"Hey, England," Jenny's voice drifts from his office doorway. She looks sleepy and rumpled and as though she wishes she didn't have class in ten minutes.

"Jenny," Giles returns her greeting. She rewards him with a quirk of her lips. "How was your evening?"

"Actually, that's what I was going to ask you about," she starts, taking his question as the invitation it is. "My group was ready to celebrate the solstice and the blogs started going crazy." She takes in his appearance, noticing his knuckles and tired expression. "And I can't help thinking you were in the thick of it, as usual."

She lets her words hang between them and perches on the corner of his desk. She reaches for his hand, her usual teasing void from the gesture and whole demeanor. The pad of her thumb is gentle as it runs across the back of his hand looking beyond the bruising for more serious injuries. He doesn't resist when she tests his fingers and wrist by bending them and rotating them in her hand, going slow enough to stop at any sign of pain or resistance. There's none.

Any pain he felt stopped the moment she touched him.

She's done this before.

He thinks back to waking with his head cradled between her hands in her lap. He'd found himself blinking into her doe eyes framed by the strands of her hair. Her thumb stroked his jaw tenderly as he came to and remembered his slayer was walking to her death. He'd jumped up from the floor as fast as he could muster only to get dizzy and falter from the slight concussion Buffy's punch had imparted.

Jenny had been there to steady him, of course.

He's entranced by the sight of her, completely focused on his injuries, he's tempted to confess his confrontation with Ethan, to spill his darkest secret, to warn her she's much safer out of his life. If he was stronger, if he thought she'd heed his warning, he would. He is, however, afraid they've survived too much to convince her to listen. He's just as afraid that she'd walk out of his life.

This vibrant woman who deigns his life worthy of her presence. Strong-willed, quick-witted. Sensual and endearing. Full of life and acutely aware of the perils this life holds. The dichotomy of her steadies him.

She is utterly enchanting and he's thoroughly enchanted.

Her thumb makes a final pass over his healing wounds before pulling his hand closer to her body, simply holding it as refocuses on his contemplative mood. "Are the kids okay?" That is all she asks.

He marvels at how readily she accepts his vocation, his duty to Buffy, and the others who insist on helping their fight against the evil in the world. She understands it and he can't fathom why.

"I believe they're enjoying being themselves again."

She cocks her head to the side, silently asking him to explain. Again, he's tempted to be honest, at least about Ethan. He's still close and Giles isn't naïve to believe he'll leave town just because Giles told him to. "There was a spell and everyone turned into the costumes they were wearing," he explains wearily.

"Everyone?" She questions. He starts to nod but stops himself.

"Well, all those who bought their costumes from the new shop in town," Giles clarifies. "Buffy forgot she was the slayer and Xander thought he was in the army." He forges on when her eyes widen at his explanation. "Willow was a ghost."

"A ghost?" Jenny echoes.

"She could walk through walls, but she remembered who she was."

Her eyes bug a little wider before she shrugs, open to the truth, as always. Not for the first time, he wonders where her easy acceptance originates. "At least that explains the little monsters running up and down outside my building last night." She squeezes his hand as gently as she can in reassurance. "But everyone's themselves again and stopped walking through walls, right?"

Despite the calm emanating from her, ready to step in to be calm for him if the children are hurt, he can also detect the concern she tries to keep from him. Concern it's more than the children, that there's something else he's not telling her. "They're all fine," he promises.

"Good," Jenny offers him a small smile in the hopes of eliciting one in response. He can't help reciprocating despite the foreboding he feels. He feels foolish for hoping he's just rattled by his encounter with Ethan but he doesn't want to be complacent in case his old friend causes more mayhem.

"Hey," she says quietly, drawing him from his reflection. "Last night was a bust," she tells him simply. "But we could make up for it tonight."

"I'm not sure I would be the best company," he admits, unable to refuse her that honesty.

"You're the company I want," she confesses softly. He looks up at her face in wonder as she shakes off the concern in her expression, trying to appear as nonchalant as ever. "How about a quiet night in, no monster trucks in sight, I promise."

The smile comes easier this time and he squeezes her hand. She beams at him, knowing he will spend the evening with her if only to reassure her that he's okay. The moment lingers as they get caught in each other's gaze until it's broken by the bell. She groans and moves to stand, still holding his hand as he remains seated. She's resigned to her fate of heading off to teach her first class.

Overcome by the comfort she's offered him without pushing him for what is really bothering him, he brings their joined hands to his mouth to brush his lips against the back of her hand. As usual, she's steadied him.

"Thank you."

"Anytime, England," she promises.