Chapter 2: Coming Home

A few days after her final conversation with Doctor Lane, Willow found herself on a plane next to Giles, anxiously waiting to see if she indeed still had any friends.

"Giles," she said as she turned to face him. Giles, who had been lost in his own tangle of thoughts, jumped a little at the sudden exclamation.

"Oh, Giles! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you go all 'eek!' on me." Willow felt a pang of regret for startling Giles, given all that she had already done to him. Her heart softened a little, however, when Giles chuckled at his own silliness and covered their still-clasped hands with his free palm.

"Willow, no matter. What is it?"

"Well, I was just thinking," Willow began, her nervous energy bubbling up like carbonation. "The last time you were on a plane to Sunnydale, you had been imbued with the power of the whole coven in Westbury. You knew I was dangerous and you were coming to stop me. I mean, you thought you might have to kill me. This must be a way better flight, huh?"

Giles' expression darkened with anguish for a split second before it turned to stone. After a moment, he looked down at his knees and said quietly, "Yes, this is rather different."

The chill in his voice made Willow feel like her heart had stopped beating. She quickly cast her eyes down, feeling ashamed. Ashamed that she had made Giles feel so awful, ashamed that she had broached this subject in public, ashamed that she had brought it up so flippantly, ashamed for everything. She could feel her devastating guilt writhing around underneath all of her other feelings, coloring every interaction, every thought. Doctor Lane had reminded her that she would still be prone to sudden shifts in temperament for weeks or months, but mood swings like this still caught her off guard. Her eyes glossed over with the tears that had been threatening to form all day. You will not cry on this airplane. You will not cry on this airplane. You will not cry on this airplane. She kept repeating it to herself like a mantra, but she could feel that she was on the edge.

Willow felt her arm moving. Dazed, she looked over and saw that Giles was lifting their arms up so he could move the armrest up and out of the way. She had a momentary flickering of loss as Giles let go of the hand he had been holding all this while, but then she realized that Giles was pulling her over to him in a warm embrace. He tucked Willow into the crook of his arm and put his hand on her shoulder. Willow wholeheartedly welcomed the gesture and rested her head on Giles' chest and shoulder.

Please don't cry now, Giles silently willed.

Please don't cry now, Willow urged herself.

To their mutual relief, Willow took a few ragged breaths before settling into Giles' arms. In a few moments, she was asleep.

With his left hand, Giles gingerly reached above them and clicked off their seats' lights. The Friday morning red-eye was the best (and cheapest) flight available, and although he suspected that he himself would never get a wink of sleep on the flight, he hoped that Willow would take the opportunity to get some rest before what would undoubtedly be a stressful return home.

He looked down at the slumbering witch and felt a familiar warmth radiate out all the way to his fingers and toes. He had been feeling more and more protective of Willow over the last few months. He wasn't sure if it was because he had nearly been forced to kill her (and maybe would have, if she hadn't been so much stronger than him) and was trying to repent for that most egregious sin. Maybe it was the natural outgrowth of his long-standing avuncular affection, first nurtured in the Sunnydale High School library where they had spent countless hours poring over ancient texts.

A part of him worried that there was something else behind the chaste affection, something not so innocent. For all the years he had been Buffy's Watcher, he had detachedly acknowledged that Willow was a clever, stubborn, beautiful girl. Whether the staff care to admit it or not, all teachers could objectively report which students were attractive and which were not, which were pleasant to be around and which were not, and so on. He did not feel strange, then, noting that Willow was rather pretty.

But something was different and it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore it. It's one thing to note a person's attractiveness; it's entirely another to be attracted. He would, of course, never do anything to risk his friendship with Willow. Or with Buffy, for that matter. He valued them as friends and allies too much to ever do anything to jeopardize that. Even so, as Willow slumbered in his arms, Giles wondered if he needed to worry about where his own feelings were heading.

Just then, the flight attendant approached and asked if Giles wanted anything to drink. Although he desperately craved a stiff drink to help him purge these thoughts from his mind, he opted for water instead, thanking the flight attendant as she passed him the cup. You have to watch over her, he thought to himself, and you can't very well do that if you're tipsy. He sipped his water as if that settled the matter.


It was over an hour into the flight and Giles was bored. Willow was thoroughly passed out, nestled firmly into Giles' side, and Giles didn't want to wake her just so he could retrieve his book from his luggage. It was just tucked under the seat in front of him. He might just be able to get it. He hooked his foot under the bag's strap and started to maneuver it towards him. Gently, old boy, he cajoled himself. You have many more hours to get through. No need to rush. As he pulled his foot up to angle the bag, the strap slipped and the bag landed with a sonorous THUD on the floor. Giles glanced at Willow and instinctively held his breath, hoping he hadn't woken her. Thankfully, she didn't even stir.

Giles couldn't help but smile. That's my girl. Again, even more slowly this time, Giles tucked his foot under his bag's strap and guided the bag towards him. He gently shifted forward, leading with his free left arm, and successfully snatched the loop of the bag in his fingers. He gracefully placed his foot back on the floor, and slid the bag up and over onto his lap. Just as he began to work the zipper open, Willow shifted, a yawn escaping her mouth as a stretch passed through her as it would a cat. Giles froze and gripped his bag, hoping that Willow would settle back into a deep, dreamless sleep. Willow tucked her feet underneath her legs, pushing her torso more firmly into Giles' side, her face now buried in his neck.

Giles' eyes involuntarily widened as he felt the sensation of Willow's breath warming his skin. His back straightened and he stared straight ahead for several seconds, trying to gather his thoughts. Willow being jammed into his armpit had felt affectionate but fatherly. Willow's face – Willow's lips – being pressed into the bare skin of his neck felt like something else entirely. A different sensation, one he did not want to feel for Willow, threatened to grow. He was very glad to have his bag in this lap. He pressed his eyes shut, his face blushing to a deep crimson. God, what he would give to be able to clean his glasses right now.

You're just a man, he tried to tell himself. She's beautiful and she's very close and it's only natural that you would…react. That line of reasoning didn't feel very convincing. If it were any other woman, sure, it wouldn't be that odd to feel some attraction to her. But this was Willow. He had known her since she was barely sixteen. Their relationship was more like father and daughter – well, maybe not quite. Like mentor and student, then. Yes. She's not your student. And she's not a child. There is nothing illegal about finding her attractive. He still wasn't doing a very good job of convincing himself. Just because it was legal didn't mean it was ethical. It's just not proper.

With that, he was able to tamp down the remaining stirrings, exhaling with a sense of finality that he wasn't sure he really felt. After a moment, he resumed his delicate manipulation of the zipper on his bag, finally extricating the long-coveted book and radiating thankfulness for the ready distraction in his hands. He slid the bag back to the floor and placed the book in his lap. With one last indulgent moment in which he did his best to memorize what it felt like to have Willow's mouth on his skin, he opened the book to page one and, resolved, set himself to reading.


The jostling of the plane as it touched down on the tarmac finally awoke Willow from her coma-like nap. Unbelievably, she had slept all the way to New York, where she and Giles were due to catch a connecting flight to Sunnydale. As her consciousness slowly roused itself, Willow realized that her face was firmly buried in Giles' neck, an awfully intimate sleeping position. She pulled away with a twinge of panic, her cheeks turning the slightest bit red as she tried to straighten herself out. Giles, tickled by her alarm but ever the gentleman, fussed with his carry-on and made no indication that anything unusual had occurred.

Relieved at Giles' non-reaction, Willow began to gather her few personal items and smoothed out her hair, which had gone a bit wonky as she slept. After a few minutes, the passengers began to de-board and Willow and Giles headed out to customs, and then the terminal. They still had a little over an hour until their connecting flight boarded, but a trip to a full-size bathroom and a warm breakfast would be heaven. As Willow slipped into the ladies' room, she noted a serious kink in her neck, and thought, well, that's something we're not going to talk about. After making use of the facilities and washing her hands, Willow took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. Willow, this is not high school anymore. We are well past the time when it's appropriate to have a crush on the librarian. He has been warm and kind and wonderful, and you have already betrayed his trust enough. The last thing you need to do is go all doe-eyed at him and make things weird. You still have another six-hour flight to go. Don't make it weird.

Fortunately for Willow, Giles was so involved with his bacon and egg sandwich that he wouldn't have noticed an awkward conversation if it had slapped him in the face. As Willow joined Giles at the least sticky table by the breakfast kiosk, Giles slid her a paper bag with her own sandwich, as well as a tea with her preferred milk and sugar ratio. Willow graciously accepted, and soon became just as wrapped up in the glory of breakfast as Giles was. They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, chewing and sipping, relieved at being off the plane but bracing themselves for yet another long flight.

Giles ran his fingers through his already-mussed brown hair. He checked his watch and looked at Willow. "The flight to Sunnydale boards in about 45 minutes. Once we're done here, we should go check out the gate and stake out some seats."

Willow began to agree, but then remembered, "Hey, if we don't move around enough on long flights, we could get pulmonary embolisms and die."

Giles stopped chewing. With a mouthful of egg sandwich, he questioned, "Oh?"

"Yeah," Willow continued, painfully earnest in her concern. "You get these clots in your legs from not moving around, and then the clots go to your lungs and you die."

"I don't feel dead," Giles said, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Willow rolled her eyes. "Well no, see, that's the thing, you don't know that you're getting them. I mean, hopefully we're okay for now, but since we're getting back on a plane, we should really try to move around before we go sit again."

"Willow, I'm rather quite enjoying my breakfast. Do we need calisthenics at 4am in JFK?"

"Yup. Besides, with the time difference, your body has no idea what time it is."

Giles sighed, shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, and mumbled, "Okay."

Willow grinned at her victory and disposed of her sandwich in much the same way. "Alright," she said through a mouthful of food, "let's see how much walking we can get in before they call our flight."


Nearly nine hours later, a bleary-eyed Rupert Giles walked into his long-abandoned home in Sunnydale and just about passed out. Although he had managed to catch a nap on the second leg of their flight, he felt absolutely knackered. He dropped his bags just inside the door, shuffled up to his bed, and let himself fall onto it face-first. He was asleep in seconds.

Across town, Willow stood outside Buffy's house, facing the front door with her eyes closed. No matter what happens, it's going to be okay. If they're angry at you, that's okay. If they're scared of you, that's okay. If they tell you to go away, which they might, that's okay. You and Giles talked about this. You can't control this part, so you just have to let it happen.

As Willow reached her hand forward to ring the doorbell, Dawn flung the door open and screamed "Willow!" The young girl, who seemed to have grown six inches since Willow had left, threw her arms around the witch and squeezed. Willow tried to call out Dawn's name with matching excitement, but the word got caught in her throat and she began to cry. "Willow, what's wrong? What happened? Are you okay?" Dawn's naked concern only made Willow cry harder. Dawn still loved her. Dawn wasn't afraid of her or angry with her. What had she done to deserve such kindness and love?

Dawn, getting no answers from Willow but sensing that there was no real trouble, simply held onto Willow and let her cry. After a minute, Willow straightened up and wiped the tears off, trying to affect a business-like air. Dawn, whose own face had been moistened in the interval, did the same, and helped Willow bring her bags in the house.

True to form, Dawn began chattering away about all that had been going on in Willow's absence. Sweeping her long brown hair behind her shoulders, Dawn spared no detail in her updates. Xander had been putting even more hours at the construction site and the building downtown was almost done. The new high school was finished and Dawn had started her freshman year. Spike had left town for a while but now he was back, though he was acting pretty weird. He was staying at Xander's for now. Anya was putting in some work at the Magic Box but mostly she was avoiding everyone. Buffy was still making with the slay-age, but she was working this fast food gig on the side to try to keep the angry bill collectors from calling the house. She brought home too much greasy food and she smelled like old burgers all the time, but at least the lights were still on.

"How's Giles?" Dawn asked, as if that were the punctuation on her one long sentence.

"He's good," Willow said, although she wondered if that was really true. Come to think of it, she had been so wrapped up in her own feelings and her own recovery that she hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about how Giles was doing. He had been there for her, but she hadn't been there for him. God, how selfish. You're like a child. When was the last time you really asked Giles about how he was doing or what he was going through?

Dawn interrupted Willow's self-loathing festival to make Willow eat a late lunch. All they had was leftover Doublemeat Palace junk, but Willow was more than happy to placate Dawn and eat a whole plateful.


Giles awoke from his nap just as the sun was setting. This jetlag is going to be hell, he thought as he rubbed his face with both hands. He yawned and stretched and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the dust of exhaustion. Having fallen asleep in his travel outfit, he decided that a shower and a fresh set of clothes would make him feel much better. He took off his sweater and automatically did the thing common to all bachelors, smelling the balled up fabric to determine if it needed washing. Immediately, the scent of Willow Rosenberg flooded his nostrils and made him stop mid-stride. He held the sweater up to his nose again, more purposefully this time, breathing deeply. His shoulders drooped. Oh, no, he thought with dismay. Rupert, you idiot. You've got feelings for the girl. What are you going to do?