New Beginnings

by Mulrey

The year is 1977 and Ripper is studying something at Oxford, just not History. The visit of a friend of his father and a decision made by a friend makes him rethink his future...

Title: New Beginnings

Author: Mulrey

Set: Pre-BTVS (circa 1977)

Rating: G for language (naughty Ripper!)

Pairing: G/OC

Disclaimer: I don't own Giles, but the rest of them are mine.

Thanks: To HeadRush (aka: comma queen) for the beta and Maxie for the helpful comments and 'encouragement'. Also, thanks to Ruth for making the challenge to write a seasonal, pre-BTVS, non-smoochie, non-angst fic. As you will be able to tell, I fell at all fences except one (maybe two at a push). But thanks for getting me thinking!

Rupert Giles strummed his fingers across the coarse strings of his guitar, coarse because they were cheap. The damned shop had run out of his preferred replacement strings, but needs must; he had a session planned that night and there was no way that cadging a string was an option after having done that the last time. He plucked each string individually, letting the sound bounce off the walls. The new strings lacked something and the E string twanged slightly, causing Giles to wince. Glancing fondly at the love of his life, a Stratocaster won in a game of poker two years previously, Giles couldn't help but curse Frankie for her insistence on acoustic instruments only. Still, at least she'd invited him, a small miracle after the minor fracas that had occurred supposedly due to 'artistic differences' arising at their last jam session.

Giles ran up the steps to the large Oxford townhouse that was home to Frankie and a band of unlikely housemates that seemed to come and go with the university terms. Currently, the occupants consisted of a med student from Wiltshire, a mad Scot botanist, some guy from China who didn't talk to anyone (possibly because he couldn't) and Rich, a third year philosophy student who on occasion played bass and more recently, the tin whistle. After getting no answer from ringing the doorbell, Giles hammered on the door. "Come on... come on..." he muttered.

It was the 'mad Scot' that answered the door, looking rather more fetching than Giles had remembered; her long thick brown hair draped over her shoulder like a cloak.

"Hey, you're late. They're down in the basement."

Giles grinned as he brushed past her, just a little too close. The mad Scot rolled her eyes and muttered something about men being the same the world over. Giles pretended not to hear and went straight down the back stairs into the basement/opium den that served as rehearsal space for Leviathan, his and Frankie's band whose membership was as transient as the occupants of the house. To date, they had played a total of five gigs with three different line-ups.

Hearing Giles' uneven footfalls on the stairs, Frankie looked up from a harp that she had her arms draped over.

"What the fuck is that?" asked Giles, not even attempting to hide his scoffing tone.

"It's a harp, Ripper. I should have known that a well brought up middleclass brat like you wouldn't recognise an instrument of the people."

Giles sniggered. This was the way that their rehearsals usually began. Giles would say something disparaging about Frankie's insatiable need to experiment, and she would remind him of the limitations placed on him by his 'privileged' upbringing. He suspected, however, that it was her that had class 'issues' and he was just the dupe that she used to make herself feel better about having come from the 'artisan class,' as she liked to refer to it. He unzipped his guitar case and uncovered the sorry specimen with dodgy strings. Frankie plucked out a simple tune on the harp, a melody that was at once familiar and yet strange. Rich was huddled in the darkest corner of the basement, lighting up a joint. Giles looked around.

"Where's Ben?"

Frankie shrugged. "No idea, haven't seen him for days. I assumed he was under threat of being sent down again; confined to barracks." Giles picked his guitar up and settled on one of the floor cushions, leaned his back against the wall and set about the task of retuning the strings that the damp spring weather would have been sure to have flattened in transit.

"Gone back to using cat guts I see?"

"Harvested them myself," said Giles, looking up and smiling. She laughed, signalling that all was well between them, even if Giles didn't know exactly where that left them. Frankie put the harp down in favour of a large folk guitar and started to pick a gentle haunting tune. As she started to sing, Giles was transported back to the summer day that they had first met. She had been busking in the centre of town and Giles had been avoiding his responsibilities, as usual. After he'd bought her a drink at the Blackhorse and they'd discussed guitars at length, they had gone back to her place to 'get to know one another other better'. She became the one person that had never wanted anything from him, not commitment, not attention, and not control of his life. She hadn't even asked questions the summer before when he had got involved in some black magicks that went way over his head. She hadn't asked him why, for the next term, he couldn't make eye contact with anyone, especially not her, and why he sometimes woke up screaming in the middle of the night. He hadn't been quite so reticent about asking questions the day he found her with a black eye after the visit of her druggie brother. 'It's the seventies,' she had told him, 'everyone's screwed up,' especially her crazy brother.

He hadn't realised that she had finished the song and was staring back at him. Her eyes softened as he came too, but, just as quickly, she looked away, focussing on Rich who was now asleep, the ash from his joint falling into a small heap on the grubby floorboards. Frankie got up and putting her guitar down, crossed over to Rich and took the joint out of his hand. She sucked on what was left before stubbing it out into a wax covered saucer.

"What's going on, Frankie?" Giles' voice deepened, the way that it always did when he wanted to be taken seriously. Frankie tucked a strand of her bleached blonde hair behind her ear and took a deep breath before collapsing down onto the cushion next to Giles.

She examined his features for a minute, taking in the eyes that were old beyond their years, and the frown line that was beginning to form between them. "I'm leaving."

"What? Where are you going? You can't leave." Giles realised he was probably sounding a little more desperate than was cool.

"I've been offered a job in New York, song writing, so I'm gonna take it."

"Writing? With who?"

"Mercury, y'know The New York Dolls..."

"...Just got dumped, I'd heard."

"I can't pass it up, Ripper, and besides, I need to get out of this country. There's no energy here."

"But... but... the band?"

Frankie smiled and choked back a laugh. "You're not serious about music or... anything. Come on Rip, this is just something to do until your destiny kicks in."

The frown line on Giles' brow got a workout. "What do you know about my destiny?"

Her hand reached up and smoothed out the line before tracing a lazy route down his face. "I know enough to know that you're locked into something bigger than yourself; that it calls to you and that you won't refuse it, whatever it is." He leaned over to kiss her, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. It seemed she was able to refuse him.

"So that's it, then?"

She nodded.

"What about this place?"

"Julie's gonna be here for three years, so she'll take care of things."

"Julie?" Giles hoped he sounded casual.

"The mad Scot."

"Oh. Think you'll ever come back?"

Frankie sunk lower against the wall. "Do we ever go back, really?"

Giles's guitar made a hollow clunk noise as he carelessly divested himself of it. The world was changing, he could feel it. There was a constant uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that no amount of beer, dope or young pretty freshers, would help him shed.

"I could come with you?"

Frankie giggled, "And do what, precisely?"

"I could carry your bag."

"But then you wouldn't get to try your luck with the mad Scot or that dreadful Deirdre woman."

Giles snorted. "There's no way she's going to come near me ever again, not after Eyg..." his voice failed. "Besides, you know that you're the only girl I've ever really wanted."

"Spin me another."

"Do you want to... do something tonight?"

Frankie shook her head. "Tempting, but I have a meeting-thing."

"Ohh yeah, I forgot, it's 'women take back the night' night."

"It's called an Esbat."

"It's called a group of you and your mates getting together to dance naked around a fire and talk about consciousness raising." He put imaginary quotation marks around the last part whilst rolling his eyes. "On second thoughts, I could do with my consciousness raised. Where is this meeting?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"You can't come. All men are patriarchal bastards, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I always forget about that part."

They both giggled.

An old friend of his father's was giving a lecture at the Bodleian, and Giles had been asked if he would go along to be supportive. The phone call had been brief and surprisingly laid back. He had even wondered for moment if his father was drunk. After the Eyghon business, he had, admittedly wrongly, expected his father to play the 'heavy', but he hadn't. Instead, he had backed off almost completely. Not once had he lectured Giles about the abuse of power, and Giles was pretty sure that he had kept the Council off his back too, something which he couldn't help but feel grateful for. However, it was unnerving; he preferred it when they were arguing, at least then he knew where the lines were drawn.

He was half an hour late when he settled into a chair at the back of the auditorium. At least he would hear the conclusion, he told himself, that'd be enough to get the gist. William S. Bainbridge was a tall, well built steel-haired man who had the subtle force of personality that is often found in one who has lived too long and seen too much. Giles noticed that his lecture was perfectly structured; one salient point leading directly to its neighbour, and this without the aid of notes or prompt cards. He spoke about the slides without so much as even glancing at the projection screen behind him, making Giles think that this lecture was one that had been given many times before. His Oxbridge intonation was softened by what sounded like Northern vowel sounds. Not that his accent was strong enough for Giles to establish the precise locality of his origin. Giles was so impressed by the performance that he forgot to listen and when he rose to his feet in applause, he had no idea if indeed the lecture had contained anything worthy of the audience's enthusiastic reception.

As people started to leave, Giles dallied at the back, pretending to take a great interest in the exhibition detailing the history of Oxford's most famous library. Eventually, he felt a light tap on his shoulder and he spun around to find himself face to face with the enigmatic orator himself.

"Rupert?"

"Yes... umm... hello."

Bainbridge smiled. "You look so much like your father, I knew it was you."

"So people say." Giles scratched the back of his neck, hoping to muffle any hint of irritation that may have slipped into his voice.

"It was good of you to come. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Actually I'm under strict instructions to buy you a pint of Adnams."

"Ahhhhh... well I can't turn down an offer like that." Bainbridge grinned.

They walked the short distance to the Black Horse & Rainbow pub where Giles made good on his instructions. They sat in the back room making small talk and quietly sussing each other out.

"Hey, thought it was you," came a familiar voice. Giles looked up to see Frankie standing there predictably dressed from head to toe in black flounce, guitar case thrown casually across her shoulder. Frankie's eyes went from Giles to Bainbridge. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Bainbridge stood up and offered her his hand. "Not at all. Bill Bainbridge."

"Frankie Pearson," she replied, shaking his hand.

"What can I get you to drink?" Bainbridge asked, searching his inside pocket for his wallet.

"Really, I don't want to intrude?" Frankie looked to Giles for an answer, but Bainbridge was already edging towards the bar.

"I insist. Now, what will it be?"

"Youngs, thanks."

"Half?"

"Pint... err... please."

"Of course a pint!" Bainbridge responded in a mock self-berating tone as he headed toward the bar.

"Oh, hold on," she called out to him, "better make it an orange juice."

Frankie nudged Giles before he could make any comment. "Budge up."

Giles grinned as he slid up the bench to make room for her. Frankie stood her guitar up against the wall, slipped off her long black velvet 'Victorian revival' coat and sat next to Giles. The kohl around her eyes seemed a little thicker this evening, and her lips were stained even more blood-red than usual. As he took in the aroma of patchouli and sandalwood that perpetually surrounded her like an aura, Giles wondered what plans she had for the night, and more importantly, with whom.

"Who's Bill?"

"Friend of my father, he's in town just for the night."

"Cool."

"How were the naked rites?" He asked swigging the last of his beer.

"Very empowering, you'd have enjoyed it."

"Oh I'm sure I would have."

Bainbridge returned with a round of drinks and sat down. "So... you're a guitarist? Classical or... that other kind?"

"Mainly 'the other kind'," Frankie smiled, "but I dabble in classical."

"Are you a student here?"

"Once upon a time."

"You've graduated?"

"Not exactly."

"She's forsaken Classics to be a musician," Giles interjected.

"I see. Probably a wise move!"

Frankie's eyebrows shot up, and Giles could feel her working up to a feminist rant in defence of women's place in academia.

"I mean, I know I'd rather listen to another Beethoven or Mozart than listen to another me rattling on and on. In terms of societal contribution, musicians have always been of greater cultural significance than historians, and that is how it should be... in my humble opinion."

Frankie grinned. "Could you explain that to my mother?"

They all laughed.

"What do you do?" Frankie asked Bainbridge.

A flicker of amusement flashed across his eyes before he looked into his half empty pint glass. "I work for an organisation that fights the forces of darkness," he eventually replied with a slight smile. Giles choked on his beer.

"You work for the Socialist Worker Party? Don't you people normally hang about on street corners misquoting Marx?"

Bainbridge's smile broadened into a grin, and then a chuckle. "Socialist Worker indeed! Now there's a force of darkness if ever there were one."

She smiled at the old man, obviously liking the way that he handled the conversation. When in a tricky situation, she reminded herself, smart people tell the truth and Bainbridge was obviously a smart cookie, much smarter than she was. "Must be exciting, as well as a huge responsibility... to work for such a noble cause. Not sure it's a career with much future though."

Giles stared at Bainbridge. The old man was clearly enjoying sparring with Frankie, Lord knows he did, but what the heck was he doing talking about the Council to a civilian, to someone who had a real shot at a normal life not plagued with demons, vampires and destiny? He gulped some beer, hoping to lubricate his fast-drying throat.

"On the contrary, the future is all you have. You live for it, pray very hard for it and cherish it when it becomes the present."

"Sounds like the fringe benefits and bonus system are the things that other people take for granted. I think I'd rather work in a bank, given the choice. But, of course I have a choice... I'm guessing what you're talking about is a bit more of a calling?" She avoided looking at Giles who was beginning to fidget next to her.

"We all have a calling. Don't you feel called to be a musician? Isn't that what prompted you to give up the 'dreaming spires'?"

"Yes, I suppose I do believe in embracing your destiny and making sacrifices when you are called to do so, no point in fighting it or wasting your time on distractions and avoidances."

"I disagree," Bainbridge said, thumping his glass down resolutely. "I think sometimes the things that appear to distract us from our primary task in life, quite often turn out to be the very lessons that we needed to learn in order to fulfil our destiny. For example, you obviously feel that Oxford has been little more than a distraction, perhaps something done to please your parents, but, could you possibly have made the choices that you have without the experience of studying here?"

Frankie took a moment to think. "Hmmn... You're right. I wouldn't have met the people that I have and so I wouldn't have been offered the job I'm about to start."

"It's not just about the contacts you've made, but more importantly, what you have learnt."

"I learnt to make hard decisions and live with the consequences, as well as to not be afraid of people like Rip... I mean Rupert." She glanced at Giles and blushed as she realised that she was descending into a brand of honesty that was generally reserved for drunken nights with virtual strangers.

Bainbridge caught her eye and nodded, a small gesture that conveyed more than mere empathy to Frankie. "I'm sure Rupert has learnt a great deal from you too."

"I have. You know I have," Giles faltered, not wishing to go into details in front of a friend of his father. Frankie blinked and smiled as her cheeks began to burn.

"On that note, I'll take the opportunity to... umm... powder my nose." She made a hasty retreat to the ladies loos.

"What an intriguing young woman, I bet your dad would like her. Not so sure about your mother though."

Giles snorted as he imagined his mother's reaction to Frankie sweeping into her sitting room, looking like she did and smelling like Camden market on a summer's day. "I don't suppose she would." Giles felt an awkward silence descend as he desperately grappled for something to say.

Noting his discomfort, Bainbridge spoke first. "I have to catch a train at eleven thirty tomorrow morning, but I wondered if you have the time to meet for morning coffee? I'm staying at the Randolf."

"Umm... yeah... sure," Giles shrugged.

"In that case I will take this weary old carcass of mine off to bed. I'll see you at 10 o'clock in the morning room," he replied, getting to his feet and adjusting his scarf. "It was good of you to entertain an old boffin for the evening," he continued as Frankie appeared back at the table. "And it was real treat to meet you, young lady. I hope that our paths will cross again at some point."

She smiled, "Good to meet you too."

"I look forward to reading about your progress in the arts and leisure section."

Frankie smiled.

"Goodnight."

After Bainbridge had left the pub, Frankie turned to Giles. "Wanna walk me home?"

"Of course," he replied absently as he got up and grabbed Frankie's guitar.

They made their way from the pub onto the damp, shiny pavement outside. Giles looked at Frankie. "I thought you were on your way somewhere?"

"I didn't say that," she said grabbing his arm.

"You didn't have to."

"I changed my mind. I just wanna go home." Giles nodded and pushed the issue no further. "You were quiet tonight. Everything okay?"

He shrugged, and they carried on walking in silence.

Giles threw his jacket onto the chair that served as an extension to Frankie's wardrobe as he sat down on the bed and kicked his shoes off. He started to pull his t-shirt over his head but the damp cold of the bedroom made him rethink this action. Frankie came back from the bathroom wearing an oversized t-shirt nightdress and crawled past him, over to the far side of the bed, and lay down under the covers. Giles removed his jeans before turning out the light and slipping into bed beside her. They both lay on their backs staring at the ceiling.

"How long does it take to save the world, Rupert?" she asked quietly.

"A lifetime."

"No chance of early retirement then?"

"Not unless I cock up which, looking on the bright side, is a dead cert," he replied turning his head to look at her. "Why were you afraid of me?" She didn't reply. "Fran?"

"Because you're everything I'm not," she sighed.

"What do you mean?"

She turned onto her side facing away from him, dragging the bedclothes with her. He sighed and shuffled closer to her, putting an arm around her and closing his hand over hers.

"If you can't save the world for you, then save it for me, Batman," she whispered as she relaxed back into him. She felt him soundlessly snigger as he tightened his grip around her.

"You gonna be my Robin?"

"Rupert, I don't think their friendship extends to the same activities as ours does, at least I hope not."

"That pair of nancy boys?" Giles giggled, "I bet it does, as soon as the old geezer is tucked up in bed... or maybe..."

"Don't go there!" she laughed.

"You're not going to keep in touch, are you?" he asked when they had stopped giggling.

"What would be the point? I'm not much good at writing letters, and neither are you." She turned over and looked at his face, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight that was peeking through the gap in the curtains. "I'll really miss you though."

"I thought... because..."

Frankie shook her head. "It's just I'm not really into goodbye kisses, feels too permanent. I'd rather go away hoping that one day when you've finished saving the world and I've done my bit to redeem modern music, we can be friends again, not that we'll want to touch each other 'cos we'll be so old and wrinkly that it'd be gross."

"Think it'll happen?"

"I'm counting on it."

Giles pulled her head towards him and rested his forehead against hers. They lay there in silence until sleep took them, neither wanting to move in case of disturbing the perfect peace of what they both knew would be their last night together for a long time, possibly ever.

At ten twenty five the next morning, Giles was seated at a table for two in the smaller dining room of the Randolph hotel, looking out of a window that faced onto the Ashmolean museum. He had sat at the table just across the way the last time his father had visited; the time he had embarrassed himself and Giles by trying to tell him that he loved him, silly old fool. He knew his father loved him; he didn't need him to engage in some excruciating display of affection as recommended by some trendy parenting manual. Giles' father had discovered psychology late, but had made up for it with the vigour with which he had embraced the 'new science of the mind' in the last two years. From what he had heard, his father had even managed to make himself unpopular with the Council by advocating the application of recent insights into cognitive and moral development in the selection and training of watchers. Giles couldn't help but smile as he wondered whether such psychological testing would overrule any hereditary aspects of his calling, thus drawing down the curtain on his supposed irresistible destiny. It was at this moment that Bainbridge collapsed into the seat opposite him.

"You never think that it will happen to you, and then one day you wake up and discover that you're an old man. Good morning Rupert."

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Bainbridge scoffed, "Active watchers rarely sleep well, even retired ones. That's one of the most pervasive effects on your life that they don't tell you about."

"I imagine there's quite a lot that they don't tell you."

"You're right to be suspicious of them. They're an organisation that have existed for one purpose and for one purpose alone, but humans are not machines that can be programmed to leave aside all of their desires and needs in order to pursue the greater good. And so, the great corrupter walks as freely around the halls of the Council as any other establishment at the hands of which power is wielded."

"And yet you and my father still serve them?" Giles said, more as a statement of condemnation rather than a question.

"My dear boy, I'm not sure we have ever been servants of the Council, oh dear me no. I myself have found it best to maintain a creative, dynamic relationship with the hierarchy of the Council, that way we all get along splendidly."

"I don't know if I'm that creative."

"But the fight goes on, and you know that you have a part in it." Giles nodded and looked down into his lap whilst a waiter served them coffee. Bainbridge leaned forward, an unmistakably worried expression on his face. "Rupert, I know what you are being asked to give up; possibly better than you do yourself at this point in time, and you are not the only one making great sacrifices. But this isn't a war in which the losers will be defended by some holy Geneva Convention; there are no prisoners, only casualties. If someone you loved, if Frankie was trapped in a burning building, would you try and put the fire out?" Giles looked up at Bainbridge. "Because that is what we are talking about, the world is burning Rupert; don't you want to help put the fire out?" A heavy sigh escaped Giles' lips as he nodded his assent.

That night a party was held at the townhouse in honour of Frankie's departure. The sixty or seventy people that had turned up with their assorted instruments milled around the house, grazing like ants at a picnic. Impromptu jam sessions were springing up on the three floors that people were permitted access to. The majority of the women in attendance were obviously Frankie's 'sisters' from the coven as they were dressed in similar fashion to Frankie, and were sitting around discussing the latest feminist tract to have emerged from the women's history research group. For the first couple of hours, Giles contented himself with making small groups of these women squeal with laughter, as they got progressively drunker. He caught passing glimpses of Frankie as she mingled with the assembled hoards. At first Giles was quite content to be ignored, after all, she had a lot of people to say goodbye to, but when he caught sight of her entering the room he was in, only to turn on her heels on seeing him, he became a little more suspicious. As soon as he was able to break away from the conversation he was having with a fellow tortured soul from one of his tutorial groups, he weaved his way through the groups of people in order to find her, which he eventually did in the kitchen. He slid up behind her and grabbed the glass she had in her hand and swigged from the contents.

She jumped and cussed him. "You gave me a fright."

"What're you drinking?" Giles frowned.

"Coke. I have to catch a plane tomorrow and I didn't wanna have to deal with a hangover as well." She replied, nervously folding her arms and fixing her eyes on the floor.

"Why have you been avoiding me all night?" he asked, throwing the plastic cup into the overflowing bin. He looked back just in time to see her gulp back a sob. "Hey... I... I didn't mean to upset you. What's going on?" The colour had drained from her face and he could tell that it was taking a great deal of effort for her not to cry. She swiped her cheek with the back of her hand and put on a smile as a tall blonde guy manoeuvred his way around her to get to the sink.

Giles grabbed her hand and tugged her in the direction of the hallway. "Come on, let's get out of here." She nodded and allowed herself to be led through the crowded house to the front door, where he paused only to pick up one of her jackets. Once outside, he helped her into her coat before taking her hand and walking in the direction of the park.

"I'm sorry," she said, as they turned the corner into the children's playground. He let go of her hand and she sat down on one of the swings. "I think that saying goodbye to everyone was all a bit overwhelming."

Giles sighed as he slumped into the swing next to her. "That's okay. Doesn't explain why you were avoiding me, though."

She stared straight ahead. "Can't you guess?" When he didn't reply she glanced at him. "If you can't fucking work it out Rupert, then I'm not gonna tell you," she blurted, jumping to her feet. Giles reacted quickly, standing up and grabbing her by the arm. He was more shocked that she had called him by his first name than by her tone, something she had never really done before outside an intimate situation.

"Hey, calm down," he said in hushed tones.

"God, I'm sorry Ripper," she gasped, "I guess the thought of New York has got me more freaked than I wanted to admit."

He pulled her to him and stroked her hair. "You're going to be fine. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

"I thought that, but now it's here, I'm so scared I'm doing the wrong thing. I'm scared that in ten years time everyone's gonna hate me, and I'm gonna hate myself. But... but if I don't go then everything could fall apart and I'd never forgive myself if it was all my fault. I always wreck everything... and I can't do that to you... I can't... I won't..."

Giles could feel his shirt growing damp with her tears. "Slow down... Shhhhh," he whispered, hugging her tightly. "You're not making any sense. Take a breath." He felt her breathing heavily and so just rocked her gently until she started to calm down. Eventually she looked up at him, her black kohl eye makeup smudged across her cheeks. Giles pulled his shirtsleeve below the level of his jacket and with it began gently wiping the black tearstains from her face. She seemed unable to speak. "There, I can see you now," he whispered, brushing the hair away from her face. "I've never seen you cry before."

"I've never left someone I love before," she replied quietly.

Giles couldn't stop his bottom jaw from dropping slightly.

Frankie's eyes fell away from his. "You've got to admit," she continued, "I've got a knack for dropping bombshells at the worst possible times."

Giles lifted her face back to his. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because I couldn't handle the thought of you not loving me back."

Giles took a deep breath, "Of course I love you. Why do you think I get so pissed off about the others?"

"What others?" Frankie asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Y'know... the other blokes you see."

"They're just mates. I haven't been with anyone else since I met you."

Giles snorted and shook his head in disbelief. "I'm such an idiot."

"Honestly... there hasn't been anyone. I couldn't."

Giles smiled "I believe you. It's just, well, I thought you didn't want anything serious... that's why I..." he swallowed. "What I'm trying to say is that I haven't seen anyone else, either."

They both laughed, clunking their heads together in the process.

"Don't go?" he asked, in a quiet anxious tone.

Frankie slowly shook her head before pulling his head down to kiss him. He kissed her back with an intensity wrought of desperation before he allowed her to pull back from him. It took her a minute to catch her breath before she could speak. "This is gonna sound mad, but just for tonight can we pretend that this is it... you and me, forever?"

Giles gazed back into her eyes. He thought that they looked like pools of mercury in the moonlight. He nodded; he could do it because he wanted it to be true.

They wandered the highways and byways of Oxford for most of the night, making plans for the life that was never to be. They discussed their imaginary future in minute detail; where they would live, what car they would drive, what pets they would have, and where they would take their holidays.

"I wouldn't expect you to stay at home, of course," Giles grinned. "You could have a part-time job, a hobby, something with nice flexible hours. I've got it! You could be a stripper!"

"Riiight!" Frankie giggled.

"It makes sense, low initial outlay and flexible hours. It would be great once the sprogs came along, you could work when they were all tucked up in bed, and just think of the street cred our son would have. What should we call him?" Frankie had stopped a few paces behind him. "Frankie? Come on, what names do you like for a boy?" He turned and looked at her.

"Oh, I don't know... er... Michael."

"Yeah, Michael Giles. It has got kind of a ring to it."

"What about a girl?"

"Hmmn?"

"What would you call a girl?"

Giles walked slowly back to where Frankie was staring out across the river, and slipped his arms around her waist from behind. "I'd call her Skye, because the colour of her mother's eyes changes with her mood, just as the sky changes with the weather." Fresh tears slipped across Frankie's cheeks as Giles began nuzzling and kissing her neck.

They settled under a large oak tree to watch the sun rise over the 'dreaming spires' of the university buildings. Frankie sat between Giles' legs and lay back against his chest, lightly arranging her hands over his that had come to rest on her stomach. They had run out of things to say to each other. Words could only make the feeling worse, and so they fell into an expectant silence as they waited for the dawn to herald the beginning or the end—neither of them was quite sure which.

Golden light flooded between the domes and steeples as the sun travelled slowly upwards, above the mist that clung futilely to the town. The chorus of blackbirds and song thrushes announced the daybreak with the same joy that they always did. The darkness of night had been defeated by the forces of light and warmth, and no matter what the day brought with it, that was all that was important.

Giles was lost in the comfort of holding and being held when Frankie shifted and unwound his arms from around her.

"I have to go," she sighed as she pushed herself to her feet. He nodded and got up too. There was something about the way that she was looking at him that made him realise that this was where he got off. He felt a wave of panic sweeping through his body. No, he didn't want it to end, not now, not like this. Her lips quivered into a smile before she turned and started to walk down the hill.

"Francisca!"

She stopped but did not look back.

"I will save the world, for you."

She turned her head back to take one last look at him. "I know you will, Rupert."

Giles stopped at a payphone on the way back to his rooms and dialled the number that had been ingrained in his memory since he was four years old.

"Hello Dad, it's me. I'm going to come home next weekend, if that's all right? I need to talk to you - I think it's time."

The End