notice that the person she trusted most in the world had almost completely changed in the last few years, right under her nose...mostly.

He tilted his head to the side when he'd apparently gotten through, the beaten silver band in his ear glinting in the filtered sunlight coming through the living room window.

And there was that. She'd only ever seen it once before, and there had been pain and hurting then too. She remembered the brief moment in which she pondered why he'd apparently stopped wearing it when he came to Sunnydale, and how quickly she'd completely forgotten about it. So many things, as always...Riley, Angel, her probable impending death at Adam's meaty hand, the scariness of the ease with which Spike had turned them all...even him...against her. She shook her head, and went back to her study of this man who'd been so much a part of her life...and her psyche...for so long.

He laughed suddenly, his whole face changing, taking years off and making the word 'adorable' spring to mind. Buffy almost knocked the clean teacups over. Giles was *not* adorable. Authority figures like Teachers, Librarians, Watchers, whatever... were *not* adorable. Travers was not adorable. Snyder was most definitely *not* adorable. Her mouth formed into an unconscious pout. But Robin most definitely *was* utterly adorable...and sexy. She did knock a teaspoon off the counter at that point. There was that word again.

She banged the tea caddy on the counter and prised the lid off before looking up again when there was another shout of laughter from the living room. He was talking animatedly and gesturing with his free hand. She watched the fingers flicking around and wondered just how much he'd suffered while she'd screwed around dealing with her mother and Spike and everything else instead of rushing to his rescue that day.

Then he sat back, lifting his face up, tenderness lighting it, because, she guessed, he was now talking to Dawn. *Utterly adorable...and sexy...*

"Tea," she exclaimed aloud. "Making tea. Just tea."

*******

Several days passed without any further conversations about her nightmares or her stupidity. Giles seemed to go out of his way to normalize things, to keep everything uncomplicated. And the more he did the more irritable and restless she became.

"Don't you have anything except old sweaters in that closet of yours?" she growled as he came downstairs to go to town for groceries.

He looked down at the old grey sweater in surprise. "Actually I have several expensive, tailored suits, a number old tweed jackets and a large selection of shirts, some of which will never see the light of day again," he said huffily. I happen to like this jump...sweater. It's old and comfortable...like me."

"You're not old," Buffy growled, irritation evident in her voice, "and you shouldn't dress like you are all the time."

Giles' eyes widened in surprise.

"Do something for me. Go put on a shirt like you're going on a date instead of picking up Weetabix and toilet paper."

"What?"

She looked up at him, blinked then returned his bemused gaze with an intense grey-green stare. "You heard me. Make yourself gorgeous. Take your time. I'm going to change. You're taking me out to lunch."

He stood there, dazed, on the stairs as she flashed past him on her way back up to her room.

"Bloody hell," he said under his breath and finally got his feet to move.

She managed to make herself pretty in record time. Instead of plain blue jeans, sneakers and the roll-neck sweater she was originally going to wear, she'd changed into a pretty blue dress she'd bought in Los Angeles before they flew out. It had never been worn. She wore her new soft camel coat over it against the cold then went downstairs expecting to be able to wait for him at the bottom. Instead she found him standing by the front door.

Buffy looked him up and down, from head to toe. He'd taken her at her word. He looked mildly pissed, if anything, but she guessed he'd gone out of his way to *show* her, since she'd pushed his buttons about the age thing. Her breath caught when he looked up.

He'd spent time on the new hair, changed the earring for another, elegant hoop, and the shabby easy-fit blue jeans for tailored black ones, the sweater for a collared black shirt she'd never seen before, opened two buttons down at the throat. It wasn't the clothes. It was what they allowed her to see: all that the familiarity of the old, shabby things had hidden away for so long.

"You're not old," she repeated, wonderingly, her mind for some reason making comparisons with Robin and startling her by deciding that if she could choose she would pick...Giles. Every time.

"And you're as lovely as ever," he managed, staring at the hair falling around her shoulders, the perfectly made up face and mouth, the pretty, frivolous dress... something he hadn't seen on Buffy in a very long time: frivolity.

"Flatterer." Her smile was spontaneous and radiant. "You did good work yourself. I can't believe I've never seen this side of you. Obviously someone has, so why not me?"

"Does the word 'eiwww' ring any bells?" he drawled, his face once again becoming all planes and angles.

She went crimson. "Ouch. Well there's no 'eiww' here. There's 'oooh!' and 'wow' and *my God, Giles has a secret identity* but no 'eiww'."

He made his familiar *yeah, right* face. "Something to be grateful for then, I suppose," he said, turning to open the door and dropping his glasses as he did so.

Buffy watched the shirt pull over his wide back as he bent at the waist to retrieve them, then swallowed when she realized she was checking out Giles' butt...and that it was a tight, curved, sexy size thirty-four. Her face flamed as she came the rest of the way downstairs and followed him out the door.

As he handed her into the four-wheel drive Rover he used while in England, he frowned. "Buffy are you quite well? You look a little feverish."

Buffy, who was still trying to deal with her earlier reaction and the fact that in the space of an hour her whole life had turned upside down...not to mention her cookie dough wondering what had hit it, did not look back at him, afraid that he would see in her eyes what was going through her tiny mind right then.

"I-I'm fine, Giles," she managed. "I just...I was thinking about stuff," she improvised, for some reason unwilling to lie to him but damned sure she wasn't going to tell him that she'd been ogling his behind...or that she hadn't hated the feel of his fingers holding her elbow gallantly...and unnecessarily it had to be said...as she'd climbed into the four-wheel drive.

As the vehicle wound its way along the country road, Buffy found herself noticing other things, like the subtle scent of him, so familiar and yet until now, not really a part of her consciousness, the way his thighs were straining the denim of the jeans and the way he could do silence so very well. She sneaked a look at his profile. It was an interesting face, but a handsome one. She liked the way his hair was long enough to brush his collar and curl around the back of his ears, but not long enough to be scruffy and she liked that sort of semi-spike he seemed to wear the top of it in these days. He looked, she decided, being totally honest with herself for once, like a weathered thirty-five. For the first time she wondered why he'd never bothered with contacts. He was too good looking to hide behind any old glasses, and yet that was pretty much what he'd been doing for the whole time she'd known him.

"Did you ever try contacts?"

Giles was mildly startled by the question. It took him a moment to gather his wits and answer over the noise of the car.

"When I was younger I only needed the glasses for an astigmatism. Now I have bifocals, for that and for reading...old age and all that. I don't need the glasses to actually see when I'm not doing close work, or at the cinema, or needing to see distances clearly."

"Then why do you wear them so much?"

"I don't...really," he replied, surprising her. "You've never really bothered to spend any time with me that didn't involve research or training of some kind. And I needed them in the library for obvious reasons and in the shop to read labels and such. If you had spent much, if any, of your free time with me you would have noticed that I most certainly don't wear them all the time."

"Oh," Buffy said meekly, starting to remember times, especially after she graduated, that she would go to the apartment, granted, usually to fill him in about some new demon or to research one. He was right. Most times unless he was reading, he wasn't wearing glasses...they just invariably went straight back on when the books came out. She simply hadn't cared enough to notice. She slumped in her seat and remained silent for the rest of the journey.

They emerged from the supermarket arguing over American versus British breakfast cereal. Giles was being disparaging about the amount of sugar in American food, and pointing out that candy in breakfast food was just a travesty and no wonder so many Americans, and their kids, were overweight. Then he'd looked her up and sighed. "And then there are the rest of you," he'd added.

The bickering turned to fashion and her figure and how being so underweight might affect her health, both then and in the longer term.

By the time they'd put their packages in the Rover and driven across town to the pub, Giles had decided to take her to for lunch, Buffy's colour was high and her eyes were flashing nearly as much as his. He was not pulling punches about the so called *stupidity* of what she was doing to her body and it was starting to hurt. The implication that she was too thin to be womanly...that it made her ugly...or, more precisely, that he thought she was ugly...hurt far more than she was going to let him see, and way more than it had a right to.

She was very quiet right up until Giles placed a designer beer in front of her at their table in the crowded tavern, and asked her if she'd noticed anything on the chalkboards that she wanted to eat. She rolled unhappy eyes up at him.

"Maybe I should have some of everything so I can get fat and not be ugly any more," she grumbled.

"Rubbish," he growled, and went to order.

When he came back, Buffy was working her way through her pint and not looking any happier.

"Buffy?"

When she didn't look up the word was repeated.

"*Buffy?*" She finally looked up. "There's no need to sulk. You know you're a beautiful woman whether fifty pounds or two hundred and fifty. It's not about whether you're attractive or not. It never has been. It's about the ugliness of what you're doing to yourself and the fact that I care about you..."

They were staring at each other when he felt silent, and continued to do so, neither sure what was in the air or why it was holding them almost frozen in the moment...

...Until it was shattered by the appearance of a young man about Xander's age, in jeans and a black, heavy-metal band, T-shirt. He was not unattractive, and obviously pretty pleased with himself.

"Saw you sitting here all by yourself," he said, trying with exaggerated care to appear sophisticated and 'cool.' "Wondered if your old man could spare you long enough to have a drink with me and the lads," he nodded toward a table with several other boys around the same age and one rather older, who was watching them, and Buffy in particular, in a way that set Giles' teeth on edge. He was already controlling himself beautifully after the 'old man' crack. He redoubled his efforts, trying to repress the urge to go over there and wipe the lust off the punk's pimply face...preferably *right after* flattening their visitor...

As Buffy said hello back and struck up an unlikely conversation with their visitor about his shirt and where she might buy some 'real music' in Bath, he paused to consider his reaction, which, considering the clenched fist on the table, was out of all proportion to the situation. They were nothing more than young louts.

He looked across at the other table and glared at the older boy until he backed down rather swiftly and concentrated on his beer. Giles smiled to himself, pleased with the victory but unaware just how dangerous he looked in that moment. He came back to reality to hear Buffy declining the interloper's invitation.

"I don't think my boyfriend would like it very much," she said cheekily and gave Giles the kind of look she usually reserved for Angel or one of her other paramours over the years.

*Oh dear Lord...*

"Boyfriend? Him? Only one reason someb'dy'd go out with an old man like that, darlin'. Got a lot of the ready to throw around, has...?" He lost all track of his thoughts when he caught Giles' eye.

'Dangerous' didn't begin to describe the older man's expression. He pulled a fiver from his wallet and shoved it at the boy. "Why don't you go and have a drink instead, and leave the lady alone?" he drawled, daggers dripping from every word.

A shiver went up Buffy's spine, then back down again. The green eyes were glittering, and somehow Giles made the flash of his still-white teeth seem more terrifying even than a vamp poised to bite.

The young man snatched the note and sneered as he made his getaway. "Creepy old bastard. You'll be doing schoolgirls next."

Buffy leaped up and caught Giles by the elbow as he lunged out of his chair toward the little git.

"Don't," she said under her breath, her eyes beseeching him not to get into a fight. A glimmer of amusement came into them as she looked from the sniggering, but obviously rattled, youths at the other table, then back to the fearsome look on Giles' face. "There's a better way than destroying the place, even though I know you could take them with your eyes closed." She reached up and touched his face with convincing intimacy. "Make it look good."

Giles looked down at her, startled enough to forget where they were for a moment. Then he made an effort to smile back at her as though she'd said something worthy of it, before saying through his teeth.

"It wouldn't be proper...or decent."

"Since when has Ripper ever been proper or decent?" she returned, playing with the chest hairs in the 'V' of his shirt.

Again Giles managed to look down at her with a possessiveness that would have convinced any other man to stay away, but Buffy could see the flustered panic deep in his eyes.

"C'mon, Giles," she prompted, aware that they still had an audience...then spoke no more, her breath completely taken away as an arm suddenly crushed her against his body and a warm mouth came down on hers.

At first she didn't know what to do, then she panicked...then she remembered the game and then...then she forgot everything.

It was some time before the kiss ended, Buffy's entire universe focused on nothing but 'smell, touch, feel' and the velvet of those lips. Only when they separated did she remember *who* she was kissing.

They looked at each other, both flushed, both equally overwhelmed and slightly startled, and they both smiled self-consciously at the same time.

Giles gathered himself enough to make a production out of seating her again and was about to sit himself when their number was called.

Buffy wasn't sure what Guinness pie was, but it smelled great. It probably tasted great, too, but all she could think about was that she'd kissed *Giles*. And that it wasn't gross, or weird or...it was great. Damn it, it was *incredible* and she wanted him to do it again...except that there wouldn't be any 'again'. What there would probably be would be a lecture...or worse: it would probably become one of those things 'never to be spoken of' again.

They ate in silence, finished their drinks then headed out of the pub, both so lost in reflection of the afternoon's events that they didn't notice that the other table was now deserted.

Outside, in the soft light of a mild British summer's day, both of them roused from their reverie.

"My God, sunlight!" Buffy teased. "We're out in the sun...both of us. It's just... wrong, and scary."

He chuckled in spite of himself. A part of him was still appalled at what he'd done, and worse, how much he wanted to do it again. It wasn't as if he'd ever made any bones about loving her. He'd just never considered that he might be *in* love with her. It wouldn't do. It couldn't. He was tool old, too damaged by things...too many of which she could never know about, and above all her heart still belonged to someone else. It was foolish to even be thinking...

"I suppose from now on you'll be able to live in the light, if you so choose," he managed to reply. "It isn't as though you're tied to Sunnydale anymore, and Faith and Wood have gone to guard the only other active Hellmouth in your country. Of course I could use your help with what's ahead: the new Council, the stupendous amount of work to be done to be able to offer all of your newly-created Slayers training and guidance, if they choose, and to find any ex-pat, retired, or former Watchers who are willing to return to help us...and the world...to set up a new order against the darkness."

"You sound like a recruiting video," she complained. "I just got my freedom and you're saying here's the harness...you know you want it. No fair, Giles. Anyway, I'm too skinny, I have no leadership skills and the sensitivity of a rock, remember? Do you really want me anywhere near them?"

"Oh, ha, ha, ha," he snorted as they approached the Rover, only to find themselves surrounded.

"You again," Buffy drawled when she recognised the twit from the pub.

"We figured you'd be ready for rescuing by now, love. You just step away from the old man, and we'll take care of 'im for you, right now."

"You?" She turned back to Giles, who was watching the situation warily, his Watcher training overriding his irritation at their insults. "Take on the Ripper and win? I had the distinct impression that you were all peeing your pants back in the bar...I mean, pub."

There were mutters of 'bitch' and 'cow' and the group moved forward. For a split second Buffy braced to fight, then she looked up at Giles again.

Ripper indeed... In the best performance of her life, she allowed herself to be dragged out of the circle and made herself watch from the sidelines as Giles took them apart one by one, entranced by the unexpected poetry in some of his movements, and the equally unexpected explosive animal savagery of others. That mixture, of so many elements that he'd taught her and some truly dirty street fighting, saw half the youths sprawled all over the pavement and road and the other half sprinting and limping down the street as fast they could go.

He finally turned, shirt torn open, gash and bruises across his chest, blood at the corner of his mouth, oozing nastily from a combination of a cut and a filthy graze imbedded in a rapidly-swelling bruise where he'd been hit. There was another cut on his temple, and another bruise right over his left eyebrow. He was lucky not to have a black eye to go with it.

For a moment Buffy was mesmerized by the heaving chest, the mussed hair, and the fire still in the green eyes, but quickly snapped out of it when he staggered a little.

She helped him to the car in silence, trying not to notice how much her body was reacting to the one leaning against her, to the arm around her shoulders. He insisted on driving, knowing what hers was like, but the silence persisted for several blocks before one of them finally spoke.

"Are you mad at me for not helping?" She asked quietly, wondering if she'd made the wrong choice yet again.

He put the indicator on and made a right turn before grunting when the slash and grazing across his chest pulled.

Unexpectedly, he grinned rather like a schoolboy. "I probably should be, but I must confess I enjoyed it far too much," he admitted ruefully. "Why didn't you?"

"Did you need me to?" She countered, for some reason vividly remembering the time she rescued Xander from Larry.

He smiled. "No."