The Three Fates

by Mulrey

Post-BTVS. Sequel to New Beginnings but picks up the story 27 years on. GilesOC

Title: The Three Fates.

Author: Mulrey

Pairing: Giles/OC

Rating: PG-13 (Just a little bit of swearing and a tiny bit of innuendo.)

Spoilers: Yes... right to the end of S7.

Notes: Post-BTVS. This follows on from New Beginnings, but picks up the story 27 years on.

Disclaimer: Giles, Buffy and Xander belong to Joss and just about everyone but me, however, the rest are mine. Obviously, I am not Vaughn Monroe, Christina Rossetti, Lynyrd Skynyrd, or the writer of any of the pieces of music mentioned below.

Thanks: To Head Rush, as always, for her comments (even those that would have burst my ear drums had they been audible), as well as for dragging me into all kinds of untold online madness. Also, thanks to Maxie and Sandra, despite their occasional violent outbursts. One day I might repay you guys by sending you both for some kind of anger management training... grin Oh and I'm still blaming Ruth for getting me started!

Our life is short but is made longer

by misfortunes. (Publilius Syrus)

The beginning, or the end, he still wasn't quite sure. The small cracks in his sense of purpose had appeared months, no years, before that gaping cavern had opened up underneath the cruel Californian sun. But there was no sun in this town, none that he'd seen anyway. Instead, there was a harsh wind that sought out the gaps in his clothing, and seemed to traverse the contours of his body seeking those fractures, both mental and physical, that he had worked so hard to ignore. Checking the address that was scribbled in his pocket-sized notebook, he came to a halt.

Two weeks previously, he had been going through some of his father's papers, a task which he had put off again and again until; ten years had passed, the Council had been all but destroyed by the First, and he had returned to Bath in order to mentally regroup again. In amongst the notebooks and diaries of his fathers that made up a consignment that had been delivered to his home a short while before the Council's demise, he had found a box-file labelled 'WSB – FAO R. Giles'. On opening it, he discovered assorted papers belonging to Bill Bainbridge, an old friend of his father's. And there it had been, nestled in between a copy of his will and a yellowing issue of Scholia, a seemingly inconsequential, hundredth birthday card. The inscription read:

Brevis ipsa vita est sed malis fit longior.

Happy Birthday, oh unfortunate one!

Sorry I can't be there to drink real ale and discuss Publilius Syrus, but, we do hope to see you later in the year.

Love, as always,

Francisca.

Searching deeper into the box, he had found the card's envelope which bore, as he had hoped, a printed address label. That was how he came to be standing on a frosty New York sidewalk, staring at the house of a woman he hadn't spoken to in over 25 years. He still wasn't quite sure why he was there, maybe he was trying to close up some of the gaps in his life, but his legs were carrying him up the steps and he had rung the doorbell. After a moment, the door flew open revealing the profile of a grey haired man wearing a dark suit who was obviously mid tirade, so much so that he hadn't even bothered to look at who he had opened the door to.

"Well I'd just like to say, for the record, if you turn them down I think you're a crazy bitch who deserves to be locked up in a mental institution." The man looked at Giles and snapped, "Yes?"

"Umm, I was umm hoping to speak to Francisca Pearson, she does still live here?"

The man's irritation deepened into suspicion. "And who might you be?"

"I'm an old friend, we were at college together. My name is Rupert Giles."

"Frankie!" The man bellowed in an unmistakably native brogue. "There's a guy called Rupert G..." Before he had time to finish Giles saw her emerge into the entrance hall. For a moment they just stared at each other.

"Hello," Giles smiled, "I hope you don't mind me turning up like this... out of the blue."

She continued to stare at him.

"Am I letting this guy in, or are we all gonna stand around freezing our butts off? Frankie?"

She shook her head as if to waken herself from a day dream. "Yes, of course, come in."

The man stepped back to allow Giles entry. Frankie walked into a room on the right and was still looking like a startled rabbit when Giles followed her in. He had expected her to have changed, but she hadn't, not really. Of course she was older, there were lines were there hadn't been a lifetime ago, but her hair was still bleached blonde falling below her shoulders, and she was still dressed from head to toe in black, although the romantic ruffles had been replaced by a tasteful flowing trouser suit.

"Is there anything else before I leave?" The man asked, standing in the doorway.

"No... thanks, Patrick. I'll call you tomorrow," she replied, sounding distant and slightly breathless.

"Well alright then. I'll just see myself out," he muttered. "God damn crazy Brits!"

They heard the door slam.

"Is he your...?"

"Agent... He's my agent. Sorry," she stuttered, "it's just, this isn't how I imagined it."

"How did you imagine it?"

She walked over and rested her hands on a baby grand that was in the bay window of the large open room, and looked out. But it was dark outside, so all she saw reflected in the window was herself and the ghost of a man whose memory she had lived with for what seemed like forever. "I thought I'd be sitting in a bar or a café, and nothing much would be happening until I looked up from the menu... and there you'd be, coming in through the door."

He watched her face in the reflection in the window. "And then what would happen?"

She looked down, skating her fingers in patterns over the piano's surface. "You'd see me, and we'd look at each other for a moment and then you would rush over and we'd..."

"Embrace?" Giles approached her and lightly placed a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe we could just... skip to that part?"

She turned and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"And there was I, worried that you wouldn't remember me," he snorted, wrapping his arms around her.

After a couple of awkward minutes of giggling and bumbling, Giles sat down on a red leather sofa whilst Frankie fixed them both a drink. She handed him a crystal tumbler near half filled with scotch, and sat in an armchair opposite him with a similar measure of cognac. He glanced around the room and his eyes settled on two platinum disks that were hung in the corner.

"It looks like you've done well."

"Not so bad for the daughter of a Shropshire ironmonger."

"No, not bad at all."

"And how about you? You managed to save the world."

Giles smiled "Oh... once or twice. But then, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Frankie flushed and nodded.

"You were in touch with Bill all that time?"

"Yes."

"How? You only met him that once, in the pub... if I remember rightly?"

"I-I went to see him, the next morning."

"You did?"

Frankie gulped some of the dark golden liquid before she replied, "I needed to talk to somebody who understood."

"Understood what, Frankie?"

"Your position—your destiny."

"But why?"

"I needed to know that I was doing the right thing, for you and for her—so she'd have a bloody world to come into." She looked at Giles, her eyes shining.

Giles put his glass down, almost missing the coffee table entirely. "I still don't understand."

She took a deep breath and held onto it for a few seconds. "I was..." she rubbed her forehead and exhaled nervously. "I was pregnant, Rupert."

Giles' eyes opened wider. "Oh, I see." His eyes flicked around the room, finding nowhere to settle. He got to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck.

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tell you like this."

"When exactly did you mean to tell me?" he asked, barely controlling his anger.

"I don't know..."

"She... you said she?" The anger dropped from his voice as he stopped pacing and stared at Frankie. "I have a daughter?" he asked, in little more than a whisper.

Frankie nodded as the tears began to roll down her face and a sob escaped her lips. Giles' legs gave out on him and he sunk down onto the sofa, staring into the mid-distance. Eventually, his eyes focussed on a framed photograph that was nestled in between the object d'art on the mantelpiece. The picture was of Frankie, obviously taken quite recently, and a brown-haired woman who had the same smile, but who looked, quite overwhelmingly, like the pictures he had of his mother, before she was married. Frankie became aware of him staring at the picture. She wiped her eyes with her hand and got up, picked the photograph up, and held it out to him. His shaking hand heavily gripped the gilt frame.

"What did you..." his voice faltered.

He felt Frankie sit down beside him. "Her name is Skye, just as you wanted it to be."

His hand covered his face as he started to sob.

She waited beside him, not talking, or touching him, but just waiting there. In due course, his sobbing subsided and he removed his glasses to wipe his face with a clean white cotton handkerchief before shakily pouring the remaining scotch down his throat.

"Did... did the council tell you not to tell me?" he asked softly, replacing his spectacles.

"No, it was my decision. It was a wrong decision; I've known that for quite some time. I can't forgive myself, so I don't expect you to either."

"Did you think I'd make a bad father?"

"No! God, no! It was all so complicated but it wasn't because I thought you'd make a bad father. When I found out I just panicked, hell I didn't even know that... that... you felt anything for me until it was too late. By then I knew about the council and the slayer... and I thought I was doing the right thing... you have to believe me... I loved you—walking away from you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

Giles rubbed his hand over his face. "I've just spent seven years parenting another mans child when I didn't even know I had one of my own to protect." He snorted at the irony before turning to look at Frankie. "Did you ever...?"

She shook her head, "You?"

"No. Does she even know I exist?"

"She knows everything."

"Will she want to... meet?"

Frankie laughed softly "Oh yes. She's been waiting for this day since she was a little girl. We both have."

He massaged the back of his neck, unable to feel anything. Frankie got up, poured him another drink and handed it to him before leaving the room. She returned a short while later with a cardboard box which she put down on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up at her questioningly.

"It's for you."

"What is it?"

"Everything: Photographs, home movies, drawings, a scrapbook that she put together for you... my diaries. I know it doesn't make up..."

"No it doesn't."

Frankie fell silent, standing with her back to the fireplace, nervously hugging herself.

There was the sound of the front door being opened and then a voice.

"Mom? Mom, are you home? That vile Patrick has been stubbing out his vile cigars all over the steps again."

Giles looked up as his daughter walked into the room. Not seeing him, sat behind the door, she walked straight up to Frankie and hugged her.

"Mom, are you okay? Has something happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Frankie swallowed and looked past Skye to Giles.

Skye spun around, "What's going on...?" Her words faded as she glimpsed the box and then stared at the man sitting on the sofa who was wide-eyed, and looking like he was about to expire.

Giles stared back at the young woman before him. She was taller than her mother, probably approaching his height, but she had inherited her mother's sense of style. Her wavy brown bobbed hair flicked out underneath a berry coloured woollen hat that matched the scarf that was wound around her neck. The blood was sinking away from her cheeks and her autumnal green eyes were becoming glossier with every passing second. Giles stood up, at a loss for anything to say. What could he possibly say to her?

Skye's arm dropped from where it had come to rest round her mother's waist and the next moment she took a step towards him. Giles' mouth shakily edged into a smile and this was enough for her to take another step and throw herself into his arms. Giles thought he was going to stop breathing. He enfolded her in his arms and hugged her tightly. Flesh of his flesh. He didn't ever want to let go.

"Dad, you found us." She whispered.

Giles' knees buckled and everything faded to black.

Giles sat on the edge of the bed in his hotel room staring intently at the sturdy cardboard box that lay on the floor in front of him. The box that contained the memories of the life that was taken away from him, of the daughter he had been denied. He sighed trying to steel himself to open it. Her face was burned on his memory, the expression that had been looking down at him with such compassion. Compassion for a father who had never been there for her, he shook his head—it should have been the other way around. He thought about the way that she had sat next to him on the sofa, holding his wrist to monitor his pulse, and how she had refused to let him move, even though he had claimed to be all right. It was then that he found out that his daughter was a physician, a life saver. He wanted to know everything about her. He slipped down onto the floor and unfolded the lid of the box.

In it he found several notebooks, a scrapbook, about twenty bundles of photographs and a picture of a man in army uniform that had been drawn by Skye Pearson Giles, aged 7. The picture had been entitled 'My Daddy' in an uneven child's scrawl. Giles felt the tears sting his eyes that he had managed to fight off for at least an hour. He put the drawing and photographs aside, choosing to focus on Frankie's diaries that were all carefully dated, each one covering five years and spanning from 1976 to the previous year. Giles was accustomed to reading journals of former watchers, this felt like more familiar territory. He picked up the oldest one and began to read.

29th August 1976

Today Skye Pearson Giles arrived in the world. She's perfect... all ten fingers and toes in the right places, it seems that my body can be trusted to go about things in the right way, even if my heart can't. As I look at her lying peacefully in the cot beside my bed, I have never felt so happy and yet so alone in the world. Grace has just gone home, but thank god she was able to stay so long. Having had three children herself, she knew how to handle the doctors and she knew when there was something wrong and was able to get help. I think I might have died if she hadn't been here... It felt like I was going to die. But as soon as they put her in my arms, the pain didn't matter anymore. So tired... must be the drugs they gave me... feel like I could sleep for a week, but I don't want to... I don't want to take my eyes off her ever. I wish he was here... I don't know if I can do this without him.

7th September 1976

They finally let me out. Grace picked us up and drove us back to the apartment which had been filled with flowers from people at the label. I can't believe how understanding they've been, I thought they would just drop me the minute they found out I was pregnant.

When Grace left, I sat holding Skye and I cried and cried. Then Bill telephoned and I cried some more. He says he's going to try and get a flight and come and stay for a while. He told me to call Rupert—he said it wasn't too late. I nearly did. I had to unplug the phone and hide it at the back of the closet. But it hurts and I know it's going to hurt him too. I hope they don't hate me.

Giles took a deep breath and flicked further forward.

29th August 1977

Skye is one year old ALREADY! I can't believe it. I can't believe we made it this far. And I know I am biased (as every mother should be) but she really is the sweetest most even-natured child I've ever known. She looked so adorable at the party today, playing with the balloons and all of the guys from the studio were just gone on her... even Marky, that oaf of an engineer. But who could blame them. I think when she grows up she's going to be just as much of a heartbreaker as her dad. I think about him every time I look into those eyes of hers.

Giles could see the party in his minds eye, the balloons, the birthday cake, and a chocolate covered toddler dressed in a pink party frock, grinning up at him, holding her arms out to him... He put the journal down and got up to inspect the contents of the mini-bar. Finding two miniature bottles of scotch, he emptied them into a glass before sitting back against the pillows on the bed. For a moment he closed his eyes, but he couldn't resist, and so leaned down to pick up the next of the diaries off the floor and opened it indiscriminately.

2nd February 1985

The new songs have gone in for approval and Al thinks that they would be right for a girl from Chicago they've just signed. At the moment I don't care who records the damned things, they're little better than commercial jingles, in fact, I bet that "Always There" ends up on some advert for cheap medical. I hate this. I hate that I have to write this crap. I hate that I have to sit in that damned room with that bastard day in day out churning out the worst kind of plastic pop. I want to go home.

15th March 1985

It happened. I knew it would eventually. She asked if he loved her. God I hate myself.

23rd June 1990

I have finally become my mother. I've been sitting here flicking through the TV channels and clock watching. It isn't even her curfew time yet. She's too young to date! I thought that this wasn't supposed to happen until she was 16, at the VERY earliest... especially not with a SENIOR! It's not that I don't trust her... I do... she's a sensible girl, she wouldn't do anything and she wouldn't be pushed into anything... God I hope he doesn't try anything. I'll rip his throat out if he does. No... I have to be calm and rational about this. I do NOT want to turn out to be one of those mothers who hire private detectives to do background checks on their daughter's boyfriends... or maybe that's not such a bad idea. I know nothing about this boy. Thank God... that'll be them.

Giles tossed the journal onto the bed beside him and drank down the remnants of the scotch, wondering if he should call room service to order more. That would be a monumentally bad idea. He had to meet her at the hospital tomorrow and he didn't want her to think that her father lived in the world of the perpetual hangover, although that was closer to the truth than he was willing to admit since the First had shown up. He felt around on the floor for the last of the diaries. Finding it, he lay back, and again began to read random entries.

25th December 1992

She said she hated me and she meant it. She wants to find her father. She said that I was selfish and unfeeling... I think she's right. What have I done? I heard her talking to Bill on the phone. She said that if he didn't tell her who and where he was then she was going to take off and find him herself. I'm losing her, but maybe I deserve to. She'd be better off without me.

19th January 1993

I'm home. Bill is here, he said to help with Skye, but we both know better. I feel so guilty... how could I have done that... even if I wasn't entirely in my right mind.

8th November 1994

There's nothing like shopping to relieve the winter blues. After a week of us BOTH being cooped up with colds, we decided that my credit card could do with a bit of a workout. We found a little boutique just off 4th where they were selling the most fabulous evening wear. Skye found a dress she liked and went to try it on. When she walked out of the fitting rooms I just burst into tears, much to her embarrassment! I couldn't help it. She looked so beautiful and so.... grown up! Of course she got the damned dress, and I won't sleep the night that she goes out in that little number. Thank goodness she didn't find it before the label party.

17th January 1996

Skye's accepted the offer from Columbia!!! Of course I argued for Harvard, I felt I had to, but thankfully she's just as stubborn as I am and she stuck to her guns. She doesn't want to leave NYC. I'm so relieved, the thought of her being even as far away as Boston was too much. Of course she'll live in a dorm, and I'll probably never see her, but at least she'll be close by. She said that she still wants to do Sunday brunch every week... we'll see how long that one lasts. I'm so proud of her. Of course she must take after Rupert in the brains department. One day he'll be proud of her too.

25th May 2001

Bill called. The slayer was killed—she was younger than Skye, that poor girl's family, I can't imagine how they must be feeling. Bill said not to call Rupert until he's had a chance to talk to him. I haven't told Skye yet... I don't know what to say.

9th August 2001

I just found out that Bill died last month. Skye came over and we got drunk (well I did) and read the Iliad together. We'll miss him dearly. I don't know if he ever got to speak to Rupert. I suppose it is in the hands of the Fates now... as it always was, I guess.

Giles closed the diary and held it against his chest. He knew that Frankie had done what she thought was right, but at that moment, he hated her. However tough it had been at least she had got to see his daughter learn and grow, and he'd have given up everything to have had that chance; the council, the world, everything.

The taxi pulled up outside the New York-Presbyterian Hospital building, part of the vast complex that made up the Columbia University Medical Centre Campus in Northern Manhattan. She had given him very clear instructions as to how to direct the cab to get there, so he didn't get 'ripped off' by some driver taking advantage of a tourist. He paid the driver what seemed like buttons, compared to the price that the journey would have cost him in Bath, and got out. Looking around, he saw her standing just outside the sliding doors of the hospital entrance, blowing warm air into her hands and hopping from one foot to the other in an attempt to keep warm. A white coat hung open over a grey sweater and black trousers and a stethoscope was draped around her neck; she was every inch the young doctor. Giles started towards her unable to control the shivering that had started back in the taxi. It was the freezing temperatures, he told himself, not nerves.

When she spotted him she smiled and edged forward to hug him. Giles smiled at her.

"It's rather cold," he said as she took his arm as naturally as if they had seen each other every day for the last quarter of a century.

"Welcome to New York!" She grinned as she guided him over the threshold into the warmth of the air-conditioned hospital.

"So this is where you work?"

"Yeah, I have two more weeks on cardiology before I start my psyche rotation, which will be based in the building across the street." She hit the button for the elevator. "I thought I'd show you my department?"

"Well yes, I'm sure that'll be fascinating." He sighed. "I mean to say, that I would love to see where you work."

She blushed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. For a split second she looked exactly like her mother when he had first met her.

"You remind me of your mother, when she was... well, younger than you."

Skye rubbed the back of her neck and giggled. "Mom always says that I look more like you than her. She says I have your eyes."

The elevator took them up to the seventh floor which was home to the cardiology centre. She guided him down the corridor and into one of the side rooms.

"Do you mind waiting here for a second? I just have to..." she indicated the door.

"Of course, please do what you have to do. I don't want to inconvenience you," he stuttered.

"You're not," she replied gently, but forcefully, before slipping around the door.

Giles allowed himself to smile. The room was warm, so warm that he took off his long black wool overcoat and tugged at the neck of his pullover.

Skye returned with a colleague who nervously entered the room behind her.

"Dad, this is Martin." Skye beamed.

The young tall black man held his hand out to Giles, who shook it after a momentary lapse of consciousness, caused by being introduced as 'dad'.

"It's good to meet you, sir," Martin greeted him respectfully.

"I thought it might be a good idea if Martin checked you over after your collapse yesterday," Skye said, taking Giles' coat from him.

"Oh really, that's not necessary. It was the shock... umm... I'm fine, really."

Skye's smile faded. "Please?" she asked, almost desperately. "I've only just met you... and Mom said that you must have been under enormous pressure for the last few years... I-I can't lose you before I've even got to know you..." her words trailed off as her internal censor evidently reminded her that she needed to appear in control.

It was then that Giles realised that, as poised and self-assured as she seemed, it was just a mask that covered fear and uncertainty. Just as Buffy had always needed monsters she could fight, Skye needed to take control by curing things, by curing people; and he had to let her. He nodded and briefly touched her arm. "Of course," he answered softly.

Skye smiled and audibly exhaled; her relief clear. She was fighting her own demons in the best way that she knew how.

"I'll be outside," she said, stepping out the door.

"Do you wanna take a seat?" Martin asked, drawing Giles back into the moment.

"Oh, yes," said Giles sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I really do feel fine though."

Martin smiled as he pushed Giles' sleeve up. "I know that. But Skye won't be happy until I've checked you over. She's a worrier. You'd better get used to it."

"You seem to know her quite well?"

"Yes sir, I've known her since she started at CMC."

"Are you...?"

"Yes sir. We've been dating for three years."

"Then I think it would be better if you didn't call me sir," Giles smiled.

"Yes s..." Martin chuckled.

"Giles—people call me Giles."

"Okay," Martin nodded, as he started to check Giles' blood pressure. He watched the monitor and heaved a sigh. "I expected it to be high and it is."

"In my own defence, I have just found out about a daughter I knew nothing about."

Martin nodded. "That's why I'm gonna say that we'll check it again in a week," he said noting something on a chart. He looked up at Giles. "You are going to be here in a week?"

Giles hadn't thought about it, he hadn't thought about anything very much. He nodded, "of course."

Martin's expression was solemn. "I hope you don't mind me saying that you showing up here like this scared the hell out of me?"

"I've been better myself, but... I assure you, I have no intention of hurting Skye; I want to make up for not being there, in whatever way I can," Giles replied, as Martin leaned behind him and started to pull his sweater up over his back. He paused and looked back at Giles.

"How did this happen?"

Giles glanced down, "Oh, slight case of impalement," he replied, good-humouredly. He inhaled sharply as Martin pressed his hand below Giles' ribcage.

"These contusions are more recent. Skye said that you had a dangerous job; I guess she wasn't kidding. I'd like to take an x-ray when you come in to have your blood pressure checked next week. But we'll keep that to ourselves, no need to worry Skye unnecessarily."

Giles couldn't be bothered to explain that the latest set of bruises that adorned his torso, resulted from the least of the beatings he had taken in recent years. Martin listened to his chest before making more annotations on the chart.

"Okay, I'm done."

"Good... umm... thank you." Giles looked at Martin. "Is she a good doctor?"

Martin grinned, "One of the best."

Giles shook hands with Martin, promised to take things easy, and return to see him in a week's time.

Skye had been unable to swap her shift and so resorted to taking Giles for coffee and a sandwich at the trendy deli across the street from the hospital. They sat sipping their coffees and picking at the edges of their designer sandwiches. When they both looked up at the same time, they grinned at each other.

"I guess neither of us is very hungry," she giggled.

"No. But you should eat. I've heard how hard they work you junior doctors."

"The shifts here aren't so bad; it's just the study that we have to do on top that's the killer."

"I hear you're doing rather well though?"

"Martin?"

Giles smiled and nodded. "He seems like a nice chap."

"He is. I'm glad you like him." She put her coffee cup down. "Will you come to the house for dinner this evening?"

Giles faltered, "Oh... er... I-I was hoping, that maybe you'd let me take you out for dinner?" He didn't feel ready for playing happy families with Frankie, but when he saw Skye's face drop, he speedily relented. "Or we could eat in... that would be fine too. I just don't want to inconvenience your mother."

She grinned. "Mom loves a good excuse to cook something special. I've already agreed it with her." Skye's head cocked to the side. "You don't... hate her, do you?"

Giles stared down at his untouched sandwich. "I'm just finding it a little hard to understand her actions... at the moment."

"Don't punish her, please. I know she looks like a strong person, but she isn't. I pushed her too far once and..."

Giles nodded, "I know. It's just going to take me a little time, Skye, just as it's going to take you and your mother time to adjust to the situation."

"I don't need time. I've been waiting for you to show up my whole life."

Giles leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere, so you don't have to push yourself. Understood?" She nodded. "And don't worry, your mother and I are both grown ups, I'm sure that we can behave as such." Giles smiled, but inwardly questioned whether he was making his first mistake as a parent: to promise the improbable.

Frankie opened the door to Giles at seven o'clock sharp. She was wiping her hands on a tea towel and held a phone in the crook of her neck, obviously trying to juggle several tasks at the same time. He smiled and shuffled past her when she beckoned him in.

"Yeah... well... Patrick if you'd just let me get a word in.... no I don't think you're an idiot..." She sighed and put her hand over the receiver. "I'm sorry about this, won't be a minute. Go in and take a seat."

Giles nodded and walked into the lounge.

Frankie went further down the corridor to the kitchen, from where Giles could still hear every word. "No I wasn't talking to you.... Patrick you're my agent, you're meant to be on my side.... Yeah well, that tactic's always worked well in the past.... No, I'm just saying that making threats isn't the best way to get a good piece of work out of me; hell, don't they know anything about the creative process? I don't care what they... well you can piss off as well; they'll get the damned song when I've written it." Giles heard a crash, which was obviously the phone being slammed down, and then there was silence. Giles walked over to the piano where a half empty bottle of cognac was languishing on top of ripped up and crossed out pages of score. The shimmering smashed up remains of a crystal tumbler caught his eye. Frankie walked into the room to see him staring at the broken fragments.

"Sorry the place is such a mess. I'm kind of up against a deadline," she murmured going over to clear up the mess, "I'd forgotten I'd dropped a glass." She grabbed an overflowing waste paper bin and quickly started to gather up the scattered pieces. It was clear that the glass had been 'dropped' with quite some force. Giles bent down to help and she froze.

"Why don't you go and do whatever you have to do, and I'll deal with this?" he asked softly.

"Thanks," she said, shooting back up. "Do help yourself to a drink. Skye'll be home soon." With that, she turned and scurried from the room.

Giles sighed deeply as he finished clearing up. It was patently obvious that the evening was going to be a veritable nightmare; he was wound like a spring and Frankie appeared to have made a substantial start on the drinking. He suspected that this was not a good combination.

"I'm home mom, is dad here?" came Skye's voice from the hall.

"In the lounge," Frankie shouted back.

Giles stood up as Skye breezed into the room.

"Hi." She kissed his cheek, whilst simultaneously slipping off her coat. "What were you doing on the floor?"

"Oh I was just... err... cleaning up some broken glass, for your mother."

Skye looked from the broken crystal lying in the bin, to the half empty bottle sitting on top of the piano. She frowned, grabbed the bottle and went to put it back on the drinks cabinet in the far corner of the room, slamming it down with such force that Giles thought it might break. He could almost hear her silently reining in her temper as she turned back to him with a controlled smile.

"Can I take your coat?"

"Thank you," he replied, as she walked behind him and started pulling off his overcoat, in the manner of an over-enthusiastic waiter. While she went to hang the coats up, he sat down on the sofa, taking a handkerchief out of his suit jacket pocket to polish his glasses. She popped her head back around the door.

"Red or white?"

"Oh, umm... whatever you're having," he smiled.

Skye grinned back before going to fetch the drinks from the kitchen. Giles listened to Skye and Frankie's conversation, which although hushed, was still audible.

"Mom, are you okay?"

"I'm fine sweetheart."

"It's just you promised that you wouldn't..."

"Please don't lecture me tonight, honey; I'm not in the mood." Frankie's voice was terse, obviously having the desired effect of cutting off the conversation, as Skye appeared with a glass of red wine for Giles, and a glass of water for herself.

"Thank you. Are you not having one?" Giles asked, taking the glass.

"I don't drink," she almost snapped.

After an interlude of half an hour or so, Giles and Skye were called through to the dining room for supper. Frankie remained subdued throughout the meal, only responding to direct questions. Giles too was fairly quiet, barely able to make eye contact with Frankie, which left Skye to do most of the talking. She nervously twittered away, trying her best to get the two 'grown ups' to talk to each other. 'Did you know that mom has written three number ones in the last seven years?' and 'Dad's been in Sunnydale California all this time, I told him we used to summer in LA.' But her efforts did not bear much by way of fruit.

There was a buzzing noise and Skye got up from the table cussing. "Please don't say they need me." Giles and Frankie both looked up from their plates as Skye picked up the phone and punched in a number. "Hi... yeah it's Dr Giles... can't someone else cover—I'm in the middle of something really important? God no, don't call him; I'm on my way." She put the phone down. "Sorry, Alex's called in sick; I have to go." She kissed Frankie on the forehead and walked round to Giles, who got to his feet. Skye hugged him tightly. "I'm really sorry; comes with the territory."

"I quite understand. I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked, as she walked into the hall. She returned, pulling on her coat.

"Yeah, I'll call you in the morning." She stopped and looked at both of her parents. "You two try not to kill each other," she smirked, before turning and leaving.

Giles and Frankie looked at one another and blushed. Hastily, Frankie got up and started to clear away the plates. Giles followed suit, picking up his plate and following Frankie into the large stark modern kitchen. Under the harsh neon lights, he could observe the effects of the evening's anxiety plainly drawn on Frankie's face.

"I'll go," he said turning to leave.

"Rupert!"

Giles turned and looked at her.

"I'm sorry!" She put her head in her hands.

"You should have thought about that before you walked away with my child," Giles seethed.

"I thought it was for the best, I really did."

"I didn't think you were capable of such conceit; making decisions for me like I wasn't capable of them. I could have died and never known her. Did you ever think about that?"

"How many times do you want me to say I was wrong?" she blurted.

Giles put a hand on the work surface to steady himself as his vision blurred. "I don't... know.... Umm..." He took a deep breath and hoped that the room would stop spinning.

Frankie approached him, as one would an injured beast. "Are you okay?" She put a hand on his arm and looked at him with growing concern. Giles jerked his arm away from her.

"I'm fine," he growled. He didn't want her sympathy; she had taken away all she could have possibly given him, and now, he didn't want anything from her.

She looked away, the anger rising in her. "You know, I didn't exactly have it easy either. I was having my first child, in a foreign city, where I didn't know anyone. And then I had to bring her up alone... with no one to talk to... no one to share things with. And ... and... I was still in love with you! I was scared and alone and I had no life outside of my work; that's all I do – write..."

Giles smirked, "Oh yes, your work."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's why you really left, isn't it, to 'make it big' over here?"

"If that's what you want to think, then go ahead," she blurted, walking out of the kitchen.

Giles followed her through to the lounge and watched her pour herself a glass of cognac. He glanced at the platinum disks on the wall and snorted. "You really did sell out, didn't you Francisca?"

Frankie spun round and glared at him. "So this is how it's gonna be, is it? Cheap insults and snarky comments, huh? You've lost your edge Ripper; seems like they really did tame you."

Giles barged past her, poured himself a scotch and downed it in one, flinging the glass back on the cabinet.

"At least I kept fighting. You, quite clearly, gave up and... fell in line. Did it feel good to be making real money?" he turned and looked at her. "Did it feel good to finally be able to put two fingers up at that family of yours? You were always so ashamed of your working class roots; still, you proved that the American dream can come true. So glad that selling your principles up the river worked out so well for you."

"Yeah, well. We couldn't all save the world; some of us had the mediocre task of raising a child...."

"...No... some of us couldn't even save ourselves... and some of us weren't given that mediocre option!"

"If you hadn't been such a Byronic bastard and talked to me, I might not have left."

"Oh!" Giles rolled his eyes dramatically. "So it's my fault that you went for the easy money and took my unborn child away from me."

"Maybe it's a good job I did. At least she was safe away from you. After all, you didn't make a very good job of protecting that slayer of yours."

Without thinking, Giles rushed at Frankie, pinning her against the wall, making her drop her glass in fright. "What the fuck would you know?" he glared. "At least I wasn't so bloody selfish as to take the easy way out, and leave a sixteen year old to pick up the pieces. No wonder she thinks she needs to save everyone, she's had to deal with you all her life."

Frankie shoved Giles away from her. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Frankie..."

"Get out!" she shouted, before he had time to say anything more.

"But..."

"I said get out!"

Giles hesitated, before bolting from the room. He grabbed his coat from the hall and left, slamming the door behind him. As the chill of the evening air hit him, so did remorse. He hadn't meant to pick a fight with her, as inevitable as it was. Turning, he rang the door bell. There was no reply and so he started to pound on the door. "Frankie, open the door. Please Frankie..." He heard a fast tempestuous piece being battered out on the piano within.

He slowly sat down on the cold stone steps, with every intention of waiting out the storm. Their words flew through his mind, and suddenly it was Jenny's face he saw before him. He squinted and cradled the back of his neck, trying to physically shift the mental manifestation. Frankie was right; both she and Skye had been safer as far away as possible from him. The image of Jenny's face disintegrated into a bloody tableau of Angelus holding a body, but it wasn't Skye's body, it was Frankie's. Hearing a crash from inside the house, Giles jumped to his feet and hammered on the door again. "Frankie, please, let me in..." he could hear her sobbing. "If you don't open the door then you leave me with no alternative but to call Skye," he shouted. There was a momentary lapse in the sobs, and after a couple of seconds he heard the door latch click. He pushed the door open to see Frankie disappearing into the lounge. After quietly closing the door, he followed her in.

The papers that had been scattered on the piano were now strewn across the floor. It was obvious that the cognac bottle had been responsible for the crash, as it appeared to have come to a sticky end against the wall next to the fireplace; its remains leaving golden streaks running down the magnolia paintwork. Frankie was sitting hugging her knees backed into the far corner of the sofa.

"I didn't mean to shout at you," he began, perching on the opposite corner of the sofa. She didn't reply. "I know you did what you thought was best, I'm just so flaming angry that I... never got to see her. But I don't want to fight with you," he continued, massaging his temples, "for Skye's sake, we should try and put the past behind us."

Frankie nodded and wiped her cheeks with her hand. "I'm sorry about... what I said, about your slayer."

"No... you were right. You and Skye were safer away from me."

"Maybe, but she missed out on so much; too much."

Giles glanced at Frankie. "I should be the one apologising. You've obviously done a good job of raising her... that crack about... well, it was uncalled for."

She shook her head. "There are times when I haven't been a very good mother, and that was one of them," she sniffed. "I was upset and drunk and half out of my mind. But you're right, that's no justification... it's just... sometimes it's hard to see a way through, y'know?" She looked like she was about to disintegrate.

He nodded before standing up, "I'll make us some coffee." With that he went into the hall, hung up his coat and then paced through to the kitchen. By the time he got back to Frankie bearing two cups of fresh coffee, she had collapsed into a fit-full sleep. Giles put the mugs down and went in search of a blanket. The first floor of the house was clearly Frankie's domain. Opening the door to her bedroom, he wondered if he should feel like he was intruding, but strangely, he didn't. The room was slightly chaotic, a mishmash of several different styles, romantic fabrics alongside the stark modern lines of the dark furniture and the cubist artwork that adorned the walls. He grabbed a throw off the bed and was about to leave when a photograph caught his eye. Picking it up from where it was lying on the bedside cabinet, he flicked on the lamp. Giles slumped onto the bed. The picture was of him and Frankie at a Christmas party, one that he'd never seen before. For the first time since he'd found out about Skye, Giles remembered how much he had actually loved that wild, slightly out of her depth, girl. He remembered their last night when they had planned their imaginary future together, and he remembered how she had cried. Carefully, he replaced the photograph where it had been in amongst the scrunched up tissues and slowly returned to the lounge, gently draping the blanket over Frankie and tucking the soft fabric around her shoulders. He sat down and stared at her wondering how such an awful mess had come out of something so wonderful, and how something wonderful had come out of such an awful bloody mess. Eventually, he slumped back in the opposite corner of the sofa and drifted into unconsciousness.

He awoke to the sound of the front door being shut, and to find his hand resting on Frankie's leg which was sprawled across his lap. Skye walked into the lounge, taking in the scattered papers and broken glass. "Just another night back at the ranch," she muttered as she turned around to see Giles rubbing his eyes. "Oh, morning," she said, glancing from him to Frankie's sleeping form. "What the hell happened after I left?"

Giles put his finger to his lips and then carefully untangled himself from Frankie's legs. Skye nodded toward the door and they both went through to the kitchen.

"So...?" She looked terrified.

Giles sighed, "We had a bit of an argument; nothing major... in fact I think it cleared the air somewhat."

"A bit?" she scoffed. "I'm thinking of getting a job in the glassware department at Macy's, so I can get staff discount."

"It was inevitable that there would be some tensions. But I think we-we're working things through."

Skye started dismantling the coffee percolator. "I'm sorry, I know that I shouldn't worry so much, but I can't help it."

"It's quite understandable."

"She does such stupid things when she gets like that. I've been waiting for something like this to happen."

"Last night was my fault, not your mothers."

They both looked up as they heard the front door opening. Martin strolled into the kitchen, putting his keys down on the breakfast bar.

"Morning," he said smiling at Giles before going over and kissing Skye. "What's up?"

"Mom's going over the edge again."

Martin frowned. "Want me to talk to her?"

Skye nodded and rested her head against Martins shoulder.

Giles suddenly felt like duplicate piece of jigsaw puzzle, surplus to requirement and out of place. "Well, I should be getting back to the hotel," he said edging towards the door.

"No, please stay?" Skye replied, taking a step toward him. "You might as well stay for breakfast."

"I should go and shower..." Giles stuttered.

"You can do that here... use our bathroom on the top floor."

"There's no point trying to argue with her," Martin interjected.

"I'm beginning to realise that," Giles smiled.

"I'll just go and inspect the damage," Martin mumbled, heading in the direction of the lounge.

Giles looked confused. "Does Martin live here too?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Skye grinned, "Kind of. We have a room at the residence, but it's not exactly comfortable so mom said that we could use the top floor as a base. We try and spend a few nights a week here." She blushed, "you don't disapprove, do you?"

Giles snorted, "I think that would be more than a little hypocritical."

Skye looked at him and giggled. "Yeah, I guess so. Come on, I'll show you were the bathroom is."

She took him up to the top floor which was much neater than the first floor; Skye explained that the orderliness of their space was mainly due to Martin being 'one of those rare fastidious creatures'. Giles took a shower and gratefully borrowed one of Martins sweaters. He dressed and made his way back down stairs, to where he could hear Martin and Frankie talking in the lounge.

"When are you going to get through with punishing yourself? You were just a kid."

"I was twenty"

"Frankie, I'm thirty one and I still can't imagine bringing a child into the world. Now quit being so tough on yourself. And while you're about it, you could ease up on the drinking. You know how rattled Skye gets."

"Yeah I know," Frankie sighed, as Giles entered the room

"Good morning," he said smiling directly at Frankie.

Frankie smiled and blushed, "Morning."

Martin got up from the couch, "I'll go and help Skye with breakfast," he said, making a hasty exit.

Frankie massaged her forehead. "God, I'm sorry Rupert. I really do make a right royal cock-up of everything."

Giles sat down and looked at Frankie. "I think it's time that we made some rules."

Frankie's eyebrows shot up, "Rules?"

"Yes, the first of which being, no more apologies. I think it's time that we invoke the statute of limitations; we can't turn back the clock so there is no point dwelling on the rights and wrongs of both our actions."

Frankie nodded, "Okay. So what's number two?"

"Hmm?"

"You said rules, I assumed there would be more than one?"

"Oh... umm..."

Frankie giggled, "there are no others, are there Rupert?"

"There are! I'm, well... still in the process of... um... formulating them," he grinned.

The rest of the day had been much more relaxed, partly because Martin and Skye both had a day off and so in effect played host/ babysitter to Giles and Frankie. Martin had persuaded Frankie to show Giles the basement recording studio, which had been successful in leading them into reminiscing about some of their happier times at Oxford.

When Giles returned back to his hotel room, tired but feeling strangely aglow, he contemplated calling Cleveland for the first time. Thoughtfully, he picked up the phone and dialled the number that he had forced himself to memorise. His call was answered after a couple of rings.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Xander."

"Giles, Big guy, how are you? We've been hoping you'd check in soon," came Xander's enthusiastic response.

"Yes... umm... sorry about going AWOL."

"That's okay... everything here is... surprisingly like it was in Sunnydale, except for without the sunny part."

"A hellmouth will do that to a town."

"So what's new with you? When can we expect you back?"

"Well, it seems I have a daughter." Giles heard the words slip out of his mouth, as if he were listening to someone else say them.

There was a pause. "That was quick work."

"No... no... she's twenty seven."

"Man! That must be uh..."

"Yes quite. Listen, I'm going to stay in New York for the foreseeable... I need to... well... Can you take down a number?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"Two one two, seven three four, nine zero five six. Have you got that?"

"Yeah, I have it. Giles, do you want me to tell Buffy?"

"No, I'll call her in a few days. I just wanted to make sure you could reach me if needs be."

"Okay... well... take care."

"Thank you... umm... do give my... love... to everyone."

"I'll be sure to do that. Night."

"Goodnight."

Giles slowly replaced the receiver. Hundreds of questions were exploding in his head. Would he ever go back to Cleveland? Should he be trying to reform the Council? Did he have any place in the fight at all, or should he be focussing all of his attention on Skye? Had he done his bit for the world, was it now time to have something resembling a normal life? He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, too tired to answer any of those questions; he just wanted to sleep.

November had melted into December, and the biting wind that swept down Lexington was accompanied by occasional flurries of snow, as well as hoards of post-Thanksgiving consumers. After a late night Christmas shopping expedition, Giles and Sky had returned back to a house that was illuminated by candles and smelled of cinnamon and burnt orange. Choral music had been emanating from the lounge, and when they had quietly eased the door open, they had witnessed Frankie's dramatic conducting of the invisible choir of King's College, Cambridge. She had not been amused. But now, there she was, conducting the Christmas recital of the Lower East Side Community Choir in the historic St. Paul's Chapel. The church was cold and the pews were uncomfortable, but Giles couldn't remember having experienced such a warm burst of seasonal sentiment. Skye snuggled closer and tightened her grip on his arm, smiling briefly at him before turning her gaze back to the scarlet clad choir that were giving a poignant treatment of In the Bleak Midwinter. Rossetti's poetry had never been more alive to Giles than it was at that moment. He had been afraid that he would have nothing to offer Skye; that he would be a disappointment, a poor second to the man that Frankie, in her guilt, had painted him as. But sitting there in that draughty old church, listening to the verse of a woman who had played second fiddle to her talented brother, who had rejected all that the world had expected of her, he understood what it meant to give out of lack and receive everything in return.

The concert ended with the ever uplifting Oh Come All Ye Faithful, to a genuinely warm-hearted reception. When they had managed to prise Frankie away from the appreciative choir, they walked slowly up the avenue, enjoying the lull in the snowfall.

"I'd forgotten that you were classically trained," Giles mused, "of course that's probably because you hid it so well."

Frankie gasped and elbowed him

"Oww! I'd also forgotten how terribly violent she is," he stage whispered to Skye who was walking on his opposite side, still holding onto his arm.

Skye giggled. "So Mom, what do you want to do to celebrate?"

"How about Laboratorio del Gelato?"

"You want ice cream?" Skye snorted, "It's the coldest winter on record since 1978, and you want ice cream?"

"I was thinking hot chocolate with cinnamon and whipped cream, actually, and maybe, just a tiny, side serving of hazelnut ice cream."

Giles glanced at Skye and chuckled, "You'd better lead the way."

"This is so typical; she cannot walk past an ice cream parlour. I don't know how she survives the winter shutdown."

"Gina's doesn't close for the winter."

"...Which is the only reason you bought that house."

"Don't exaggerate Skye. It was only one of a number of reasons why I bought that particular house."

"...Number one being that it's only two minutes walk from the nearest purveyor of waffles and pancakes?" Giles interjected, grinning at Frankie.

She couldn't help but giggle, "Oh I see, you two are going to gang up on me now? Well that's just great!"

The taunting continued for the remainder of the journey. Giles giggled like a school boy as they crowded into the already packed ice cream parlour. He wondered if this was what normal family life was like. He slipped into the opposite side of the booth to Frankie as Skye went in search of the rest room. Vaughn Monroe was crooning Let it Snow over the excited chatter of children and adults alike.

"You really are the most terrible tease, Rupert Giles," Frankie grinned, pulling her gloves off and stuffing them into her coat pockets.

Giles returned her smile. "You were always such an easy target," he chuckled, "you still are."

"Gee thanks!"

He concentrated on arranging the sugar and napkin dispensers into the most pleasing aesthetic display. "I've been meaning to ask you if you'll come shopping with me for Skye's present. I-I'm not very good at that sort of thing."

"That's because you're a man."

"Don't be so sexist!"

"I'm not sexist, I'm just stating facts. Men are hopeless at shopping for gifts."

One of Santa's little helpers arrived to take their order and Frankie started to examine the menu in minute detail.

"I thought you knew what you wanted?" Giles asked, looking vaguely amused.

"Classic example of why men make bad shoppers," she muttered from behind the menu.

"Can we have three hot chocolates, please?" Giles addressed the waitress, "Oh... and could we possibly have them with whipped cream?"

"Honey, with that accent, you can have whipped cream whereever you like," she replied with a wink.

Frankie looked over the top of the menu to watch Giles blush and squirm. Her eyes were laughing at him when he noticed her watching him.

He cleared his throat. "Have you decided yet?"

Frankie smiled, "I'll have the hazelnut please, no cream."

"So that was an example of consumer excellence?" he scoffed, as the waitress walked away. "Spend ten minutes looking at a menu, only to finally decide on the very thing that you wanted before the menu was put in front of you?"

"Oh no Rupert; sometimes that process can take hours, days even! And besides, it gave you time to chat up the waitress."

"Who's chatting up the waitress?" Skye asked, flopping down beside Giles who was blushing furiously.

"Your father."

"I did not!" Giles protested.

"She likes his accent."

"Frankie!"

"He can have whipped cream whereever he wants. How come I never get that kind of offer?"

"Possibly because you sound like a yank," he smirked.

"Oww! Mom!" Skye glared, rubbing her shin.

"Sorry honey; that was meant for your father."

"Oww!" Giles laughed.

"Second time lucky," Frankie grinned, clearing the table to enable the waitress to deliver their order.

After they had finished and left a rather generous tip for the waitress, who Frankie thought had well and truly earned it, they waited on the sidewalk while Skye tried to hail a taxi.

Giles smiled at Frankie as they lingered under the parlour's awning. "It's been a lovely evening, thank you for inviting me."

"Thanks for coming," she replied as the wind caught her shawl and tried to steal if from her. Giles grabbed the escaping fabric and arranged it back around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. For a moment they simply stared at one another.

"Mom!" Skye called from the roadside as a yellow taxicab pulled into the curb. She looked back at Frankie and Giles who were still staring at each other. "Francisca! Rupert! Your chariot awaits."

They looked away from each other at the same moment, Frankie blushing and Giles nervously scratching the back of his neck.

"Guys!" Skye shouted, in exasperation.

Frankie started toward the taxi, only looking back when she realised that Giles was not following. "You're not coming?"

"Umm... no... I think I'll walk... need the air," he muttered.

"Okay. Night then."

"Night dad," Skye called, as she followed Frankie into the backseat of the cab.

Giles watched the car pull away in a haze of exhaust fumes and steam, lost in an emotion he couldn't, no, didn't want to name.

Frankie's annual formal party took place on Christmas Eve, and the house had been professionally decorated so that it resembled the set of a Perry Como seasonal special. Giles was stood in the corner of the lounge, avoiding conversation, and more specifically, questions as to where he had been for the last twenty seven years. He strongly suspected that the majority of the people at the party thought of him as 'that bastard that abandoned his pregnant girlfriend', no matter what Frankie had told them. He was staring into the bottom of his glass, when Martin sidled up beside him.

"Enjoying the party?" he shouted, over the music and ripples of laughter.

"Oh... umm... yes. It's very... festive."

Martin grinned. "Nah... me either."

They looked at each other and laughed.

Frankie was jiving with a guy who Giles had been introduced to as her ex-writing partner.

Watching him spin her back into his arms made Giles wonder how far their relationship had deviated from pen and ink.

Martin nudged Giles. "Y'know, I think she'd like it if you went and interrupted."

"Oh, no... I'm not much of a dancer," Giles stuttered.

"Who said anything about dancing?"

"Hmm?"

"You know that she's still in love with you, right?"

Giles stared at Martin for a moment before looking back at Frankie and the 'ex-partner'.

"She's not in love with me... no, she's in love with a man that hasn't existed for quite some time," he hesitated, "please excuse me." He hastily left the lounge in favour of the kitchen, which was slightly calmer, now that the caterers had left. Just as he was considering a stealthy escape, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Are you enjoying the party?" Frankie asked, smiling.

Giles couldn't bring himself to say no. "Oh... yes... very much."

"Good. I wondered for a moment whether you were considering slipping away without saying goodbye."

He was busted. "I'm sorry; I'm not really one for big parties."

"You never were. Your limit used to be a couple of hours," she giggled. "I used to time you to see how long it would be before you asked if we could go back to my place to..." Frankie blushed.

Giles laughed softly. "I didn't realise I was so predictable."

"Anyway... there's no way that you'll find a cab at this time on Christmas Eve, and it's an out-and-out blizzard out there... so I was thinking that maybe you should stay. It'd be really good if you could... for Skye, I mean... Christmas morning and all of that... I noticed you brought your gifts with you."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be. Y'know, I wish you'd stop apologising for your existence. We want you in our lives... I mean... for Skye. She needs you around."

Giles knew that there were two conversations going on, and one of them was scaring the hell out of him.

"Frankie..." he began, laying a hand on her arm.

"...Good, that's settled then," she grinned, turning on her heels and rushing up to talk to a group of people who were entering the kitchen.

After the last of the drunken party die-hards had weaved their merry way out into the snowstorm, and the catering company had collected their equipment and done most of the clean up, Skye and Martin made their excuses and headed up to bed. Frankie, however, was still in the festive spirit, bashing out carols on the piano. Giles leaned on the baby grand and tried to catch her attention.

"Umm... Francisca?"

She stopped mid phrase and looked up at him. "Rupert?"

"Not to be a spoil sport, but Skye and Martin have just gone to bed."

"Are you telling me to keep it down?"

"Something like that."

She grinned and started to softly pick out Silent Night.

Giles shook his head and stood up. "I don't know how you can hit the right keys when you're so... tipsy."

Frankie got up from the piano stool and reached her arms around him. "Dance with me?"

Giles smiled, "But there's no music."

"There is in my head," she said, beginning to rock him slightly.

He snorted and put his arms around her waist. Frankie rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes, lightly humming.

"What is that?" he asked, softly.

"Just something I'm working on."

"Who's it for?"

"No one... I mean, it's, well, for me; helps me sort out stuff in my head."

"I'm glad you still write for you. I had wondered whether it had become just a job, something you loathed doing unless it was a commission."

Frankie looked up at him. "I do loath doing it... I just don't know any other way of dealing with..." she giggled softly, "never mind."

"Me?"

She stopped swaying and examined Giles' face. "Yeah," she nodded.

Giles felt her lightly tug his neck. He did not resist but leaned down so she could kiss him. Her touch was soft and uncertain, but still there. As he began to respond, all he could think was that he needed more information. He needed to know what it was that she was wanted, what she was feeling, thinking. He needed to know what that emotion was, that bubbled up in him whenever they were together, and this was not the way to find out.

He pulled away from Frankie, his eyes remaining lowered.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Frankie muttered, withdrawing her arms from around him.

"Don't be..."

"...No, I know you don't want this. Forgive me," she muttered, bolting from the room.

Giles rubbed his face. That possibly wasn't the best way of finding out either, he berated himself. Slowly he made his way upstairs and glanced at the door of the room where a bed had been made up for him. If he left the situation as it was, it was likely to develop into something much more awkward, something that might upset Skye, and he wasn't about to let her first 'family Christmas' turn into an episode of Passions.

Taking a deep breath, Giles warily tapped on Frankie's bedroom door. There was no reply, but he pressed the door open and stepped over the threshold. "Frankie?"

She was sat on the bed, staring at her hands that were tightly clasped in her lap. Giles edged across the room and sat down next to her, noting her downward cast.

"I didn't mean to throw myself at you like that. Can we just forget it and put it down to too much party spirit?" she asked without looking at him.

"Is that what you really want?"

She shrugged.

He wanted to hold her. That was the one impulse that he could identify out of the throng of thoughts and feelings that were swimming around inside him.

"Why don't you get ready for bed, and I'll go and get changed out of this," he said pulling at his tie, "and then we can talk. I'll be back in a moment."

He left Frankie sitting on the bed, but when he returned he found her clad in thick woollen pyjamas, pulling the comforter up over her legs. He gingerly set himself down on the edge of the bed, feeling much more comfortable dressed in the soft sweat suit that Martin had loaned him, but no less uneasy about the conversation ahead.

Frankie wouldn't, or couldn't look at him. Instead she kept her gaze firmly fixed on her hands that were fidgeting in front of her. Giles sighed, this wasn't going to work; they had never been very good at face to face discussions unless... He got up, turned the bedside light off and sat down next to her, shifting the pillows behind him. Frankie moved over slightly to give him more room and, he suspected, to put a bit of distance between them.

"I'm sorry I came on to you. I don't know what I was thinking," she said shakily.

"Stop apologising. I just need to know where you see this going."

"I don't. You don't want it so..."

"...What makes you think that?"

"Please, Rupert, you don't have to try and soften the blow."

"I'm not trying to soften any blow. I want to know what makes you think that I don't want... whatever you're talking about... when I don't have a bloody clue myself."

"Well every time it looks like you feel something for me, you run like the clappers."

"Of course I feel something for you."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes I do."

"Then why?"

"Because it scares the hell out of me; because everyone that I have ever loved or come close to loving has left me or... or... died." The blood was rushing through his head causing his ears to ring. "And I don't know if I can risk it again. I don't know if it's worth the risk."

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It clearly does."

Giles sighed, "She was killed."

"I'm sorry."

"So you see it's not that I don't want to, I-I can't. And besides, it's not me that you want. I'm not the person you knew back in Oxford."

"I know that."

"Do you? Do you really?"

"Rupert, I'm forty seven years old. Do you think that I would want who you used to be? You're not the only one who's changed and you're not the only one who's scared. All I know is that when I look at you, I feel something that I haven't felt in a very long time."

"What about your ex-writing partner?"

"I didn't love him."

"But you were...?"

"...It was a mistake."

"You didn't look like you regretted it when you were dancing with him."

"We're friends—that's all. Sod it! Why am I explaining myself to you?"

Giles snorted, "I've no idea."

"It's not like you're mister forthcoming."

"Sorry."

Frankie shuffled down under the covers and lay back on the pillow. "If you want to avail yourself of the bedding, then please do. I promise not to jump on you."

"Scouts honour?" Giles giggled.

"Oh please! Get over yourself!" she laughed.

Giles kicked the covers down until he could slip under them and then patted the pillows before lying down on his side, facing Frankie.

"What makes you think I won't jump on you?" he asked, reaching a hand out to brush the hair away from her face. She didn't reply. "I know you've changed. Do you know when I first met you, I remember thinking, here is someone who life could never defeat... and I still think that."

"It did defeat me," she whispered.

"That wasn't a defeat; one of your barricades may have fallen, but you're still here, you're still fighting."

"Maybe, but I'm into 'hand to hand' combat now."

"In my experience, that's where all battles are won or lost."

Frankie turned onto her side to look at Giles. "Are you going back to Cleveland?"

"I should, and I have thought about it but..."

"...But?"

"I don't want to lose what I have here. I miss everyone, and I miss feeling useful - although they don't need me in the same way that they used to - but I want to do the right thing by Skye, and that means being here. Plus if I go back to doing what I used to do it would mean putting you both in danger, and I can't do that. I suppose that means that it's about time that I thought about finding a job and somewhere to live, before my funds run out completely."

"Skye will be pleased."

"And you?"

"I'm just glad that you're not into poetic justice."

"I think you've done a far better job of punishing yourself than I could ever have done." Frankie buried her face in the pillow but Giles put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

"I'm not crying to get the sympathy vote," she sniffled.

"I know that. If it makes you any feel better, I was rather hoping this was how it would work out."

"What, with me blubbering?"

"No... this..." he shifted so he could slip his other arm under her neck and around her back. She likewise slipped an arm around him and hugged him closer.

"This isn't you running."

"No, I don't know what this is me doing."

A few hours later, Giles felt movement next to him and sat up to see Frankie dragging herself from bed. He glances at the alarm clock to see that it was six thirty, which meant that they couldn't have been asleep for more than a couple of hours. He groaned slightly and rubbed his face. "What are you doing?"

Frankie was sticking her knuckles into her eyes in the manner of a small child; it was clear that she wasn't really awake.

"Frankie, come back to bed."

"Have to play," she yawned loudly, "Santa."

"Hmm?" Giles threw the covers back and stiffly manoeuvred himself out of bed.

Frankie was retrieving two present filled red and gold brocade stockings out of her closet. "Need to put their stockings out."

Giles smiled. It should seem ridiculous to be hanging out stockings for two grown adults, but it didn't. He followed her up the stairs to Skye and Martin's bedroom and watched her quietly hang a stocking on each of the bedposts before creeping out of the room and silently shutting the door.

"Come on Santa, back to bed."

She nodded and started back down the stairs, her eyes still half shut. Once they were back in the bedroom, Giles straightened out the bedding before pulling back the covers. Frankie was standing with her eyes shut, clearly unable to stay awake. He pulled her to the bed and as soon as he lay down, she turned in to him, settling her head in the crook of his shoulder and hugging an arm across his chest. Closing his eyes, Giles wondered whether it was a mistake to have slept in the same bed, whether he was indulging some latent domestic fantasy, however, he soon drifted back off to sleep and dreamt about re-plastering the walls of his house back in Bath.

Giles awoke, for the second time that morning, to the sound of the bedroom door being opened. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, disoriented at first, not least by the figure that was shuffling around beside. Frankie sat up and stretched.

"Merry Christmas..." Skye's voice faded as she took in the scene.

Giles looked up, "Oh... um... merry Christmas." He smiled at Skye, and although his vision was dulled, he could tell that she was shocked at having found him in her mother's bed.

"Merry Christmas, honey," Frankie yawned, getting out of bed and going over to hug Skye. "I'll have a shower and then I'll get breakfast started."

"It's okay, you take your time. Martin and I have everything under control... breakfast wise, anyway."

Giles watched Skye leave, wondering whether he had just imagined the hint of suspicion in her voice. Frankie closed the door and looked back at Giles.

"Morning."

He smiled, "good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Oh yeah, out like a light; you?"

"Yes, I slept rather well too."

They both started speak at the same time which raised awkward giggles from both of them.

"You first," he said, swinging his legs into a sitting position.

"I just wanted to say thanks... for... last night," she stuttered, her face starting to flush. "You could have made things really uncomfortable for me, but you didn't."

Giles stood up slowly, automatically rubbing the small of his back to ease his passage to an upright position. Smiling he took a step towards her, and then another, stretching out an arm to her. Frankie quickly slipped her arms around his back and hugged him.

"I don't know how this is going to work, but I'd like to give it a try... if you do?" he asked, resting his head on hers.

"I do."

By lunchtime, it seemed that every divorced, single, separated and widowed musician (and associated professional) in Manhattan, had descended on Frankie's house. This had been the arrangement for as long as she could remember, Skye told Giles. Everyone was expected to bring a dish and an instrument: that was the deal. Even Patrick, Frankie's grumpy and divorced agent, turned up with a fiddle that only saw the light of day on Christmas day and at family wakes. At some point in the proceedings, Giles had a guitar thrust into his hands with the warning that everyone was expected to do a spot; 'no song—no supper'. He didn't know whether to be more worried by his forthcoming musical suicide in front of a gaggle of professional musicians, or by the appearance of Frankie's 'ex-writing partner'.

The lounge was soon filled with simultaneous casual melodies, as various instruments were tuned against each other. Giles settled himself in the corner of the room beside another guitar player who introduced himself as Phil, a session musician who had worked with Frankie five years before, and had been attending the annual shindig ever since. Martin edged his way around the room, distributing old crumpled song books for those that might need them. Close behind, Skye was handing out bottles of beer, which she nearly dropped when Patrick wrapped his knuckles sharply on the piano.

"Can I have your attention... people? People... okay... shut the hell up!" he barked, causing the room to fall silent. "Thank you. Y'know, when I got into this business, my father told me: Patrick, never work with performing poodles or musicians," there was a ripple of booing and sniggering. "But when I look around this room, I feel privileged to have been associated with so many talented and positively certifiable individuals."

"Can you remember how privileged you feel next time you get the urge to up your fee?" called a man's voice from somewhere in the room, sending around a further wave of laughter.

"I said privileged, not brain dead," Patrick smirked. "But it is good that so many of us have lasted out another year in this crazy business. Having said that, we are missing a few of the old faces; Don Blackman, as most of you will know, succumb to the honourable estate of holy matrimony and is holidaying with his new in-laws, so spare a thought for him and think how much worse your own sorry lives could be. We are also missing Jessie Brinkman, who although Jewish, never let that get in the way of a good party. As you'll have heard, Jessie passed four months ago, and is sadly missed by all of us. I'd like you to raise your glasses to Jessie." His words were solemnly echoed by all. "However, we do have some new faces here this year, among them Skye's father, Rupert."

Giles felt the colour rush to his cheeks as he tried to edge further into the corner, away from the faces that were examining him with interest.

"Frankie tells me that she and Rupert were in a band together, so I can think we can expect a real treat from the East Side's very own reunited Von Trapp family singers." Patrick's comments caused more hilarity among the guests, but Giles noticed Skye standing in the doorway, rolling her eyes and shooting daggers at Martin for daring to find it funny. "Finally, I'd just like to say a word of thanks to our gracious hostess for providing all of us with a place to go each Christmas. Let's face it; no one else would have us. Frankie," he said turning towards where she was sitting on the piano stool. "You're a doll and we love you." He leaned down and kissed her cheek as a cheer went up.

"Okay okay," she began, "you all know how this works, one collective seasonal followed by a non seasonal spot as prepared by each of you. You know where the drinks are... so... uh... let's party!"

She nodded to the 'ex-partner' who began strumming a rhythmic intro to "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," and the party began in earnest.

Giles, much to his surprise, found that he was actually enjoying himself. Everyone was much too involved in the music to be bothered to ask awkward prying questions. There were quite a few budding stand-up comedians in the room, most of whom made Skye the butt of their jokes, which they had obviously been doing since she was a child. Although she outwardly disliked the attention, Giles suspected that she quite enjoyed it really. During one particularly complex festive reel that was played by a group of long-haired folkies, Skye made her way over to Giles and crouched down behind him, sliding an arm around his neck.

"Having fun?" she whispered into his ear.

"Yes, I am," he replied smiling.

She placed a kiss on his cheek and settled to listen.

As the afternoon ran into the evening, a break was called so people could eat. But as everyone drifted back, a request was made for the Von Trapp's. Giles, who had hoped to get away without embarrassing himself, felt his stomach take a nervous turn.

Frankie smiled at him, "you'd better grab your guitar."

"Oh... I don't think..."

Frankie picked up a guitar, "come on Ripper, it's been a while, but I'm sure we can pick our way through something."

Giles smiled resignedly, "Do you remember Freebird?"

"God, of course I remember Freebird, I was the one that got you into Skynyrd, remember?"

"So it was."

They settled on two stools in front of the piano as a curious hush descended on the room.

"I'll take my lead from you."

"Won't that make a change," Giles smirked, finding his fingering on the fret board.

Skye and Martin took up front row seats for this particular show, and looking up, Giles hoped he wasn't about to become an embarrassment. After he'd got the first line out, his nerves settled down, and what was left of the performer in him, took over. Frankie soon swapped from playing the main rhythm to picking out a complementary melody, and singing backing on the chorus. They finished to rapturous applause.

"Your voice has aged well," Frankie whispered as she leaned across and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"It hasn't really, but thank you," Giles grinned.

As another festive ditty sprung up, Frankie got up and looked around, "I'd better go and find that daughter of ours and see what song she wants to do, she hadn't decided this morning."

"Oh, right, yes." Giles murmured, his eyes following her out. He hadn't noticed Skye and Martin leave the room.

He listened to the music for a while until Patrick sidled up to him.

"I was only joking about the Von Trapp business, but actually, your voice isn't half bad."

"Well, umm... thank you... it's been a while..."

"Do you have representation? Frankie mentioned that you were looking for work."

"Oh no... not... that kind of work, I'm an archivist."

"Well if you change your mind..."

"Thank you," Giles replied, edging away from Patrick. "Think I'll go and find a drink, if you'll excuse me." He turned into the hallway without waiting for a reply. Frankie was standing just short of the kitchen door, listening intently.

"Frankie?" he walked up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Shhh!"

Giles said nothing more and strained to listen to Skye's and Martin's voices over the competing noise coming from the lounge.

"I just don't understand your reaction. I thought you'd be happy for them?" Martin was asking in an exasperated tone.

"But what happens when it all goes horribly wrong? Who'll have to pick up the pieces? Me, as usual."

"I think you're overreacting. You don't even know if anything is going on..."

"Well, they appear to be sleeping together; I'd say that was a fairly good indicator."

"Skye, you're overreacting."

"Thanks for the support."

"You have my support, you know you do. But I think that part of me being supportive is telling you when you are being totally paranoid and kinda out of line."

"Great. So I'm supposed to be happy that they're having this fling and that sometime soon they'll inevitably break up, making dad leave again and mom go into a flat spin. Well I can't be happy about that prospect... I can't deal with that again... I can't... lose them..." They heard her begin to sob.

Frankie turned around and started to walk straight past Giles, but he caught her by the arm, forcing her to stop. Her face was ashen and she looked like she was barely breathing.

"Fran..."

"...She's right," Frankie said, glancing up at him.

Giles' hand dropped from her arm and she carried on back into the lounge.

When Skye and Martin emerged back into the party, it was like as if nothing had happened. Skye and Frankie joked with each other as if neither of them had said or heard those words that had placed a lead weight in Giles' chest. He did his best to follow their lead, but was glad when most of the revellers had gone, and he could make his excuses to leave. He had kissed Frankie as he left, but she had not reciprocated. It seemed that no matter how hard he had tried to prevent it, they were doomed to live out their very own festive kitchen-sink drama.

A couple of extremely awkward weeks had followed, broken up only by the agonies and technical nightmare of finding an apartment in a city where real estate is like the proverbial gold-dust. With Patrick's help, and Martin's keen eye for the obituaries, Giles had managed to procure an apartment, which he was sure was going to make short work of his savings, heightening his need to rapidly find employment. The day he had signed the leasing agreement, he had received a phone call from Cleveland telling him to expect a visitor.

Buffy walked into the stark apartment, taking in the lack of... everything.

"Wow... Giles... you've gone for minimal. Not that that can't be a good look."

"Yes, I only took over the lease three days ago; I'm waiting for some of my things to arrive from Bath."

Buffy followed Giles through to the kitchen, where he began to make tea-like preparations. A book caught her eye and so she picked it up.

"John Grisham? So this is how you waste your time when we're not around to supervise?"

Giles smiled, his ears going the slightest bit pink. "It was a Christmas present from Martin, that's... er... Skye's fiancé. It's really rather gripping... he tells me there are lots more of..." His words trailed as he noted the look of incredulity on Buffy's face. "Buffy, don't think that I'm not pleased to see you, but why are you here?"

"That obvious, huh?" she sighed. "We need you. We're overrun with potentials... I mean slayers... and you have no idea what it's like trying to organise a bunch of hormone driven teenagers..."

"...Oh, I think I have some idea," he smirked.

"I thought it was bad enough trying to manage Dawn, but they're a nightmare... totally out of control."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" He asked, handing over a cup of tea.

"Giles we need you. We need you to come back. Willow is doing her best to run a slayer education programme, but we need an expert, someone who's done this before, who knows how to train these girls, we need you."

Giles looked into his tea cup. "You need me. I thought I had taught you everything you needed to know?" he asked evenly, looking up at her.

Buffy blushed. "I'm not a watcher. I don't know how to train them... to-to manage them."

"You have Willow and Xander, you're not alone."

"Giles..."

"...Buffy, there are other people that need me too."

"So, what, you're just gonna stay here and play happy families now? What about all that stuff you were always telling me about duty and sacrifice and..."

Giles slammed his cup down on the worktop, spilling half of its contents. "Don't you lecture me... don't you dare lecture me about sacrifice!"

Buffy's eyes dropped.

"Have you any idea how much I gave up? Well it's over."

"Giles... you... don't mean that."

He folded his arms and looked at Buffy. "I rather think I do. Buffy, I'll always be here for you if you need me..."

"... I need you now..."

"...But I will not sacrifice my family. From now on I'm out of the vampire business."

"And what about the apocalypse business? Are you just gonna sit back and watch the world end from the comfort of your..." Buffy looked around, "...hard wood floor?"

"No because I trust that you won't let that happen."

There was a knock at the door and before Buffy could say anymore, he was moving swiftly to answer it. She followed him as far as the kitchen door from where she could observe who had interrupted them.

"Hi Dad," Skye exclaimed, pulling him into a one armed hug before presenting him with a white-flowered pot plant. "I thought the place needed something to make it look homier."

"Thank you... that's very kind of you." Giles was still examining the plant when Skye eyed Buffy standing in the kitchen doorway. Giles looked up, "Oh, Skye... this is Buffy. Buffy, I'd like you to meet my daughter."

Both women smiled warily at each other, neither making any movement toward the other.

"Hello."

"Hi."

"I've just made tea if you'd care for some?" Giles asked Skye, placing the plant on a windowsill.

"That'd be great thanks, I mean, if I'm not interrupting anything," she replied, taking her coat off and claiming the floor cushion. She had no intention of leaving. "What brings you to New York, Buffy?" Skye asked, looking the slayer up and down.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably. "I just thought I'd drop by and see how your... dad... was doing."

"That's good of you. It's a long way to come."

"Yeah."

Silence fell.

Giles made a third cup of tea and took it to Skye.

"I thought that we could go out for Italian tonight?" Skye asked, taking the cup.

"Good idea. Buffy... are you... err... staying this evening, would you like to join us?"

Buffy's mouth curled slowly into a cheerless smile. "No. Thanks, but I have to go; flight to catch."

"Oh, I see."

"I better hit the road. It was nice to meet you," she said turning to Skye.

"Good to meet you too."

She walked over to the door and as Giles opened it for her, his face flooded with concern.

"Buffy... I'm..."

Buffy hugged him tightly, cutting him off.

"Take care," She whispered.

"You too, remember I'm always at the end of a phone, if you or Dawn need anything."

She withdrew from him and nodded.

"Bye."

Giles watched her walk down the corridor and disappear into the stairwell. He slowly closed the door, hoping that he had done the right thing.

Skye got up and hugged him. He realised that she was shaking.

"Skye?"

"I thought she'd come to take you away with her." Her voice was muffled against his sweater.

"She had. But I have different priorities now."

She looked up at him, tears threatening to break forth. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do," he replied stroking her hair. "You're more important to me than anything or anyone else. I'm not going anywhere... you're stuck with me."

She laid her head back on Giles' chest and relaxed against him.

"While we're on the subject, I need to talk to you about... about your mother."

Skye stepped back from Giles and nodded.

"How is she?"

"Hard to tell. She say's she's okay, but she seems kinda low. Do you know what's wrong with her?"

Giles sighed. "She overheard you talking to Martin on Christmas day... about us... we both did."

"Oh."

"Does the thought of your mother and me in a relationship worry you that much?"

"Not the thought of you being together, but the thought of you breaking up... It would kill mom... and well, I don't want you to have to leave because you fought..." Skye looked out of the window. "I know I'm being selfish."

"What makes you so sure that it wouldn't work?"

"Well it didn't before. Why would it be any different now?"

"Skye, your mother and I didn't break up because we had an argument, it wasn't that simple. We both loved each other; it's just that... circumstances were against us. Even if something happened and we did break up, it doesn't mean that your mother would fall apart. You seem to be under the impression that she has to be treated with kid gloves; that one wrong move will tear her apart, but that's not the case. Your mother is one of the strongest people I know."

"You say that, but you weren't there."

"Weren't where?" Giles asked softly.

"When I found her she looked like she was sleeping. She was curled up on the couch like normal... but she wouldn't wake up. Then I saw the empty packet of pills and the bottle of scotch and I thought I'd lost her... I thought I'd killed her..."

"But you didn't... you got her to the hospital and you saved her life... but you've been trying to save her ever since." Giles put a hand on her shoulder. "You have to let her live her life Skye; you can't be there to watch over her all the time. You'd do well to learn that lesson quicker than I did."

"I know."

"And even if something did go wrong between your mother and I, that wouldn't change the fact that you are my daughter and I'm not going to let anything come between us, ever."

Skye looked around at Giles. "You do mean that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Should I talk to mom?"

Giles shook his head. "Are you meeting her for brunch on Sunday?"

"Yes..."

"I'd appreciate it if you and Martin went somewhere else."

"But...? Oh... okay," she smiled.

It was raining, again. Giles ran from the taxi to the restaurant's entrance with his coat pulled over his head.

"Can I help you, sir?" a waiter asked.

"Um... I'm meeting someone," Giles' eyes searched the tables until they came to rest on Frankie, who, as luck would have it, was examining the menu, "The lady in black, sitting by herself."

"Very well sir, if you'll follow me?"

"Actually, would you mind if I wait here for a moment? You see I want her to look up and... well... yes I can see how that would sound foolish..." Giles stuttered, watching a mixture of amusement and disbelief sweep across the waiter's face, "I'd be very grateful if you would humour me."

The waiter nodded and stepped to the side to deal with new arrivals. Giles stared back at Frankie who was checking her watch and looking slightly ticked off.

"Come on... come on..." Giles muttered.

At that moment Frankie's eyes peeped over the top of the menu and she caught sight of Giles staring at her. She dropped the menu on the table and smiled, looking slightly confused.

Giles started toward her, praying that she wasn't going to slap him and walk out.

Pushing back her seat, she stood up. "Rupert, what are you doing here?"

Giles reached one hand around her waist and thrust his other into her hair, dragging her into a kiss, drawing amused gasps from the people around them. When he pulled back, she gazed into his eyes and smiled.

"Can we start again?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"That depends. Are you going to recreate all of my fantasies?" she giggled.

Giles chuckled, "I was afraid you wouldn't appreciate the reference and think that I'd lost my mind."

Frankie reached up and lightly touched his face, tracing her fingers over the lines that had appeared since she had made that choice, all those years ago.

"But... Skye?"

"I've talked to Skye. I think she's stopped... umm... 'freaking out' about us now."

"And what about... you?"

"Me?" Giles asked frowning.

"Have you forgiven me... for what I did?" her eyes dropped from his.

"You did the right thing. You made a decision that you knew I was too weak to make and that's why I..." his hand gently tilted her head back towards him. "I've been trying to work out this emotion, this feeling, I have for you. At first I thought it was just that I was falling in love, but it wasn't that. As angry as I was with you, the fact that you were strong enough to make that decision, a decision that probably hurt you more than any one else, proved to me that I could trust you to do the right thing, regardless of cost. I haven't trusted anyone for quite some time, but I trust you."

A tear trickled down her cheek and a small laugh escaped her mouth. "Does that mean that you do or don't love me, I got kind of lost in the whole trust speech?" she smiled.

Giles laughed as he pulled her closer, "what do you think?"

"I think that people are staring at us."

"Let them," Giles whispered, lowering his head for another kiss.

Epilogue – A year on.

"Darling, if you have to read in here instead of one of the other thirteen rooms there are in this house, I'd appreciate it if you would keep your disparaging comments to yourself," Frankie said, glaring at Giles from her position at the piano.

"I'm being helpful!" he responded, not taking his eyes off the text.

"That's not what I call it..."

"...Oh come on," Giles exclaimed, dropping the book into his lap, "Oh yeah baby, I want you right now, can hardly be described as original or romantically inspiring..."

"... It worked on you last night..." she muttered, scribbling an annotation onto the score.

Giles chuckled, "you minx!"

"It was research," she replied, smiling and cocking an eyebrow. The phone began to ring. "Now make yourself useful, as in the classical definition of useful, and get that, would you dear?"

Giles picked up the phone, still chuckling. "Hello?"

"Hi dad, it's me."

"Skye? Is everything all right, you sound a little down?"

Frankie stopped what she was doing and watched Giles' face.

He heard her sigh deeply, "just lost a patient, needed to hear a friendly voice."

"I'm sorry... but you know if you ever got used to it..."

"...It would be the time to get out, I know that. It's just... it took us so long to figure out what was going on that it was too late to do anything about it... and he was just a kid, his whole life in front of him."

"That is sad. What happened?" Giles slipped into de-briefing mode. Skye was finding her ER rotation psychologically tough going, and so he had become used to these phone calls.

"That's the thing, we're not sure. He was in arrest when they brought him in and I thought it was some kind of aneurism, but then we discovered what looked like a snake bite..." Giles was staring out of the window, the sun had almost set and the street lamps were beginning to flick on. In his imagination, he could almost hear the swish of Atropos' scissors, biting at the thread.

"Skye, listen to me," he said standing up, his heart starting to race, "get the body to a secure room and then stay away from it until I get there."

"What? Dad, what are you talking about?"

"You need to do as I say, and do it now!" he shouted.

"Dad, I can't just move the body..." there was a clunk noise as the phone hit the floor, followed by a scream. Snip, the thread was sheared.

"Skye? Skye?" The phone slid from Giles' hand.

The End.

TBC... Maybe...