Disclaimers: I don't, no matter how much I wish, own any of this. Except for mebbe the maitenance man... And even then, well, 's a bit iffy.

A/N: This, too, is an old one. I wrote it for Valentine's and still love it.

A pen shimmered and glinted in the light of February 14th's early morning, the tip gliding on the textured paper in the hand of Rupert Giles.

His eyes went slightly out of focus as he sighed a breathy sigh through a sort of hollow smile. Large, calloused hands caressed the paper as if it were the face of the letter's recipient. Glasses in one hand, he exhaled heavily yet again.

The swift sound of his opening door would've caused any other a heart attack, but he knew the mark of his arriving Scoobies well. Instead, he capped the fountain pen and placed it next to his letter, staring at it wistfully.

"Hey, Giles," Buffy called, sweeping into the room with Riley, Xander, Anya, Willow and Tara in tow. She breezed by him, hand in Riley's, toward the couch, jumping onto it with enthusiasm. Her gaze wandered over to him, meriting a cheery "What's that?"

"M-maybe Mister Giles h-has a Valentine," Tara suggested in that meek voice of hers, her hand snaking into Willow's.

"Ooh, Giles has a Valentine! I bet she's all Giles-y except women, and they don't like to use the computer which is why they write letters instead of e-mails. Is she pretty? Oh, I bet she's pretty with curly, long hair, like a model's. Oh, maybe she is a model. Or an ex-model, maybe she's an ex-model. Is she an ex-model like Olivia? Oh, is it Olivia?" Willow queried, her endearing voice growing more and more excited as she began to babble.

"N-no, no it's not… Olivia's just a friend—"

"Orgasm friend!" Anya piped up, correcting him as a teacher would a student.

"Just a friend who comes by once in a while," Giles glared a bit at Anya.

"O-oh," Willow seemed a bit discouraged at not guessing correctly but brightened once more. "What does she look like? Do you have a picture of her?"

"How old is she?" Buffy asked, joining in the 'Let's bombard Giles with endless questions and not give him time to answer' session.

"Is she hot? Is she a cougar? Or is she scandalously young?" Xander's voice was added to the throng of the others'.

"Is she good at sex? Does she use chains or rope?" Anya's voice chimed a bit louder than the rest, and they all fell silent to look at her incredulously.

"What? If she does, I was hoping she could convince Xander," Anya shrugged. Next to her, Xander's eye twitched. If it was at Anya's comment or the overall idea, Giles wasn't sure.

"She is very pretty, Willow, and the computer is her life. No, Xander, she is notscandalously young; what kind of man do you take me for? I think, Buffy, that answers enough of your question. That is all you lot are getting out of me. Ever."

Anya 'harrumphed' at her question not being answered.

"But Giles, it isn't as if we want to pry, we're just curious," Willow mewled softly, downcast.

"I know, Willow, I know. I just… I just don't feel comfortable," he answered kindly.

"O-okay. We can understand that," she replied, Tara gently nodding next to her.

Buffy merely shrugged, nestling into Riley's chest. Xander mirrored Buffy with a shrug of his own, he and Anya making their way to the couch as well. Willow and Tara followed.

All three couples squeezed into the couch, Giles left to sit at his desk. Alone.

"Bye, G-Man," Xander called over his shoulder as he moved out the door with Anya at his side.

"Don't ever call me that again," was the answering reply.

"See ya, Giles!" Buffy's voice was slightly muffled from Riley's broad chest.

"Mmmhm," he murmured back.

"M- Mr. Giles?" Tara sought his attention, Willow waiting patiently at the door.

"Tara?" Willow asked.

"Go ahead; I'll be right behind you."

"Okay, sweetie," she said a bit uncertainly, but left nonetheless, her footsteps padding into the night. The sounds stopped, and a faint "Bye, Giles!" was heard.

He chuckled lightly, Tara smiling in admiration. He turned to the young woman next to him.

"Yes, Tara?"

"I-I just wanted to say… I think it's sweet you think of her," she gestured to the name scratched onto its surface.

"How…?"

"I guessed. Willow… Willow tells me things."

With that, Tara left, hurrying to catch up with her lover.

A piece of what seemed to be paper fluttered in the soft breeze, catching a maintenance man's eye. The black and grey hairs of his beard and moustache hid his disapproving frown. To litter here, of all places, was terribly distasteful, not to mention disrespectful. This was, after all, a graveyard.

He lumbered over to the offending trash, squinting as he slowly made it out. It wasn't just any sort of crumpled newspaper, no. This was thicker, sturdier and more elegant. Quality stuff, that was. He crouched lower to the ground, a hand gently catching one of the edges as he pulled it from underneath some kind of glass paperweight, spherical in shape with colors glinting from different mirror-like pieces inside the ball. No, not ball; orb, he thought. Orb suited it. He set the thing down with a tender hand, willing it to stay intact as he intended to observe it.

His attention was instead called to the piece of paper as it nearly flew out of his hand. Looking around to see if anyone had spotted him, he was reassured and a hand went to his back pocket for his reading glasses. Those settled on his nose, he began to make sense of the flowing writing.

Dear Jenny,

I love you. That should be known by now, I suppose, but it shouldn't be forgotten, especially by me. I love you, and I always will. It's Valentine's today, and I can't help but think of you once more and let your beautiful face fill my mind with your voice in my ears so I may cherish those moments we spent together. Granted, not all of them were pleasant, but I have to learn I can't change them, or I'll forever be stuck in this state of mind, this state of longing. And so I write to you now, to apologize for all the pain I caused you. Eyghon being one, but (and I can't believe I'm saying this) a minor one at that. Instead, I'm sorry the pain I wrecked on you, for avoiding and rejecting your apologies for Angelus. I'm sorry I caused such a chasm between us, but you must understand, as I'm sure you do, it was on Buffy's behalf. And I love Buffy more than my own life.
But most of all, I'm sorry I couldn't keep you alive. I don't mean physically, I now understand nothing could have stopped Angelus and his murder, not even killing him in your name. I mean through your spirit, through your memory. I'm sorry I haven't kept at least a part of you here, on earth, through me. I'm sorry I didn't think of you when the bartender asked if I'd a rough break up when I sat, alone, chugging the dwindling contents of a scotch bottle, mourning the loss of my Slayer as she ceased her visits. I'm sorry I didn't laugh victoriously with your name on my lips when I'd realized Angel's death, instead grieving my Buffy's loss of her first love. I'm sorry I didn't curse the curses of the world for you when I'd learned of Angel's return, thinking only of Buffy and wondering if she could handle his existence and if she'd ever forgive me if I killed him for her, my, and then your benefit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you couldn't live through me.
And yet, at the same time, I know you don't want me to dwell on the dead and the past I had a hand in making. I feel as if you're waiting with all the patience in this world and the next to free me from these haunting memories and wishes and regrets. And in the end, I know that's why I'm writing now. Even though I'll never stop apologizing, I'm letting your spirit from the cage of my heart, and I just want you to know, I'll never forget you. I love you. Be free.

-Rupert Giles.