Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Eight

All Grown Up

Giles sighed, allowing the silence to wash over him. Dawn had gotten the kids down for a nap—blessed things, naps. He only wished Buffy were here. They needed to talk about this morning.

A rush of heat hit him as he remembered it—the surprising softness of her trim, muscular form, the look of undiluted desire in her gaze…the feel of her body beneath his. He nearly groaned aloud.

He'd been a bumbling idiot all morning, hardly able to focus enough to put one foot in front of the other. And Dawn kept staring at him—he hadn't been able to look Buffy in the face, for fear Dawn would read the whole thing on his. He'd been dreaming of this for so long, and now—he could barely believe this was happening.

Slow down, he advised himself firmly. He was getting ahead of himself. After all, this was Buffy; she was—and probably would always be—going through something so traumatic, so horrifying, that it could hardly even be imagined. To be pulled from heaven…he closed his eyes. He could imagine so easily what the world must look like to her, now; harsh and cold, and lonely-full of violence and anger and pain.

There was no denying that her recovery, since he'd last seen her, was nothing short of phenomenal. She was making a genuine effort to connect with life again—and she was succeeding, which was more than anyone had a right to truly expect of her.

And now…this. She felt something for him—he'd seen it, he'd felt it. It may even be love. But for how long? Forever was a lot to ask of someone who was only now learning to live again, in the most literal possible sense. To pin his hopes and dreams on the actions of only a few days—well, it would be imprudent, at best. Right now, Buffy needed something—something warm, and safe, and soft-to counteract the daily horrors of a world filled with death and loss. She'd found that, in him.

He was humbled by the thought.

But he needed to be careful. Things were happening very fast, and he was already in over his head. She needed him right now—but what about tomorrow?

What about tomorrow? Who cares? he asked himself honestly. If she needed him—if loving him could help her to find a reason to get up every morning, then who was he to deny her? He'd be hers for as long as she'd have him; there had never really been a question.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, holding back a wry chuckle. Quite the maudlin fellow, wasn't he? Noble, even—it was all rubbish. He was a selfish prig and he knew it; his dreams were being handed to him on a platter, and just this once, he was going to grasp them with both hands and hold on for the ride. However long he had her, it would be worth it for the rest of his life.

The phone rang, interrupting his musings, and he leapt to his feet, snatching the phone. Whoever the bloody hell this was, if they'd woken the children up, he was going to—

"Mr. Giles." The smooth, cultured voice made his stomach sink.

"Hello, Quentin," he replied grimly. He was never going to like this man, that was all there was to it.

A long pause, and then the other Watcher spoke again, his tone carefully neutral. "I'm surprised to find you still in Sunnydale," he remarked. "We received Buffy's call some time ago—we were expecting you back much sooner than this, to be frank."

Giles grimaced. "Actually, we need to talk about that," he said. "There have been—well, perhaps it would be better to discuss this, face-to-face." That way, the prat couldn't go above his head and try to make trouble for him. Giles smiled to himself. Maybe he'd even take Buffy along—she'd had the Council under her thumb pretty much since the Glory incident.

Quentin sighed. "Am I to assume you're not returning?" he asked, his voice holding a wealth of disgust. "Really, Rupert, it's astonishing how you let that girl manipulate you."

"Watch your step, Quentin," Giles advised, his tone dangerously soft. "You're treading on rather thin ice."

The other Watcher sighed. "When will you be back for this…meeting?" he inquired.

"As soon as possible." Giles smiled. Now that he'd made the decision to stay, it felt as if a weight had rolled off his shoulders. "I've been unable to return as of yet because of a…situation, here in town. Buffy has found those responsible, and has gone to get them, now. The situation should be cleared up this afternoon, actually."

"Shall I make your flight arrangements for tomorrow morning, then?"

Giles nodded, before remembering Quentin couldn't see him. "Tomorrow morning will be fine," he agreed. "Perhaps around seven o'clock. I'd like to be back in England by early evening." The sooner he met with the Council, the sooner he could come back home.

Home. For the first time in a long time, the word felt like it had meaning. He smiled to himself.

"Fine." Quentin's voice was clipped. "We'll take care of it. We shall see you tomorrow, Rupert."

He disconnected, leaving Giles to stare at the phone, breathing a sigh of relief. He was almost giddy. He was coming home.

To be with Buffy.

Buffy was dreaming of wedding dresses. Behind her, the Trio was grumbling and whispering heatedly, but she wasn't bothering to listen. She gave another sharp tug on the rope that bound the idiots together, and felt with satisfaction the way they stumbled. She may not be able to stake them, she mused, but she could have some fun.

Now…should she wear something white and flowing and traditional? She imagined that would be Giles's choice—he was a very traditional guy. Or should she wear something short and sassy and clinging, just to see his face? She almost giggled at the thought. That idea had merit.

She supposed she shouldn't be so sure that they were headed for the altar, but, somehow she just knew—this was forever. She was giddy at the thought alone. Giles loved her, and this was forever!

She couldn't even say how she was so sure, except to say simply that it was Giles. He would never start something with her—never dream of "taking liberties", as he would say—unless it was going to be a forever thing. It was just the way the guy was made.

She loved that about him. She loved everything about him.

The gang was on its way to being all grown up again, courtesy of the bulky gun she had slung over her shoulder as they left the "Hideout". Giles was home to stay. Buffy was alive, and Giles loved her, and for now, the world was a bright and happy place.

"—soon as possible," Giles was saying to someone on the phone. He was so caught up in his conversation, he didn't even hear her enter, even with the Nerd Herd in tow. There was a brief pause, and then, "Tomorrow morning will be fine. Perhaps around seven o'clock. I'd like to be back in England by early evening."

Buffy's body went cold with shock. He was leaving?

He was leaving?

Giles stared at the phone for a moment, then smiled to himself as he replaced it on the hook. He looked…happy. Buffy felt sick.

"Oh," her Watcher remarked, looking up at her. He smiled. "You found them." There was approval in his voice, as well as eagerness.

Eagerness to get this over with? To get out of Sunnydale—out of her life?

Unable to speak, she simply handed him the rope that held the Trio in check, and the gun that she'd pilfered. It took all of her effort to hold a steady expression on her face as she made her way blindly up the stairs.

Giles watched her go, confusion washing over him. What was wrong with her?

"Hey—let us out of here!" one of the three boys was demanding, struggling against the rope. "It pinches!" he added plaintively.

His attention snapping back to the job at hand, Giles took in the group that had caused all the trouble. He took a step forward, and instantly, two of the three flinched away from his glowering stare. Only the third—a tall, dark-haired boy—met his gaze, chin lifted, hate in his eyes. Giles raised an eyebrow.

Well. This looked like the "unpleasant youth" to him.

Figuring that the dark-haired boy was probably the leader, Giles addressed his words directly to him. "Do you know what you've done?" he asked, his voice soft. Dangerous. Getting no reply, he took another step closer, until he towered over the three lads. "Do you?" he demanded again.

The leader—he thought Buffy might have called him "Warren"—spoke. "The question is, why should we care?" he spat resentfully.

Rather than answer, Giles let his gaze fall deliberately to the rope that bound them together, and then to the gun in his hands. "Perhaps you would care if it were you on the other end of this," he remarked mildly.

Jonathan cringed. "No, don't!"

Ah. A weak link. Giles turned his attention to the shortest member of the Trio.

"And why not?" he asked calmly, pointing the gun in their general direction.

Blatant fear etched itself across the faces of all three, although Warren still looked rebellious. "You don't know what it does!" Jonathan cried, distressed.

"Don't we?" Giles widened his eyes. "Terribly funny, that—I was under the impression that I'd spent the last several days face-to-face with exactly what this thing 'does'." He turned his attention back to Warren. "What I don't understand is how—or why."

Warren refused to speak, but the other two were not so brave. "It's a Deceleration Beam," the blonde one blurted, his words coming in a rush. "It alters the space-time continuum within the specified frame of a person's body. We didn't mean to hit your friends." He paused. "We meant to hit the Slayer."

Giles took another threatening step, this one bringing him very close to the boys. "And, for some reason, you think that is going to improve my opinion of you?" he asked coldly. He turned to look at Jonathan—the one member of this little band that honestly bewildered him. "Why, Jonathan?" he asked, quietly. "How many times did she save your life? What could you possibly gain from hurting her?"

Jonathan flinched. "We're…supervillains," he muttered lamely. "It's what we're supposed to do—kill the Slayer."

Suddenly Giles understood, and a wave of fury crashed over him. "It was meant to regress her," he guessed. "Until she didn't exist at all. My God, do you know what you could have done?" These were dangerous games, being played by stupid boys. It made him so angry, he could barely breathe. He held up the gun. "How do I make this work? How do I reverse the effects?"

It was the blonde one who replied. "You can't. Warren has to do it—he's the only one who can reverse the settings." When Giles raised an eyebrow, the boy recoiled. "I'm not lying!" he insisted. "If you mess with it, you could hurt them even more!"

"Explain," Giles told him coldly. "Now."

The blonde shrank from his glare. "It's simple," he explained. "The space-time continuum is…picture it like a wheel. You know how when people say 'if time moved any slower it'd be going backwards'? Well, you can do that. Or, at least, theoretically. Everybody has their own little wheel, and they're all turning in the same direction, at the same time, and that's why people age. Imagine if you could stop the wheel, just for one person. Like what happens to a vampire. They just don't get any older. Everyone around them keeps going, but they just stay the same." He shrugged as well as he could, while bound by the ropes. "That's what the Orb does."

Seeing Giles's confusion, Jonathan tried to elaborate. "This Orb can stop the wheel…or even turn it the other way," he offered. "Alters a single person's space-time continuum until they start to age backwards. Eventually, a person couldn't get any younger, so theoretically, they'd stop existing." He cringed when Giles's eyes grew even colder. "Anyway," he continued lamely, "it only works while the beam is on—once it stops, the…the wheel starts turning in the right direction, again, I guess."

"How do I fix it?" Giles growled, his patience fast reaching an end.

"Well, you don't. The only one who knows how to work this thing is Warren—if you tried to do it, you might age them too far by accident, and they could die anyway."

Giles turned to the dark-haired boy, rage making him physically shake. "You're going to fix this," he said coldly.

"Make me." Warren lifted his chin rebelliously, daring Giles with his eyes.

Without pausing, Giles decked him in the face. Hard.

The boy went down, dragging the other two with him, thanks to their bindings. It looked like Giles may have broken his nose.

Warren sniffed, trying to reach his face with one of his bound hands, but couldn't reach. "You still can't make me," he managed, his voice a bit more nasal, but no less stubborn.

"I can."

The voice descending the stairs made them all look up. Warren paled.

Buffy moved slowly, trying not to reveal her inner turmoil.

She'd locked herself in the bathroom, staring in the mirror at her own face, the image distorted by tears. Her initial reaction had been anger—rage, really. How could Giles do this to her? Why? Why would he offer her so much, then take it all away?

It had taken her several minutes to even begin to calm down. When she had, she'd been left with an aching, empty void inside that felt like losing heaven all over again. She'd drawn several deep breaths, trying to get enough control to figure this out. There had to be a reason Giles would do this to her. She just needed to figure out what that reason was.

(You were supposed to be finished with this, too. When I died.) She heard her own words in her head, and her heart cracked. She had meant the words, when she said them, but now, selfishly, she didn't want him to be finished. She wanted him here. Standing beside her. Fighting beside her.

Sleeping beside her.

She was a bitch.

(I shouldn't be trying to take away what you've earned. Your chance to be finished. That's no better than what Willow did to me.)

Her head throbbed—to say nothing of her heart. She ran some cool water, splashing it on her flushed, over-heated skin. He was leaving her. Again. And she didn't know why.

But that wasn't what really mattered, was it? What mattered now was how she handled it. A month ago she would have thrown a huge fit—hell, not much longer than a month ago, she had thrown a huge fit. She could do that again—and this time, it might be enough to make him stay. She was no fool. If she played on his guilt for leading her on, he'd stay.

Was that really what she wanted?

Well, yes, but not like that. Not for those reasons.

She had closed her eyes, leaning against the counter. No matter what his feelings may be, hers remained the same. She loved him. She had offered him his freedom—it had been her choice. She'd known she could have made him come back. If not by appealing to him, then by going through the Council. Through force. She'd been sick at the thought of doing that to him.

After all his years with her—years of fighting, bleeding, concussions, torture, loss, and pain—she'd given him his chance to be done. It had been a gift of sorts; the only thing she could offer him to even try to make amends. He was…she swallowed thickly…he was accepting that gift, now.

Would she try to take it away?

No. No, she wouldn't go back down that road. She had pulled herself together, drying her face on a towel. She'd come too far to backslide, now. She owed it to everyone—to Dawn, to her friends, and especially to Giles—not to be that girl anymore.

Okay. So she'd let him go. No guilt. No tantrums. She'd smile if it killed her. It was the least she could do.

Now, as she made her way down the stairs, she watched Warren baiting her Watcher.

"You still can't make me," the creep had said, and Buffy had forced the first of those smiles. Showtime.

"I can," she replied lightly, taking a moment of pleasure in their pale faces, despite her breaking heart. She stepped off the last stair, bringing herself closer to the three boys huddled on the ground. "I can make you do anything I want to," she said easily. "I can make you scream if I want to."

Warren looked doubtful for the first time since she'd showed up in the Hideout. "You don't hurt humans," he said, but his voice sounded hesitant. Unsure.

Buffy looked at Giles, managing to feign surprise. God, this was hard. "Is that true?" she asked her Watcher, keeping her tone conversational. "I don't hurt humans?"

Giles gave her a smile, and in spite of herself, her pulse raced in response. "Well," he said slowly, pretending to consider her question. "You don't kill humans…"

She nodded seriously. "Right," she agreed. "So then…as long as I don't kill them…"

Giles shrugged. "I don't see a problem."

"Good." Buffy took a step toward Warren, and that was all it took. The coward in him took over, and he tried to hold up his hands in surrender, forgetting they were bound.

"Okay!" he all but shouted, trying madly to scoot away from her. "I'll do it, I'll do it—bring me the gun."

Buffy shot a look at Giles, who nodded, handing her the gun and disappearing upstairs to get the kids. Buffy hauled the Trio to their feet with one easy movement.

She stepped very close, getting right in Warren's face. "If they get hurt," she said quietly, coldly, "I won't care if you're a human or not. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

He paled again, and nodded slowly. Buffy wandered over to the weapons chest in the corner, calmly removing a particularly wicked-looking rapier. She didn't think he'd quite gotten the point yet.

Moving slowly, she walked back to him, letting the tip of the rapier hover in the air, close to the boy's face.

He made a retching sound at the back of his throat as the rapier brushed very near his skin.

Buffy nodded, satisfied. Now, he got it.

Giles woke Dawn first. The teenager had collapsed on her bed, exhausted from a late night last night, and an early morning today. She resisted his attempts to rouse her.

"Go 'way," she muttered, burying her face beneath a pillow.

He understood the feeling. "Dawn," he said again, quietly. "Wake up. It's time—we're going to fix the others."

That got her attention. She sat up so fast she nearly hit his head with hers. "No more three-year-olds?" she asked, her voice almost pathetically eager.

He smiled. "No more three-year-olds," he agreed. "I need you to help me take them downstairs."

She was on her feet in an instant. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

In short order, the children were wide awake…and cranky. Apparently, it was not wise to interrupt a sleeping toddler. Gathering Xander and Willow into his arms, he waited for Dawn to scoop up the other two, and together they headed downstairs. The entire thing was almost over. He could barely believe it.

"Wait!" Buffy slapped her hand over Warren's, a moment before the boy pulled the trigger. All four Scoobies were seated on the rug in the center of the living room, and the big moment was finally at hand.

"Buffy?" Giles raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"No," she replied. Then, "Yes! I mean—Dawn, go get some blankets. Those clothes aren't going to grow with them, if last time was any indication, and the last thing we all need is…an embarrassing scene."

Dawn laughed, and Giles's eyes widened, a flush already staining his cheeks.

"What a very good point," he observed, sounding horrified by the near-miss. Despite her turbulent emotions, Buffy giggled.

The blankets were retrieved in short order, and wrapped around the squirming foursome on the floor. Buffy nodded to Warren, holding the rapier where he could see it. "Go ahead," she murmured quietly.

There was a low hum, a flash of light, and the sound of tearing cloth. The light was blinding—Buffy had to turn her face away. Moments later, the light stopped, and the room went silent. She held her breath as she turned to look.

"Wow," observed Xander, clutching his blanket tightly. "I'm…uh…naked."

Relief washed over Buffy, so strongly that she nearly went weak in the knees. She grabbed for the nearest Scooby—which happened to be Willow—and crushed her in a hug so tight, her friend gurgled slightly.

"Hey, Buff," the witch said, somewhat nervously. "Love you, too." She paused. "But not in a naked way, okay? Could we save this for when I have some clothes on?"

Buffy laughed, even as tears welled up in her eyes, and released the redhead. "Oh, my god, I'm so happy to see you guys!"

Anya was studying herself with some dismay. "Xander doesn't approve of public nudity," she announced firmly. "It's inappropriate. Where are my clothes?"

Buffy turned to the Trio, who were trying to sneak for the door in the confusion. Grabbing the gun from Warren's startled hand, she snapped it half. Then she punched him in the face, just for the hell of it. He went down like a felled tree.

"Get him out of here," she told the other two, turning away dismissively. Eventually, she'd have to figure out a way to stop them permanently, without actually killing them. For right now, however, she had other things on her mind.

One of those other things was stepping close to her, now. The Scoobies had disappeared upstairs, in search of clothes, and Dawn had followed, answering their incessant questions all the way.

Giles was smiling gently at her. She wanted to hate him for it—it was breaking her heart. She drew up her chin as he opened his mouth, not ready to hear his explanations just now.

"It looks like your work here is done," she announced, her voice bright and brittle. "If you need a ride to the airport, just let me know."

Giles froze. His work here was done?

He studied her face, noticing her flushed cheeks and overly-bright voice. What was going on, here?

"Buffy—" he started, but she cut him off.

"Don't, Giles. I really can't take this right now. Just—just let me know when you need that ride, okay?" She started to walk away, and Giles felt like he might throw up.

It was over already? She really wasn't even going to talk to him about it?

He withdrew, unable to look at her. Suddenly, he felt very cold.

"No need," he said numbly. "I'll get a cab."