They had been driving for two days, and this was the first time they'd stopped at a hotel.
Sunnydale was nothing more than a hole in the ground, dead and empty and harmless behind them, but its memory lingered like a ghost. There was an unpleasantness prickling at their backs, something that kept all the girls restless and on edge long after the adrenaline from the battle should have faded, but Giles did not need enhanced Slayer senses to feel it. His hands had clenched white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and he kept driving through the sunset, putting as much distance between the disaster site and their little group of survivors as he could.
The woman behind the check-in counter was sympathetic to their plight. The destruction of an entire town was the sort of news that travelled fast, and their bruised and battered appearance along with the SUNNYDALE lettering on their unusual mode of transportation was enough to convince her of the truth of their situation. The rooms she was able to offer were small but blessedly cheap.
Giles helped to hand out the key cards and then monitored as everyone unloaded their hastily packed bags from the bus and did their best to smuggle the assorted weaponry and medical supplies through the lobby without causing any undue alarm. When they made it into the hallways and elevators without any bystanders looking ready to call the police, Giles relaxed a little and began to drift back toward his own room.
Buffy intercepted him after only a few steps, catching at his wrist and tugging him back, directing him toward the opposite wing of the hotel. He blinked down at her. She was emptyhanded of all but her key card so had clearly been and gone to her room already without issue, but he complied with her silent request, falling into step beside her with a shrug. Buffy flipped her card between her fingers as she began to talk.
She was talking with him a lot these last few days, a startling contrast to the sharp, brisk exchanges that had made up most of their interactions lately. She sat behind him whenever he was driving the bus, leaning on the back of his seat and murmuring plans and thoughts and ideas to him. It was all short-term thinking, the kind of planning Buffy had always excelled at, the things that would get her and her fellow fighters through the current conflict alive.
They wouldn't be able to rely on such planning for much longer, and from the flicker of panic Giles sometimes saw flitting across her face, cutting through the more constant sorrow there, he suspected Buffy knew this as well.
Her current topic was whether or not they could convince Robin – woefully lacking in the accelerated healing that most of the other injured parties had suddenly found themselves in possession of – to stop and see an actual doctor. Giles rather doubted it, as Robin had already refused once to be left behind anywhere, even in the face of Faith's apparently sincere threat to knock him out cold and personally drag him to a hospital. Council rumor held that Nikki Wood had been a notoriously stubborn Slayer, so it was entirely unsurprising that her son would be much the same.
Buffy tapped her nails against the key card. "Maybe we should let Faith make good on her promise."
He laughed softly and shook his head. "I'm certain he doesn't need a concussion on top of everything else."
"You would know, I guess," she said, flashing him a brief smile. She had drifted a little closer as they walked, and her shoulder bumped lightly against his arm.
Giles glanced over at her. A few times, when she had been behind him on the bus, talking quietly into his ear, she had let her hand slide down the front of the seat until her fingers just brushed his back. It was a level of comfortable familiarity they'd had once before, but it had been gone so long he sometimes forgot to miss it. The reminders were almost agony.
Buffy stopped in front of her door and leaned her back against it. She looked up at Giles, and he waited her to say her goodnight and dismiss him.
She bit her lip, contemplative. "We should let everyone sleep in tomorrow," she said after a moment, her voice quiet. "Think they'll let us cheat on the check-out time a little?"
"Perhaps," he replied. "Though we may have to miss the continental breakfast."
Another flicker of a smile from her. "I just think they deserve a break. I mean, I think we all do." She turned around quickly to unlock her door and was facing him again before he could answer. Her heel held the door open behind her, and she raised her eyebrows slightly.
Giles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and nodded slowly. "It's been a difficult few weeks," he agreed softly.
Buffy leaned back against the door again, pushing it open a little wider. "Do you want to come in?" she asked, and something in the tone of her voice, the tilt of her head, made it impossible to mistake her meaning.
The refusal which should have been immediate, would have been if he were as good a man as he pretended to be, died before even reaching his throat. Instead he found himself rocking back on his heels and darting a glance down the hallway to see if any of their group was around to bear witness to this proposition. The receptionist had been able to find rooms for everyone, but they were all scattered throughout the hotel as a result, and he was not certain who else might be on this floor. He turned back and ducked his head, directing his response to the worn patch of carpet between them. "Buffy, I don't think…" he began uncertainly, before she cut him off by reaching out a hand and settling it low on his forearm.
"Giles," she said firmly, and waited until he pulled his gaze back up to meet hers. "Yes or no?"
There had been a weight in his chest for two years now, his heart sitting heavy like a stone. He lifted his hand, and hers slipped down over top of it. He curled his fingers beneath her palm and stroked his thumb across her knuckles. "All right," he breathed, a surrender.
She squeezed his hand and pulled him into the room, letting the door shut behind them with a very final click. She let him go, took a step back, and looked up at him, considering. There was a flicker of indecision across her face just beneath the bravado so recently displayed in the hallway, and Giles stayed very still until it either passed or she changed her mind.
He did not have to wait long. Her expression resolved, and she stepped in intimately close. She laid her hands on his chest, where his nervous heartbeat fluttered beneath her fingers. She rose up on her toes to kiss him, and he closed his eyes and leaned down to meet her partway. He placed his hands carefully on her hips, a tentative touch, but as she eased back just enough to sigh against his mouth, he found himself sliding his arms around her and quickly, desperately pulled her tight against him. He could feel her quickened breath and pulse, hear her small sound of protest at the sudden movement, and God, she was really still alive. He did not lose her again, not this time.
He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers, eyes still shut, still holding her as close as he could. Several long moments passed before she wriggled one of her hands free from where it was trapped between them and brought it to rest gently against the side of his face. "Giles?" she asked in a whisper.
He nodded without opening his eyes or drawing back. "All right," he said again, with more certainty now. He loved her so incredibly, more than he had ever loved anyone or anything else in his life, more than he likely ever would again. He loved her without definition or limitation, and so was willing to love her in any way she needed.
He loosened his grip on her just enough to shift his arms lower and lift her up. He was still worn and tired from their final battle, but she had always been so very slight, bearing all of her incredible strength and power in such a small form, that he had no trouble carrying her the short distance between the door and the bed. He set her there carefully at the edge, and Buffy quickly kicked off shoes and socks and started to push herself father back onto the mattress. He stopped her with a hand on her knee, saying, "No, stay right there for a moment."
She raised an eyebrow in silent question but obeyed, scooting forward again until her toes brushed the thin carpet.
Giles watched her for a moment, then slowly withdrew his hand and stepped away. He removed his glasses with clumsy fingers and was surprised to find his hands shaking. Nerves, he realized, rather than any sense of guilt or shame like he believed he should be feeling. Too long since he'd done this, with the chaotic nature of the last few years. Too long fearing and fighting and running, all for this: the world safe and his Slayer alive, offering him a moment of quiet trust and the chance to be the one to drive that haunted look from her eyes, at least for a few hours.
He set his glasses on the nightstand and shrugged out of his coat, which still smelled like the dust and smoke of Sunnydale no matter how he'd tried to air it out during the long drive, letting it drop to the floor behind him. After a brief hesitation, he stripped off his shirt and let it fall as well. From the corner of his eye, he could see Buffy watching him, leaning forward with blatant curiosity.
She had, of course, seen him in various states of undress over the years, but nearly always in the context of life or death, frantically pulling away torn and bloody clothing to find the injury underneath. Here, in the relative safety and calm following yet another averted apocalypse, she was letting her eyes travel over him with almost leisurely interest, taking notice where she never had before.
Flushing under her scrutiny, Giles shook his head and quickly turned to step back in front of her.
Buffy's expression shifted immediately, brow furrowing and mouth curving into a frown. She reached out and brushed her fingers across the mess of scar tissue on his left side. She had only seen that one once before, when it was still new and fresh and leaking too much blood onto her hands.
Giles let her trace the ragged edges of the old wound without looking down, tracking the subtle emotions that flitted across her face instead. They had both been certain he would die that day. Instead he had managed to live on, and he showed his gratitude for that miracle by smothering the life from the man who had saved him. So that Buffy would not have to.
Giles had been willing to die for the Slayer since long before he had ever met her. That was one of the basic foundations of his calling, something he felt deep in his bones and his blood. He had not, until that moment, known he would be so willing to kill for her.
He covered Buffy's hand with his own and lifted it away from the scars, bringing it up to kiss her fingertips, her palm, the inside of her wrist. He would kill again for her, easily, if it came to that. He wondered if the Council had seen that within him when they decided to fire him.
He released her hand and lowered himself, slowly and reverently, to his knees before her, so close she had to part her legs to accommodate him. He placed his hands gently on her thighs and her breath hitched at the contact. He paused, glancing up toward her face, but did not pull away. "All right?" he asked quietly, his thumbs tracing along the inner seams of her jeans.
"Yeah, fine," she said quickly, backing up the statement with an impatient nod. She stopped and took a slow, deep breath. Calmer, she nudged Giles' side with her foot and said, almost playfully, "Go on."
He offered a small smile and continued where he left off, hands sliding further up her thighs. He lifted the hem of her shirt out of the way, leaning in for a moment to brush his lips against the bare flesh exposed there just below her navel, and then swiftly moved to unfasten her button and zipper and hook his fingers in her waistband. Buffy lifted her hips without prompting, helped him tug her jeans and underwear both down her legs and to the floor. Her hands settled shakily over his shoulders as he ducked his head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her leg, close to the knee. Her head tipped back, and he could feel her muscles tense and tremble, near quaking under just these early touches.
He wondered, as he worked his way slowly up her thigh, if her shaking was also due to nerves, or if it was something different. He wondered if anyone else had ever done this for her. By Buffy's own admission, her relationship with Spike had been almost entirely about inflicting and receiving pain, and she never would have had the chance with Angel. Riley, perhaps, though something about the boy's particular insecurities made him doubt it was a common occurrence. It would have been some time either way. He would do his best to make up for any lack.
Buffy's hands climbed up his back and over his neck as he moved ever closer, and she settled them at the back of his head, gentle at first but soon gripping roughly at his hair, nails scraping across his scalp. She let out a sharp gasp when he finally reached his goal, leaning back against the mattress and propping her heels up on the bedframe for leverage as she bucked her hips, grinding up against his mouth.
Giles shifted with her movements, then slid his hand up her thigh to press down against her hip. He had no hope of holding her still if she did not want to be held, but he could perhaps encourage her to do so willingly. She made a frustrated noise and moved one hand away from his head to tangle in the sheets instead but otherwise obeyed the silent suggestion and kept still. That lasted for all of a moment before a flick of his tongue made her breath hitch again, and then she was slinging her legs over his shoulders, pulling him roughly closer and holding him there. Giles groaned against her, swiftly giving up on the slow and methodical approach and letting his hand slip back down between her legs to better comply with her urging.
She came quickly under his attentions, with a bitten-off cry and a painful tightening of her fingers in his hair. It was quicker than he expected from her, though he did not know much about that particular side effect of the Slayer powers. He supposed, if what little he had heard was true, that fighting a long and desperate battle and then being immediately cooped up in a small, crowded bus for two days could have that effect.
He sat back, Buffy's legs slipping easily from his shoulders, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, wondering if this was all she would want from him. He had a brief moment to tell himself that that was fine, that this was always about her anyway and he hadn't gone in expecting or even wanting reciprocation, before Buffy's hands were suddenly on him again, scrabbling urgently over his back and arms, pulling him up and onto the bed with her.
She gave him only seconds to get himself situated, propped up on his elbows over top of her and breathing hard, before she flung an arm around the back of his neck and dragged him down to her. Her teeth scraped against his bottom lip as he opened his mouth to her, and he closed his eyes and let himself fall into the fierce kiss. He shifted to lean on one arm and let his free hand roam over her body, drifting over her thigh and hip and pushing her shirt up, fingers prying under the edge of her bra. Buffy made a pleased noise deep in her throat and suddenly shoved him back, scrambling to sit up so she could quickly strip off the rest of her clothes.
That done, she immediately reached out to do the same for Giles before he could lean back in to her, grabbing the front of his trousers and yanking once, hard. He heard the sound of thread snapping and the clatter of the button pinging off the nightstand, and he shot her an irritated look – it wasn't as though any of them had an abundance of spare clothing right now. His annoyance was short-lived, however, because Buffy flashed him the same sheepish smile he had always given in to, and her hands were already slipping beneath his waistband, pushing it down over his hips. He groaned, eyes fluttering briefly shut, and moved to help her finish the task.
They were both moving faster now, more impatiently. He pressed her back down to the mattress and dipped his head, kissing along her neck to her shoulder, his tongue running over the place where the old bite scars, never given enough time to fully heal before, had finally faded to nothing this year. Buffy sucked in a sharp breath, as though the spot were still sensitive, and clutched at his back. She wrapped both legs around his waist and used her superior strength to urge him closer, and Giles was more than happy to go along with that. He grabbed roughly at her hip, glancing down and shifting her for a better angle.
And then he stopped. They were missing something very important, and now was really not the time to be taking that kind of risk.
He was tempted to dismiss the concern. The chances weren't very high, and Buffy clearly wasn't bothered by it, if the encouraging pressure of her ankles on his lower back was anything to go by. But he could not shake the worst case scenario from his head. The records were always extraordinarily vague, but Slayers falling pregnant had rarely ended well, and things now were uncertain enough already. He sighed and let his head drop.
"What's up?" Buffy asked, sounding breathless and impatiently irritated.
"We, ah…don't have any…"
She unwound her legs from him and sat up, nudging him back before he could finish. She leaned across to the nightstand and pulled a strip of condoms from the drawer, which she held up with a flourish and an ironic quirk of her lips. "Ta-da."
He raised an eyebrow in surprise as he took them from her. "You're prepared," he remarked mildly, unsure exactly what to take from that fact.
She shrugged. "Not really. I just snagged them out of Faith's pack while we were on the road."
"I'm sure she'll be pleased about that."
"Giles, we've got a bus full of teenagers all hopped up on new Slayer energy," she told him, shaking her head. "You and me are not gonna be the top suspects for condom theft."
That startled a short laugh out of him, and he wondered for a moment if he should be more worried about that before dismissing the idea entirely. Those girls had just willingly risked their lives to save the world; they hardly needed to be chaperoned. "Fair enough," he agreed, separating a condom from the strip and tearing open the foil. He had the brief thought Faith was rather more likely to approve than anything else if she discovered the missing items, no matter who the culprit was. Sex and petty theft in the wake of the apocalypse.
Buffy watched keenly as he rolled the condom on. She had leaned in to drape her arms over his shoulders, a nearly casual pose despite the anxious drumming of her fingers against his back, and as soon as he finished, she tightened her grip and hauled him back on top of her. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth again and guided one of his hands back down to her hip, encouraging him quite clearly to pick up where he left off.
He obliged her willingly, grasping at her thigh and entering her with one quick thrust. He clenched his eyes shut as Buffy broke off her brief kiss to tip her head back with a sharp gasp. The friction felt wonderful, but it was the sound of her pleasure voiced in his ear that nearly sent him over the edge prematurely. And she was as close physically as she had ever been with him, hooking her legs back over his hips and digging her nails into his back in an unconscious display of strength that came just shy of breaking the skin. He'd never envisioned anything like this for them, never dared allow himself to, but he had missed her so dearly these last two years, missed being close to her in any way at all, that he now struggled to think of anything he could desire more.
He buried his face into her neck, murmured her name against her skin like a prayer or desperate incantation, and Buffy moaned wordlessly in response, rolling her hips to meet his rhythm.
It lasted longer this time, though not by much. Buffy smothered the sounds of her orgasm against his shoulder, biting down hard enough to make him wince, and the soothing pressure of her tongue that followed sent him tipping over into his own climax soon after.
Giles felt his arms start to shake with effort, the weeks of exhaustion returning quickly as the excitement and urgency faded away. He let himself fall forward to rest against Buffy, still inside her, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him to her in a tight embrace.
She let him stay like that for a while as their breathing and heartbeats slowed to normal, her fingers tracing up and down his spine as she silently stared at the ceiling. The cooling of sweat on their bodies was eventually enough to make Giles shiver, and she unwound her arms from him then and gently nudged him aside. He rolled over to deal with the condom while Buffy pulled at the tightly tucked hotel sheets, and he slid in beside her once they had both finished with their tasks.
Now, he supposed, was when they would talk. That almost certainly should have happened before this – should have happened days or weeks ago, really – but he doubted real conversation between them could possibly be any harder to initiate now.
Of course, it wouldn't be any easier, either. He ran a hand down his face and considered how best to even begin.
Before he could manage to gather his thoughts, Buffy turned suddenly to face him, propping herself up on her elbow. "So, that's got to have happened before, right?" she asked, making a vague gesture between the two of them. "I mean, between other Slayers and Watchers? Unless we were breaking new ground there. That's always fun."
He smiled to himself, darkly amused. Trust Buffy to treat any situation with the proper gravitas. "Of course it's happened before," he answered with a sigh. "Slayers and Watchers both live incredibly isolated lives, and they're often each other's only real companion. It's to be expected some would take that further than others." And they now had the dubious honor of being a part of that category. He pushed the thought aside, continued, "It used to happen quite often, actually. It's become less common only over the last century or so."
"Why's that?"
"Well, changing social mores, for one thing," he said, relaxing as they fell into a more familiar pattern. Explaining anything in a calm and objective manner was firmer ground for him, no matter how atypical the subject. "You know Slayers rarely make it to their eighteenth birthdays, and Watchers tend to be…well, older. That's considerably less acceptable these days. The Council also reversed their opinion on the matter around that time, so it was frowned upon within the ranks as well."
Buffy's eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "You mean it wasn't always? I would've guessed that was rule number one with those guys."
Giles shook his head. "No, they used to all but encourage it. Believed anything that strengthened the bond between Watcher and Slayer made them a more effective team in the fight against evil." He paused thoughtfully. "I suppose it must have backfired on them a few too many times, too many pairs putting each other before the cause."
Buffy let herself fall on her back again, closing her eyes and letting out a short, startled laugh as the realization hit her. "That stupid test…" she muttered.
Giles smiled grimly up at the ceiling, feeling a strange sense of pride despite himself. Always so clever, his Slayer. "Yes, I believe so," he told her. "The Cruciamentum itself has existed for nearly as long as the Council has, but it was not always administered by the current Watcher. That was a fairly recent change, meant to sever whatever bond had been building, I suppose." He turned his head to face her and quietly added, "I hadn't known this at the time."
She waved a hand at him, dismissive and weary. "Didn't work," she mumbled, and he supposed that was true enough. He had felt closer to Buffy in those next few months than he ever had before he had lied to her and poisoned her. Strange how those things happened.
Besides, they'd done a fine enough job wrecking that relationship on their own over the last couple of years, hadn't needed any outside help at all. A talented pair, they were.
He turned away and closed his eyes. "What's happened to us?" he wondered aloud in a quiet murmur.
Buffy heaved out a sigh and did not answer.
Her silence continued long enough that Giles began to suspect she had fallen asleep. Not an ideal place to end the conversation, especially given the circumstances, but he was hardly going to push the matter. He was just beginning to drift off himself when she said, quite suddenly, "I really have missed you." He opened his eyes and glanced back over at her – not asleep, but staring blankly up at the ceiling. She dragged her hands down her face and shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh. "God, even when I was hating you, I missed you," she continued, voice muffled by her palms, "and I've been doing plenty of that lately."
He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that or if she even expected him to. Her words weren't surprising, but they still stung a bit to hear. "I've missed you, too," he said eventually, tentative.
Her hands dropped back to the bed, and her mouth twisted into a wry smile. "And hated me?"
"No," he answered without any hesitation. He'd been frustrated, disappointed, and hurt, but he never once hated her. "I'm not sure that's possible for me."
Buffy rolled onto her side to face him, frowning slightly. "Is that because you're my Watcher?" she asked.
Her use of the present tense gave his heart a little jolt of hope, but he pushed it down and forced himself to consider her question. That could be a part of it, certainly. He had known for some time that there was something otherworldly and undefinable to that bond that forms, something that gave the Council much less control over their Watchers than they cared to admit. But he also knew, just as surely, that there was more to it than that and he could not lay all the blame for his actions at the feet of some nebulous, mystical force connecting him to Buffy. "No," he said finally. "No, it's not that."
"Oh." Her voice was quiet, and she looked away from him for a moment, apparently considering his response quite deeply. Then she reached out suddenly, her hand finding his under the covers and giving it a squeeze. She met his eye and began to talk very fast. "Look, I know we're gonna need to have a serious talk about a lot of not so fun stuff from the last couple years, but could we maybe leave all that for a little while longer? I'm tired of hating and missing you, Giles. I just want you here with me again. And I'm talking long term, not just stopping by to see how the latest apocalypse is going." She paused for a breath, squeezed his hand again, and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Can we do that?"
He wanted to agree to her suggestion immediately, promise to stay by her side as long she wanted him there. Between the warmth of her hand and the hopeful curve of her smile, the words were already nearly out of his mouth, and he had bite down on his tongue to keep them in and force himself to think sensibly. It was unrealistic to pretend they could ignore even the last few weeks, let alone the last two years. Without even beginning to touch on the mess of lies and hurt feelings they still desperately needed to unravel, there were also other, more obvious concerns. Giles shook his head. "Buffy, there's so much to consider right now," he said. He rubbed at his chin with his free hand as he thought it all through. "That spell will have affected dozens, perhaps hundreds, of girls around the world, and we have a responsibility to all of them. The Council barely figured out how to find and support one Slayer at a time in their thousands of years of existence, and now most of their resources have been destroyed. And–"
"And there's a hellmouth in Cleveland," Buffy finished for him, smirking slightly and looking completely untroubled by his words.
He frowned at her. "Yes, there is," he continued. "It's never been very active before, but that could change quite quickly with the destruction of the one in Sunnydale. Those energies are always going to seek a way out. It's even possible an entirely new hellmouth could emerge instead, and we've no way of knowing when or where that might occur."
"So, slaying is a global business now," she said, still smiling. She hadn't let go of his hand, and her fingers were tracing ticklish patterns across his palm.
He squeezed her hand to stop the distracting motion. "Yes, essentially. We need to be thinking of…where everyone should go from here."
"I have been thinking about that," she told him. "A whole lot, actually. And I decided you should stay with me."
"Buffy…"
She reached out to touch his face, silencing him with two fingers over his lips. "Giles, listen," she said firmly. "Everything you just said is exactly why I need you here. You're good at the big picture stuff. I can plan a battle and lead the troops with the best of them, but after that?" She shrugged, letting her hand drop back down. "I still don't know how to be a peacetime general. I need help with that. I need you."
He could find ways to argue with her if he tried. He could perhaps even convince her that he would be more useful somewhere else, tracking down old Council contacts who had survived the First's attacks and might be willing to help in forging whatever new order they would be building here. But Buffy's reasoning was sound. She was the leader here. She had taken them all to hell and back, quite literally, and had lost startlingly few soldiers along the way. The new Slayers looked to her without question now, and in such an uncertain time, they needed that kind of stability. If Buffy believed Giles could help her maintain that, then he would not question her.
He hadn't ever truly wanted to leave her, not once. It never felt right, no matter how well he convinced himself it was for the best. Maybe now he could finally stop doubting that desire to be near her. He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, and he could feel the weight in his chest easing as he slowly let the breath out. "All right," he said, another surrender.
Buffy's eyes lit up. "You mean you'll stay?"
"I'll stay," he said with a nod. "As long as you need me, I am yours to command."
Her smile grew slightly wicked. "I like the sound of that." She settled back down next to him, tucking her head on the unoccupied edge of his pillow and resting her hand on his arm. She sighed quietly, and he could feel tension fading from her body as she relaxed.
Giles let his eyes drift closed again. "We do still need to have that other, less pleasant talk soon," he murmured.
She huffed out an exasperated breath against his neck. "Can it wait until morning?"
There was still so much they needed to discuss and plan and prepare for, and he doubted the next several months were going to be any easier than the ones they'd just been through. But for now… "I suppose so," he agreed with a smile. "We have a late check-out time, after all."