AN: This is actually one of the later chapters of the main story I'm writing – The Third Man, but I had it on my PC for quite some time now and I thought it might do as a single short (hopefully romantic :) story as well. Especially as right now I don't have enough time and piece to continue the main story, though I hope to post next chapter within a month...
So if you like to read this one rather later, it will appear in The Third Man, though I can't tell when exactly, it will probably take some time to reach that point of the story. In the Buffy-verse it's set during the season three, some time after Christmas.
The second (and last) part of this short thing I will post later this week, as I need to go through it once more, check the spelling and stuff.
Helen was walking towards the library, wondering a little about what the Scoobies might have been working on. Willow sounded very mysterious, but couldn't or wouldn't tell her anything, only that she was to come to the library at exactly 8pm.
In front of the entrance she paused and frowning slightly she peered through the small round window inside. There seemed to be no one in there. The lights were on, a few books were lying around the table, but none of the Scoobies were anywhere to be seen.
"Hm," she murmured to herself, before finally swinging the door and entering.
"Hello?" She spoke as she was slowly walking towards the large table in the middle of the library, throwing curious looks both to her left and right.
"You're late." She got scared and turned around at the sharp, icy sound of his voice. He must have been standing behind the door, she thought. His expression was – as she had almost got used to it during the past few weeks since she had returned – stern, impenetrable, he was looking at her in the same way – his eyes cold and strict, his lips pressed tight, no trace of a smile or even some sign of being pleased to see her, and that she was back. Once again, for a split of moment she wondered whether he'd ever forgive her for having him left then. The words of his father during their short meeting after Christmas popped into her mind: "I wish you good luck, Ms. Thornton. My son's not forgiving. He tries to understand. What he understands, he can excuse, it doesn't need forgiveness... For your sake as well as for my own though I wish that he'd forgive you. That might leave me with some hope that perhaps one day I myself would come into his good graces again..." It's been weeks since her return and he was still as bitter, as merciless as upon the first day when she paid him a visit. The only difference was that he now didn't talk to her at all.
"I'm sorry," she gave a nervous reply, feeling like a little child that had been naughty.
"Take a seat," he said, it was an order, and Helen didn't dare to disobey. Without thinking much she hurried towards the first chair and sat down, hearing his footsteps following her closely.
"Close your eyes," he commanded, and when she turned at him confused, he repeated strictly, "Close them!"
Intimidated as she always got when he was speaking in this tone, she didn't have time to think how odd this request was or what actually was going on. She closed her eyes, and heard a soft rustle, then winced a little as a pair of hands touched her hair and her temples and she felt a piece of fabric tying her eyes.
Then footsteps, going away and a short moment of silence, a quiet click-noise as if some switcher had been turned off, then footsteps approaching her again without a word. She heard him come to a halt and could feel his presence somewhere very close. She squirmed, her heart began to beat faster, it made her uncomfortable that she couldn't see his face.
"Now get up," he spoke, more quietly this time, and hadn't her heart been throbbing now fast and loud, she would have noticed that he sounded softer this time. At the same time she felt his hand grasping hers and gently pulling her up. He pushed the chair aside, then carefully led her towards the small staircase that led to the racks in the back of the library.
"Careful now, there are seven steps," he said, helping her to ascend.
Helen still didn't dare to speak, or ask or make any sound, she was thinking too hard, what was going on and what sort of a bizarre joke she's just been made part of and whether this was Giles' idea of an appropriate punishment suiting her demeanour. She didn't even notice that they stopped at last, only when he let go of her hand. Then she heard a scratching noise and soon afterwards she could perceive the faint smell of a burned match. Now she was getting more and more disturbed, having no idea what this all meant.
She was just about to open her mouth and ask, when again his hands brushed her hair as they undid the scarf that had been tying her eyes. She turned at him immediately, her eyes wide open, she looked a little scared.
"I don't remember allowing you to open them just yet," he said, and though he was trying still to sound demanding and stern, the slight trace of warmth in his voice would give away his pretense.
Helen shook her head shortly, "Oh, sorry," and closed her eyes again, and Giles had to suppress a smile. He cleared his throat.
"Right, you may open them now."
She hesitated, then slowly opened her left eye first, then the other, looking at him anxiously, as if checking whether she was still doing everything right.
Giles' eyes were smiling, although he was still trying to preserve at least some last appearances of the strict, bitter and hurt man, whose impression he had been doing so well during the past weeks. But the corners of his tightly pressed lips were twitching. He motioned with his hand that she should sit, and only now Helen took a look at her surroundings. They were at the back of the library, standing between tall racks of books, the lamps had been switched of, but warm rays of light had been dancing upon the shelves, making large shadows of the two people in there and creating a very peculiar, intimate atmosphere. She dropped her eyes to see where the light was coming from, and gasped.
On the floor, on the not very large space between two racks there laid a thick beige cosy looking blanket, literally strewn with rose petals; behind it, in a corner on the wall was a record player and on it two red candles lit, their flames dancing happily. Next to them stood two glasses and a bottle of red wine, her favourite, as she realized immediately.
She was about to turn back around to face him again, when two hands grasped her at her shoulders from behind her, preventing her from turning around and right afterwards she sensed his breath on her neck, goose-bumps running up and down her whole body, as he quietly whispered into her ear: "I forgive you."
She had been dreaming of this, imagining him saying those exact words, yet as she heard them now, she still couldn't believe it actually happened.
Her heart was beating too fast, the sense of him standing so close behind her, touching her, was making her feel dizzy, his presence, everything about him actually, was – just as it had been all those months ago before she left – captivating, the sound of his voice enchanting, his touch, as he now glided his hands from her shoulders downwards to hold her hands, was electrifying, she felt excitement raising inside her and had to close her eyes for a moment. When his hands let go of hers, she opened her eyes a little alarmed, only to gasp as he suddenly placed his left hand on her waist and gently pushed her forwards, whispering now in her other ear: "And in case you're hungry..." She made a few steps towards where the record player stood and behind one of the racks a small table came to her view, set with two small plates and a large one in the middle, full of all sorts of fruit and cheeses.
"And I could always order some mexicans, should this not be enough," he spoke and Helen finally turned around at him, speechless, amazed, still a little incredulous, afraid that she might wake every moment from this beautiful dream, where his eyes were beaming at her, a faint, fond smile playing on his lips. She opened her mouth at last to say something, when something occurred to him and he straightened up. "Wait, something's missing," he said, walked past her to the record player and turned on the record that was in.
The first bars of Purcell's Fairy Queen almost made her cry now. She was moved, and knowing only too well that she didn't deserve this was making it all the more difficult to stay calm. And as he got up and turned to her his shining, pleased face, she feared she'd lose it, she already felt her eyes getting glassy and the huge chunk building in her throat. He didn't seem to have noticed, and came to stand right in front of her. She gulped, then tried to clear her throat, which sounded more like an odd whimper.
"Is something wrong?" He asked, the smile vanished from his face and he looked more concerned, uneasy. "Is it-uh... too loud perhaps? Or should I turn it off? You don't like the music? I've brought some other as well."
Helen shook her head vehemently, and grasped the front of his jacket with both hands to stop him as he was about to go past her back to the record player, but she was still unable to speak. He looked down at her, taken aback.
Giles saw that she was fighting her tears, softly pulling on his jacket, trying to collect herself to say something, but couldn't. He took her hands in his, then said seriously. "I'm sorry, maybe this wasn't-uh... such a good idea-"
She shook her head even more now and laughed a little, not taking her watery eyes off his chest. "N-no, no, it's-eh... it's wonderful, it's... it was a beautiful idea, a-and I thank you for it...", she spoke, then laughed again, "more than I-I can say right now," she said jokingly, pointing at her throat with one hand, wishing the huge ball inside would dissolve at last and she could speak properly again.
Giles smiled, still a little unsure, having doubts whether he should have prepared all this.
She raised her head, looked him in the eyes, took a deep breath and yet again, though she had said it many times she felt that she had to say it this once more: "I am sorry," her voice was firm at last.
He held her arm and with the other he brushed a string of hair from her face, smiling in a more confident way again.
"I know I hardly deserve to be forgiven, so thank you, this... means...," she looked around them again, at the candles, the blanket, the small table, but he interrupted her:
"Forgiveness is not done because people deserve it, it's done because they need it," he spoke in his velvetian voice that was always making it hard to listen, because the mere sound of it was filling her with delight, anticipation, excitement, desire... "And I needed to forgive you," he continued quietly, looked her deep in the eyes, then lowered his face towards hers, "because I need you," he whispered.
She closed her eyes, her reason already seemed to have bid farewell and leave the place for her senses, as his lips found her half-opened mouth and he kissed her, slowly, softly, as if offering her a small peek she would have to settle for for a while, but already making her longing for more, later, soon.
"I missed you," she said, when their lips parted. He didn't answer, but indicated towards the table with the food.
"Uhm, thanks, I-eh... I'm not really hungry right now, perhaps later," she said.
"Alright, then, please sit down," he pointed at the blanket full of rose petals and when she hesitated, he hurried to say: "It is more comfortable than it looks like."
She nodded, then finally sat down, taking off her shoes, while he went to the record player yet again to get the two wine glasses.
"Here," he offered her one, then sat down himself. Helen was watching him and his ghastly giant shadow that the light of the two candles behind them was creating.
"Thank you."
"A toast?" He asked, his face gleaming.
"To forgiveness?" She suggested, again the talk with Henry Giles popped into her mind. But she would tell him about it later.
Giles gave a short nod, fixing her with his eyes, they clinked their glasses and took a first sip.
Then she turned more serious. "I feel I owe you-eh... an explanation," she began. It had been impossible to talk to him during the past weeks, simply because he wouldn't. He had been hurt, must have felt bitter, betrayed, so he was doing his best to make her feel his pain as well, ignoring her with such rigorous ostentation, that every time they were in the same room he – his not-taking-any-notice-of-her attitude, his cold looks and occasional pointy remarks – made her feel so miserable about herself, so that she felt like she was the worst, the most horrible person in the world.
"No, you don't have to-," he said, but she shook her head firmly, determined to tell him.
And so she talked, starting with the nightmares she had been having for weeks, months even since the encounter with Rodolphus at Giles' apartment, nightmares where horrible things were happening to him, feeding her anxieties, the growing fear that something terrible would have happened to him sooner or later, if she had stayed. She told him about Márkos and her long, tiresome, but very salutary conversations with him which finally made her see things in another way... made her recognize that the world wasn't evolving around her and that bad things would always happen to people she cared for, no matter whether she was around them or not, mostly because those people had a perilous occupation of their own which had nothing to do with her... All in all after a while Márkos made her regret that she had left Sunnydale, and Giles.
"But now you're back, and that's all that matters," he said, his eyes were reflecting his sincere happiness.
The record stopped playing, so Giles got up to change it and refilled their glasses as well.
"Once again, I'm sorry I went away, leaving you when you..." She said when he sat down next to her again.
"Shh," he whispered to silence her, then – taking her quite by surprise – kissed her, putting just a little bit more passion into it than at the first time. Her heart did the familiar, pleasant jolt, she responded rather hesitantly at first, kissing his lips almost carefully, as if she was to re-discover them after the long time, to explore them again, bit by bit only to find out that they felt exactly as delightful as she'd remember, even more. She let his tongue in at last.
They were kissing as if they couldn't get enough of each other, Giles was softly pushing her backwards. She was fumbling with one hand for some halt behind her back, but instead threw over the full glass of wine. The noise made them both wince a little and they paused, Helen turned around to see the damage, then murmured: "Reparo, abstergo," and at the same time the smashed glass became a whole again and the spilt wine disappeared.
Giles looked a little bewildered from the glass back at her, wanted to say something, but this time she silenced him when she pressed another kiss on his lips, taking his face into her hands. He didn't protest, and laid his hand on her thigh, then slowly began to pick on her skirt to pull it upwards so that he could fondle her skin underneath at last. Helen meanwhile was playing with his tie and trying to unbutton his shirt without breaking the kiss. He noticed that she was struggling a little with all the layers of clothes he was wearing, so he took off his jacket at last and untied his tie.
"Thanks," she said breathless as he leant over her to kiss her neck. For a short moment a strange mixture of pain and an almost unearthly happiness overcame him – the thought of how much he had been missing it for the past months hurt, but the fact that here she was again, in flesh and blood, all the curves and lines of her body exactly as he had remembered, the skin on her neck just as silken, soft and pale, the faint goose-bumps appearing exactly at kissing the same spots as before, that put him into a state of such joy, happiness, ecstasy... He looked her in the eyes for a brief moment, they were sparkling with delight, watching him, her lips were opened a bit, formed into a faint smile. He put his hands now around her waist and she hers around his neck, then – while placing another kiss on her lips, a tender, almost careful one – he gently laid her on the floor.
AN: Thanks for reading and please, leave a review if you can ;)