Firelight

For caerwyn, just cause.

"Giles?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you thinking right now?" Anya's voice was quiet, contemplative. A campfire could do that to even the most non-introspective ex-ex-ex-vengeance demon, he supposed. They sat side by side, almost touching, watching the heat of the campfire. Anya had insisted on staying at the retreat, having never, as she put it, "eaten a s'more." Giles was grateful for the adult company, and Anya was helpful with the teenage girls, better able to communicate with them than he seemed to.

Giles took a sip of his tea. "I'm thinking about the back ache I'm going to have thanks to you ninnies tackling me back there." He glanced sidelong at her profile and watched her face grimace in embarrassment. Anya patted him on the knee, let her hand rest there for a second, and Giles suddenly grew very still. She must have felt him tense because she pulled her hand away, all too quickly. He wished he could have stopped it, put it back where it was, and… right. Stop that chain of thought before it gets out of hand, you silly bugger, he admonished himself.

"I'm really sorry about the whole tackling portion of the evening," she said. "But how were we to know? Should we have thrown a rock at you instead?"

"You couldn't tell it wasn't me? All the time I was there at the house? You actually don't remember watching me eat?"

Anya shook her head.

"Clean my glasses?"

Another shake.

"Hug anyone?"

Anya sighed and gave him a look. "Well, I mean, come on, Giles. You're not a hugger."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There are some people who instigate. And some people who get instigated… upon. I mean, in terms of showing affection. It's not your fault. You're British," she explained sympathetically.

"That's completely… unfair," he said indignantly, although he suddenly wondered if perhaps she was right. Annoyed, he shifted on the log and stared moodily at the fire. "Besides, I'm twice as old as the lot of you. I hardly think it necessary, or appropriate, to go around embracing a bunch of chil… people."

"You think of us as children? Me, as a child?" Anya said, her voice sad. Giles looked over at her then, watched her graceful profile.

"No. Not you. Never you, Anya. But the others… I feel responsible for them."

Anya crossed her arms over her chest. "So, wait. You don't feel responsible for me? You don't care what happens to me?"

Giles sighed wearily and began to speak, but Anya let out a laugh.

"Just kidding, Rupert. Can I have a sip of tea?"

Giles gave her a mean look, but Anya just raised her eyebrows innocently. He handed her the thermos, then looked up at the stars.

"What's going to happen to all of us, I wonder?" she said after a long moment.

"That's a good question," Giles sighed. I'll protect you, he wanted to say. But didn't. It would sound chauvinistic and macho and proprietary, and he had no right to be any of those to her, this woman/child who sat next to him drawing circles with her toe in the sand.

Suddenly Anya shivered. Wordlessly, Giles took his jacket off and draped it around her shoulders. She looked over at him, surprised.

"Thank you," she said finally, almost a whisper. He watched the light from the fire play on her face.

"You'll be all right, whatever happens," Giles said.

"And you?" she said.

Giles grinned. "I survived a near-beheading. I'm not afraid."

"A disappearing spell saved you in the nick of time. That coven of witches sure looks after your ass, huh? You got a thing going with one of them?" Anya's voice was teasing, and Giles decided to play.

"One of them? Please. There's not enough of me to go around." Said with a bad-ass flourish of a cockney accent, to boot. Anya's eyes widened with shock at the change in him before it dawned on her what he was doing. She let out another huge laugh, then collected herself.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't ole Ripper in the flesh. They warned me about you. Very pleased to meet you." Anya held out her hand and Giles took it. Instead of shaking it, however, he brought it up to his lips and slowly kissed her hand.

"Pleasure's all mine, love," he said, a low throaty murmur of words. He still had his hand in hers.

Anya's mouth was open wide. "That is excellent! You're giving me goosebumps! Do more!"

Giles took off his glasses and laughed a little.

"I think that's quite enough," he said in his normal, pleasant, Giles voice. "I don't think you'd want to see what Ripper would do in this situation."

Anya frowned. "What 'situation'?"

Giles looked around at the silent clearing, then up at the bright moon, and finally back to her. "Sitting here, alone, with a beautiful woman, in the middle of nowhere."

The fire crackled and Anya looked down at her hands. "You think I'm beautiful." She frowned, then looked at him in confusion. "You think I'm beautiful?"

He simply nodded. She just stared at him, moved in closer to get a better look. Or was it he who was moving in?

In a flash Giles was up, standing, brushing himself off.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"You should go to bed," he said, his voice a little rougher than he intended. He took a deep breath and looked away.

"I think I'm fine here," she finally replied softly, curling herself tighter into his jacket.

"Then I need to go," he said.

"No. You don't."

"Yes, I think I do." He walked away toward his tent, then stopped and turned. There she sat, on the log, her face serene, her eyes watching him steadily, almost hopefully.

"I'll be right over there… if you need me," he said, then turned and walked away, quickly, before he changed his mind.

* * *

Stupid bugger. Stupid, stupid, old perverted bugger. Giles tried to come up with more clever insults to call himself but was too restless. He turned again in his sleeping bag. It had been over an hour since he had left her, and still he knew the fire was kept alive. He could hear her, putting more logs on the fire to feed the flames. He refused to look through the zipper of his small tent, however. He simply refused. It would be wrong.

When he finally peaked through the bottom opening of the zipper about 10 seconds later, he could see her in the distance. On the log still, wearing his jacket, her arms around her legs as she studied the fire. He swallowed and looked away, resting his forehead on his sleeping bag. Surely if he just went back out there they could just sit. Nothing would happen. He quickly looked back out, just in time to see her being dragged away into the dark woods behind her.

Anya, he thought dully, before instinct took over and his weapons were in hand. He was out of his tent, running toward the shadow of the Bringers that had taken her. He was quiet when, flashlight in one had, knife in another, he threw the first knife, catching the first Bringer right in the throat. When he fell, Anya bit the hand of the second bringer who had been covering her mouth.

"I'm not even a freaking Slayer in training, you stupid eyeless idiot!" she snapped, kicking him hard in the knee.

"Move, Anya," Giles commanded, his voice low and deadly.

"Right. Sorry." Anya stepped aside and Giles plunged the knife from his belt into the second Bringer's back.

Anya glanced over at the lifeless form of the first one, then the next. "You… big jerks!" she spat at them. "You got his jacket all dirty! Giles, they got your jacket…"

He hugged her then, dropping the flashlight, hugged her fiercely to him with a strength that shocked them both.

"You're all right," he said, his cheek resting on her head. He felt her arms tighten around him.

He stepped back, searching her face and body for signs of injury.

"I'm okay." Her eyes were bright, even in the moonlight, as she stared up at him. He touched her cheek.

"Let's get back to the campsite. The girls…"

Anya was nodding, already turning and picking up the flashlight, all business. So strong and brave. Giles' heart pounded in his chest. Together they headed back through the trees. Quietly, Anya slipped her hand in his. He held it, squeezing tightly, not letting it go until they reached the girls' tent and saw that they were safe, not letting it go even as they woke them up to pack their things and head back to the car. It was not safe, especially out here, in the darkness of a desert where strange, strange things could happen.

And sometimes, perhaps, not so strange, Giles realized, his thumb caressing the skin of her hand, still holding it tightly as they watched the girls climb sleepily into the car.

***

"Giles?" she whispered sleepily as they drove toward home. She sat next to him in the front seat, squeezed right up next to him while one of the girls sat to her right and the others were crammed in the back. They were all asleep, or pretended to be. The sky was slowly turning a strange pink/gold, signaling sunrise.

"Yes?"

"I take it back, what I said, about you not being a hugger. You are a hugger... a really good one."

Her mouth was so close to his neck that he could feel the stir of her breath when she spoke, and it made him almost shiver.

"I'm going to sleep now," she whispered, then rested her head on his shoulder, snuggling as close to him as she could get. He turned his head toward her and allowed himself one small, lingering kiss on her forehead.

"Nice," she murmured sleepily. "More."

Giles grinned, his hands steady on the wheel, his heart suddenly feeling light as air. "All in good time."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Then she was asleep on his shoulder as he drove the rest of the way home.