The house was lit mostly by candles, a flattering light forgiving of small flaws and imperfections. Everyone is beautiful by candlelight. On some, it hides little things, smoothing away years and cares. On others, it makes shadows and lines, letting age demonstrate its own beauty. Sometimes it miraculously does both.
Warm smells of holiday spices still wafted from the kitchen. Cinnamon, saffron, and others blended with the wine and food. To Giles, it simply smelled like Christmas. It was as the holiday should be. Earlier, the house had been full of people and noise and color. The living room floor was covered with wrapping paper that Technicolor couldn't capture, all scattered about in an orgy of gift giving that embarrassed the reserved, older man. He had gotten three sweaters, much to the embarrassment of the givers and to his amusement. Dawn had given him a remarkably sensible gift, an engraved carry case for his glasses. From Joyce he had received a lovely curio clockwork.
He sat in the living room, contemplating the disaster that the Summers home had become and sipping at the last of the second bottle of wine they had dared to open. The children were gone now, Dawn to bed, Buffy to do a sweep, Xander and Anya reluctantly to his parents home, Willow and Tara equally reluctantly to Willow's. This was the place they all wanted to be Joyce came into the room, having seen off the last of the youngsters, and he considered the flattery of candlelight. She settled on the couch near him and smiled. "This feels almost like the Christmas nights when the girls were little and their father and I would sit up and wait for Santa."
Giles returned the smile. At some point they had reached this level of comfort with each other. He couldn't pin down exactly when it had happened. One day she was the woman who venomously blamed him for her daughter running away and then she was a person he had an unfortunate history with. All that had changed to such an extent that she accepted and even seemed to enjoy having him play the ersatz patriarch in her home. "I've never had a Christmas with little ones," he said, "I'd guess it was wonderful."
Joyce's eyes grew distant and a little misty. "It's amazing what a half drunk glass of milk and a cookie with a bite taken out of it can do."
"I imagine the toys didn't hurt."
"No," Joyce said, visibly shaking herself from her memories. "It was the look in their eyes that got you. I remember the first time Buffy was old enough to get the whole Santa thing. She was jumping up and down and running around…" she trailed off.
"What is it, Joyce?" Giles said after a moment.
"I was pregnant with Dawn at the time," she said, "or at least that's how I remember it."
"Oh." Giles decided to let that subject drop. No more could be said. They sat in silence for several long minutes. He laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He felt at peace, a feeling that he only very rarely experienced. He took a deep breath and sighed, savoring again the scents that he associated with Christmas, but there was a new undertone, a light, spicy scent that must be the woman who sat so near him. "Sleepy?" Joyce asked quietly.
"No."
"Then why so great a sigh?"
Giles raised his head and looked at her. "I think you would laugh at me if I told you."
Joyce, in a quick movement pulled her feet from her shoes and curled them under her, turning more fully towards him. "I won't."
"The house, with all the baking and so forth, it smells like my mother's kitchen did during Christmas when I was a boy. It's comforting," he watched her reaction. She smiled fondly at him. He went on, feeling that he dared greatly, "…and I could smell your perfume. I like it, by the way."
Joyce blushed just a little, "Rupert… thank you."
"What do you like to remember from Christmas?"
Joyce took a deep breath herself, "I was born and raised in California. I always wanted snow. One year, we went to my maternal grandmother's in Indiana. We got snow there, a lot of it. I wanted to live out in it, but it was so cold."
"My family is from the north of England. White Christmases were common," Giles said.
"Lucky," Joyce said. She looked at the man seated next to her. The candle light played on his gentle, craggy face outlining hollows and making his eyes look like deep, deep wells. He looked powerful and mysterious, which she knew he was. It was a side of him that he buried only shallowly. How did the poem she only half remembered run? "In his hand was strength and wisdom on weathered brow did sit…" Something like that. She felt a wave of amusement at her own maudlin reflections but she found herself contemplating his face, examining each detail closely. She was so occupied that she failed to notice how intensely he was returning her gaze.
"Do you know how lovely a woman you are?" he said, shocking them both. Giles wanted to bite out his own tongue. He was sure she would be offended and this moment would end.
She surprised him. "Thank you again," she said quietly, "A woman likes to hear that and it's been a long time…"
"Then let me assure you, you are one of the most beautiful women I've ever known," Giles said softly.
Joyce looked at him for a moment, mouth slightly open. "Rupert, are you flirting with me? It's been so long I don't know for sure what it's like anymore." Giles simply nodded in response. "Then come sit next to me. You're too far away to flirt properly."
Giles looked surprised at the suggestion for just an instant, but he was no callow youth and neither was she. Each, with a glance at the other, came to a decision and knew the other agreed. He quickly moved to sit next to her. "You can't stay the night," she said, "not with Dawn here."
"I know," Giles leaned close to her, whispering in her ear, "Perhaps we should try and be quiet. It would be a tragedy to wake her."
Joyce shuddered ever so slightly at his proximity and the intimate feel of his breath against her ear and cheek. "It would." Giles gently slid his arm around her shoulders, reaching up and running his fingers gently up and down the suddenly flushed skin of her neck and shoulder. The other went to her cheek, touching and caressing, turning her face towards him. He stopped, their faces nearly touching and looked at her.
"If you don't kiss me…" Joyce whispered. He did, lightly, taking her lower lip between his teeth. She moved into him, molding to him, reaching to touch his shoulders and back. They kissed, growing now more intimate, then less, easing into and away from each other, rocking slowly and rhythmically.
After a time they parted for a moment. "Like that?" Giles asked.
"Just like that," Joyce said her voice breathy. Then she felt his hand slide under her sweater, stroking her stomach. She suddenly felt embarrassed and unable to meet his eyes. She looked down, her hair obscuring her face. Misunderstanding, he began to withdraw his hand.
"No," she said, "it's not that, it's just…"
Giles touched her stomach, stroking, "What is it?"
"I'm… not as young as I used to be."
"Nonsense," Giles said his voice thick. "You are a beautiful woman. Never doubt it," he murmured.
For a little while, they were more concerned with things other then conversation.
Outside, a stray cat was startled by something and knocked a garbage can over in its flight. Giles and Joyce heard it. With a convulsive move, Joyce nearly flew off him, turning towards the door, smoothing her skirt and hair, and smiling. Giles stood and fumbled at his pants. It was a desperate, futile effort. If someone had come in, they would have been caught. After a moment, they both realized that no one was going to come in and both laughed. They sat back on the couch, very close together but not touching. "We shouldn't have been doing that here," Joyce said, "Dawn could have come down any second."
"That's true," Giles said. Suddenly, they both felt a little tentative and unsure. He looked at her for a moment and then leaned towards her. "I think we can risk just this," he said. He gave her what Joyce felt was a very sweet, full of promise little kiss. "We shall finish what we've started here. At least, I know I want too."
"So do I," Joyce said, touching his cheek fondly and giving him a warm smile. "Right now, I have to get up and we have to stop this, or I won't be able to stop." She matched her actions to her words.
"Right," Giles said, "Dishwashing and cleanup. Just the thing."
Joyce laughed aloud, "You are so very British."
When Buffy returned home, still feeling quietly happy about the fact that Christmas had not been interrupted by anything untoward, she found Giles and her mother puttering around the house cleaning and apparently having a wonderful time joking and talking as they did. She felt a childish surge of emotion. It was nice to see her mom enjoying herself but there was something else that tugged at her heart; it happened whenever she saw Giles and her mother in the same room. She had a made it her longstanding practice to not consider that too closely. Buffy tried to help, but Joyce shooed her away to bed, actually telling her that Santa would be there soon and that there would be no presents for bad little girls who were still awake. Buffy had hugged her mother and Giles tightly before she went up to bed.
A few minutes later, Joyce was washing dishes and Giles taking a quick break at the table when she suddenly stopped. She turned away from her work and leaned against the sink, crossing her arms in. "Rupert," she said, "I'm sick."
"I know," he said.
"I may die," she said.
"I know," he repeated.
"If I do, take care of my girls."
"I will," he said.
"Take care of all of them."
"I will," he repeated.
They sat in silence for a time. Finally she said, "If I get better…" Giles simply raised an eyebrow and she corrected herself, "When I get better, we'll see how things are. When things settle down…"
"I understand, Joyce. You have too much on your mind right now. I'll still be around, whenever," Giles said, "and if you ever need anything at all, let me know. I can baby sit, or be company or even cook a passable meal. I want to help."
"Thank you."
Over the next weeks, Joyce went through some very hard times. Buffy had been a surprising godsend, providing more help then Joyce had expected. What Joyce had avoided, despite his offer, was calling Giles. She was afraid of doing it. She knew that if she once let herself go to him, she wouldn't be able to stop. She had learned strength through independence since her divorce and to give that independence up would, she feared, mean giving up the strength. She was afraid she would just curl up in a ball and cry out her pain and need; able to do nothing but beg him to help her. She would not allow that to happen. When she came to him it would be as an equal, not as an invalid. The day finally came when Joyce woke up and wasn't in pain, and she wasn't scared, and she wasn't worried. The realization hit her as she sat at breakfast planning her day. She had not once thought of brain tumors or anything else other then normal morning things. She picked up her phone and dialed.
"Magic box," a voice answered. She smiled even wider on hearing it.
"I've always thought that name was vaguely naughty" she said, trying to sound coquettish.
At his end of the line, Giles was confused. "What? I don't…" the obscure double entendre struck him, as well as who he was speaking to, and he smiled widely. "It never occurred to me. By the way, do you kiss your daughters with that mouth?"
"Not like I give Christmas kisses to distinguished British gentlemen on my couch," she said.
"Gentlemen? That had best not be plural. I would be terribly jealous, especially since Spike is the only other Englishman around."
"Oh no, Giles. You're the only distinguished British gentleman I've let..." she trailed off. "It was my very best Christmas present, even though you didn't finish giving it to me."
In the Magic Box, Anya came from the back room and stood next to Giles behind the counter. He immediately changed his tone. "Yes, of course. We can… uh… finish that up whenever you like."
"Giles? What…" it struck Joyce what must have happened. "Is there someone there? A customer or one of the kids?"
"The latter."
Joyce grinned and felt very wicked. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about Christmas.
"Neither have I… and I hope there are… um..." Giles was on the verge of stammering.
"I see. Then I guess I should tell you how hot I get every time I think about you. Every time I think about your hands on me, all over me…" she trailed off.
Giles cleared his throat, "Yes, well, I… uh… thank you, I suppose?" His composure was slipping.
Joyce laughed at the strained tone of his voice. "I'm through teasing you. I don't want to be mean. Can we have lunch?"
"Certainly. Name the place." Joyce did and they agreed to meet at noon.
"Who was that?" Anya asked after he hung up.
"Supplier. Possible supplier. Going to have lunch with her… him, I mean."
"Oh. Okay," she said.
"Excuse me. I need to use the restroom." He stepped quickly around her. Anya watched him go curiously; wondering why talking to a supplier would make him have an erection.
Giles was early to the restaurant, a small, moderately priced place. He sat quietly and watched Joyce walk in. She smiled and slid into the booth across from him. "So, how has your morning been?"
He returned the smile. "I had an interesting phone call."
"I'm so sorry about that. I don't know what came over me."
"Don't apologize."
Joyce took a deep breath. "Rupert, I've been overcome and very emotional lately. You know that." Giles nodded for her to continue. "I realize that I was coming on very strong. I all but attacked you on Christmas and then I called you like that this morning…"
"You have nothing to apologize for. At Christmas I wasn't exactly fighting you off." Giles was beginning to become concerned that she was trying to put an end to whatever this tentative thing was.
"Okay, I'm not going to apologize. I haven't done a single thing I regret, so why should I? But there is something I want to say." She took a sip of her drink. "I want to become more intimate with you, hopefully soon. I don't want you to think I'm just a middle aged woman in need of a good screw. I see possibilities. I have hopes."
Giles leaned across the table and spoke quietly, seriously. "I too see possibilities and have hopes. I wouldn't have touched you otherwise. Those are things we will give the time they deserve. For the moment, I know you aren't just a woman in need of a good screw. I know their is more to this then that, but unless you stop me right now, I'm going to drag you out of this place and back to my flat and give you the best screwing this middle aged man can muster." Joyce's eyes got very large as he stood and took her hand. They didn't speak as he led her out of the restaurant. They were even silent as they drove to his home, smiling and holding hands. They closed the apartment door behind them quickly. Hungrily, they turned to each other and kissed, standing in his living room. After a few moments, they pulled back. "I think we've been standing too long," Joyce said.
"Then shall we go lie down?"
"Ever the gentleman." They went upstairs to the bedroom. They kissed again and then Giles stepped away, beginning to unbutton her blouse. Joyce stood very still, letting him. When he slid it down her arms and off, she fought the urge to cover herself. When he reached for her and took her in his arms to unsnap her bra, she really began to feel embarrassed. He stepped back again, to look at her and she raised her arms to cover herself, then she dropped them and just looked awkward and uncomfortable.
"What is it?" he asked.
"It's so bright in here," Joyce said.
"No," Giles said, "Don't say that. We've been through this." He stepped to her and took her in his arms. "You are beautiful." Joyce made a small noise. He moved and took the other between his lips in its turn. Joyce ran her fingers through his hair. "So beautiful."
After a time, he collapsed on he, spent. Joyce liked having the weight on her; she liked the feeling of having him all over and around her. She liked feeling safe and spent and most of all so very alive. After a moment he rolled off of her onto his back and she immediately rested her head on his chest and draped an arm and a leg over him. She felt gloriously decadent being with her new lover in the middle of the afternoon.
Giles was simply in a post-coital haze. He hoped to stay there for some time. After several minutes of vital recovery, Joyce spoke in a low tone, "Rupert that was wonderful." She made a face. "Did it ever occur to you that you have the worst first name ever?" She felt his chest move with laughter.
"Many times," he said.
Joyce stretched kittenishly. "Let's try again… Giles, that was wonderful."
"Thank you. I rather liked it myself."
"That doesn't work either," Joyce said, "I can't call you by your last name. What can I call you?"
"I prefer Giles," he said.
"But I can't call my…" she stopped again. "What are you? I can't say boyfriend. It's juvenile. Lover sounds tacky and Significant Other is dumb... also maybe premature."
"Say whatever you like," he said with a smile, "I shall do my best to be whatever. As far as the name, I prefer Giles, but I had a girlfriend in College who hated both my names also. She called me Brian."
"Why?"
"She said I looked like a Brian."
You don't look like a Brian," Joyce said as she changed positions slightly. "You're a Giles. I'll just have to live with it."
"Joyce, what are we going to tell the girls?"
"I don't know yet. They both love you, so it shouldn't be hard. I just remember how they were over Ted. I don't want that to happen again." Joyce said.
"Me neither," Giles said dryly.
Joyce couldn't help but laugh a little. "He had it coming."
"So let's hold off for a while," he said, "let us have time to get our minds around things."
Joyce nodded, "Good idea," she said. Then she remembered something. "Oh my God… I was supposed to ask you to sit with Dawn tonight!"
"I will, of course," he said.
"Well," she said very hesitantly, "I have a date."
Giles looked at her, "Really?"
She went on guiltily, "It was a fix-up that I can't gracefully get out of. Please don't be mad. I'll get rid of him quickly and we can..." She didn't know how to finish.
"Explore possibilities?" he suggested.
She nodded in agreement. "Yes."
It wasn't hard to fool her daughters the next day and make them believe she was excited about her date. She just had to think of Giles. It wasn't what she expected. He was older then she, reasonably well off, reasonably good looking and reasonably charming. She was unreasonably bored and he was smart enough to see it quickly. Surprisingly enough, Joyce managed to have a good time with him after he understood the situation. When he dropped her off, he sensibly didn't walk her to the door, instead suggesting that they might have a casual lunch, as friends, some time. Joyce actually liked him and started running down in her mind a list of her single friends to point him towards. When she went inside she couldn't resist teasing Buffy until her daughter fled the room.
The next day, when Joyce came home from the Gallery, there was a bouquet of flowers on her doorstep. She picked them up, smiling, and enjoyed their fragrance for a moment. Then she read the card, "Thank you for a lovely evening. See you again soon?" They were signed from Brian.
Walking through the door, she just had time to put them on the foyer table when a wave of terrible nausea made her knees buckle. She was glad she didn't drop Giles' thoughtful gift. She was so weak that she had trouble making it to the couch. Sitting, waiting for it to pass, Joyce felt the first cold touch of fear and began to reach for the phone to call for help. Then, for just an instant she felt a pain in her head.