Thursday, April 26th, 2001 ~ Rupert Giles' apartment ~ Sunnydale, California

Sam picked up the leather-bound journal he had glanced at the last time he had been in Giles' flat and placed it on top of a pile of shorts and t-shirts he had packed in the leather satchel he had found in Giles' closet. He briefly scanned the overloaded bookshelves in the lounge area hoping to discover matching volumes but abandoned the search when he heard Buffy returning from her trip to the car. He quickly folded a pair of jeans over the journal and added a couple of casual shirts on top of that.

"Your garment bag fit nicely in the trunk, Giles. You don't have to worry about your suits and shirts getting smooshed," Buffy told him. She glanced at the nearly full bag sitting on the stool near the counter that separated the entryway from the kitchen. "All done?" she asked.

Sam would have dearly loved to spend a couple of hours sifting through Giles' possessions in search of clues to the purpose of this Leap, but couldn't think of a reasonable excuse to get Buffy to leave him alone there for that length of time. "I just need to get some things from the, uh, bathroom," he said, forcing himself to be content with what he had managed to obtain. Maybe Al would return with good news about his latest conversation with Giles.

"The cucumber-melon body wash wasn't exactly your cup of tea, huh?" Buffy guessed, with a smile.

"Nor the 'Berrylicious' shampoo," Sam agreed. "I keep thinking I should squirt a dollop of whipped cream on top of my head."

Buffy chuckled. "Blame Dawn for that one."

"If you insist," Sam replied. "I'll just be a minute." Since he had fully explored the loft at the start of this Leap, he knew the bathroom must be at the end of the short hall that ran past the kitchen. He headed that way and was relieved to discover he had been correct. As he rifled through the medicine cabinet and the small cupboard, the quantity of prescription pain medications, salves and bandages, in addition to the most well-stocked first aid kit he had ever seen, gave him pause. He read the labels on the prescription bottles, most of which were months or years old. He peered through the amber plastic containers and realized little, if any, of the medication had ever been used. "Jesus, Giles. Cut yourself a break, huh? These were probably prescribed for a good reason," Sam murmured aloud.

Buffy's voice came to him from the other room. "If you've got anything perishable we should probably have it for lunch," she suggested. "You might be staying with us for a while."

"Good idea," he called back, returning the prescription bottles to the medicine cabinet and quickly collecting shaving cream, a razor, a manly brand of soap and a few other things from Giles' supply of toiletries. The possibility of competing with only one other diner for his share of a meal was very appealing and his stomach growled in anticipation. He hurried back to the main area of the apartment and dumped his booty into the satchel and closed it up. He glanced up to see Buffy turn from the refrigerator.

"How about grilled cheese sandwiches and a salad?" she suggested. "That should use up pretty much everything that would go bad in a few days."

"Sounds good," Sam said with a nod. He joined her in the kitchen and began to wash the greens she had left next to the sink while Buffy sliced cheese. They worked in companionable silence until the food was ready. They carried plates, glasses and silverware into the lounge and sat down on the couch. Sam took a healthy bite of his sandwich and closed his eyes, enjoying the crunch of the toasted bread and the flavor of the melted cheese. Finally, a meal he could savor without worrying about...

"Giles," Buffy said softly.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he turned slightly to see Buffy poking half-heartedly at her salad with her fork. "Is there something wrong with the salad?" Sam asked.

"I don't think so. I haven't tried it yet," Buffy admitted. She put down her fork and sighed. "Giles," she began again, looking up at him. "Last night... what, um, why did you kiss me?"

Sam swallowed his mouthful of food and put his sandwich plate back down on the coffee table. "I thought you wanted me to," Sam replied, honestly.

"Oh," Buffy breathed, looking away.

"Was I wrong?" Sam asked a little confused.

"No, that's not it. I did. I really did. I just thought, maybe..." she trailed off.

When she didn't continue, Sam reached over and placed a warm hand over hers, which were fiddling with the napkin that was spread over her knee. "What?" he inquired gently.

"It's not important," Buffy said softly, her eyes still averted.

Sam reached over with his other hand and tilted her head up. He stroked her chin, encouraging her to look at him. She met his eyes reluctantly. "Of course it is if something is bothering you. What is it, Buffy?"

"I just... I was kinda hoping you kissed me because you wanted to, too. Not just because I..."

Sam smiled and was about to chuckle but he choked it back when he saw the disappointment on Buffy's face. "Buffy," he admonished her, tapping her lightly under the chin with one knuckle, encouraging her to keep meeting his eyes. "I admit, I was a little unsure before I kissed you but, if you think back, I'm sure you'll realize that I was quickly brought over to your way of thinking," he said with a grin.

Buffy searched his expression and apparently liked what she saw. Her eyes began to dance and a lovely blush glowed in her cheeks. "Really?"

"Let me refresh your memory," Sam suggested. He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly against hers. Buffy tilted her head and Sam deepened the kiss, sliding one hand behind her head and his other arm around her back, encouraging her to move closer to him. He was so engrossed in the feel of the woman in his arms and her increasingly ardent reaction to the kiss that he was only vaguely aware of the sound of the Imaging Room door opening and closing. Sam also managed to ignore the sound of a throat being cleared from somewhere a few feet behind the couch. It was the ironic tone in the familiar, rough voice of his best friend that ultimately gained his attention.

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but quit kissing the girl and pay attention, Sam," Al insisted.

Sam moved away from Buffy slightly and watched her open her eyes. They smiled at each other.

"I guess we are on the same page," Buffy commented, reaching up to trace Sam's features with her fingertips. "Oooo, check the book metaphor!" she added merrily.

Sam laughed and pressed one hand over hers, trapping her palm against his cheek. "Lovely," he said, not necessarily referring to her turn of phrase.

"Sam!" Al demanded loudly. "Serious talk now, try to get lucky later."

"Maybe we should finish our lunch and talk later," Sam said to Buffy, hoping Al would also take the hint.

"Okay," Buffy agreed, shifting her position and picking up her fork.

"Good," Al said, coming around the couch to stand in front of the fireplace, facing Sam. "You listen, I'll talk."

Sam shook his head marginally as he took a second bite of his sandwich. Either Al didn't notice or chose to ignore the subtle rejection, because he kept talking.

"I'm about to tell you something pretty shocking but try not to react. I'll fill you in on what's up and we can talk when you get back to the shop. I think I found out why you're here."

Sam glanced up sharply, becoming apprehensive when he saw the grim expression on Al's face.

"Buffy is going to die in eight days," Al said bluntly.

Sam, who had just begun to swallow, felt his eyes bulge out as the chewed mass of bread and cheese went into his windpipe due to the gasp of astonishment this piece of news prompted. He began to choke.

"Sam!" Al shouted in alarm. He stepped forward and stopped in the middle of the coffee table.

The bizarre image burned itself into his brain as Sam struggled for breath. He felt a blow from the flat of someone's hand impact sharply on his back; once, twice.

"Giles! Giles, are you okay?" Buffy asked him frantically. "Giles!"

As his vision began to dim, Sam wondered fleetingly about the questionable sense of humor Al always attributed to the Higher Power that directed their lives. After all the dangers he and Giles had faced it would be something of an anti-climax to be brought low by a grilled cheese sandwich.

End Part 11