From the conservatory, Rupert looks out over his modest garden. He manages it easily despite never really being interested in having a green thumb or the practice. He looked over at the hanging basket of strawberries he let Willow put up. He'd indulged her fondly because she seemed so happy when she found them at the garden centre.

The book in his hand had lost his attention through no fault of its own. His thoughts regularly drifted to other matters. Currently, the young woman occupying his guest room. Willow was pottering about in the kitchen, making her breakfast. He'd eaten toast a couple of hours ago when he first woke, long before she'd gotten out of bed.

When he first bought her here, he'd hovered. Overcompensating for his absence and blaming himself for leaving them to make their own choices and mistakes without preparing them properly. Once he and Willow returned from the States, he'd been like a mother hen. She had been sleeping, mostly, completely drained by recent events. Rupert knew she needed the rest, but he dwelled on it. His concern lessened when she wouldn't retreat to her room to nap, she'd fall asleep on the couch or in the armchair. She wasn't hiding her grief or recovery from him so he needn't worry about a relapse.

Still, she had other basic needs. She had no appetite. He'd make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and she'd peck at it. This continued for five days before she told him to stop fussing. They'd argued about it before reaching a compromise. He wouldn't encourage her to eat if she made it for herself.

"Morning Giles," Willow says, popping her head around the door. "I was just making tea, would you like some?"

"Hmm, no, I have some, thank you though," he replies nodding at the cup beside him on the small dining table he has in the conservatory. "How are you this morning?"

The redhead gives him a slight bob of her head, which, he's learnt, means it's a bad morning and she's trying to keep busy. She usually sticks close to him on these mornings. "I'll just go get my breakfast."

Willow returns quickly with her tea and oatmeal, a book of her own and a bulging envelope tucked under her arm. She settles into the chair opposite him, placing the book and envelope on the table beside her tea. "Do you have any errands to run today?"

Rupert thinks for a moment. "No, the council expect me to check in but other than that, there's just general household chores for today."

The Council knows all about the havoc Willow wreaked in Sunnydale following Tara's death and is keeping tabs on her as much as they are him. He refuses to betray her confidence and has told them in no uncertain terms that he will tell them if there is an issue they need to intervene with. Not that his word means much to them these days if it ever had. Luckily the retreat he wants to take her to starts the week after next.

"Quiet day, then," Willow murmurs.

"Unless there's something you'd like to do," he offers. "Go somewhere? Ring Buffy or Xander?"

"No, I'm good," she shakes her head. Then her eyes go wide when he frowns at her. "No, I mean I'm okay to hang around the house today. But, yeah, phoning home sounds like a plan for later," she assures him that she's not avoiding her best friends. "It's just ten in the morning here, is two in the morning in Sunnydale. I mean, they might be awake but it's usually emergency-only calls at that time and I don't want to panic them."

"Ah, good point," Rupert realises, his worry averted. "Fair enough."

Willow smiles at him, reminding him of the teenager she used to be, before starting on her breakfast. Rupert goes back to his book, trying to remember where he was up to, and they sit in comfortable silence as she eats. She keeps glancing between him and the envelope, distracting him again.

"What have you got there?" Rupert asks, giving up on his book completely.

"Dawn put it in my suitcase," Willow explains, pushing aside her now empty bowl. "They're some of my photos. I think she grabbed a load of them without checking. I haven't gone through them yet, and today feels like a photo kind of day, you know?"

Rupert huffs thinking of the younger Summers' sister, trying to cheer Willow up from afar. "Would you like some help?"

Willow gives him a watery smile and she nods unsteadily. "Thank you."

"Why don't we take these into the living room?"

Willow stands to take her bowl to the kitchen as he gathers their cups and the envelope to take them into the other room. He sits on the sofa and pushes a cushion into the side to make room for Willow. She joins him quickly, slipping her feet out of her shoes to curl her legs beneath her on the sofa. She jams a box of tissues between her and the cushion.

Rupert offers her the envelope to open. She does so without looking at him and memories seem to spill out with the photos. The children through the years, some moments he recognises, some he doesn't. He picks up one of himself and Willow, which he knows resided in her locker while she was in high school. She smiles softly when he shows her. She turns the one in her hand to reveal Xander half asleep and about to fall out of a chair in the library. They take turns going through the photos, Willow popping them into piles as they do. She doesn't explain her system to him but becomes clear she's sorting by year.

Rupert picks up one buried under the others only to pause. He can't remember the moment captured but he can't look away. He and Jenny are sat side by side in the library, her head on his shoulder, each of them focused on the books in their laps. They're not even looking at each but their arms and hands are intertwined absently.

"Where did you get this?"

Willow looks over and recognises the photo in his hand.

"Oh, I took it," she tells him. "We'd spent all night in the library and I wandered around to wake myself up a bit. I found that old Polaroid camera you kept in your office and I'd never used one before. You were reading and just sort of waved your hand that it was okay, and Buffy and Xander started making funny poses," she smiles at the memory. "You and Miss Calendar, well…I always liked that picture of you guys."

"I think it's the only one of us," Rupert muses, getting caught in his own memories.

"I can get you a copy," she bites her lip, looking hopeful. "Maybe, if the letter thing pans out, get a copy for Miss Calendar, too."

"Willow," he chastises gently. She's getting ahead of herself. She ignores him.

"Despite all of our teasing," she continues. "We liked seeing you guys together, all of us, including Buffy."

He blinks in surprise at her sincerity. All he remembers was collective groans and endless teasing.

"My parents weren't really affectionate, Xander's parents didn't have the best marriage, and Buffy's parents divorced before she came to Sunnydale," Willow explains. "None of us really witnessed adult relationships which were still flirty and cute, you know? It was nice."

"That doesn't stop when you're an adult," Rupert tells her. "Relationships grow, they evolve," he elaborates. "Who knows how Jenny and I would have evolved if we had the chance."

"I think you'd still be together," comes her quick reply. "You guys showed us what love should look like." She pauses. "That's why I think you can work this out."

"Willow," Rupert warns her softly.

He was afraid this would happen. She shouldn't distract herself from her grief by latching on to another love. He didn't to set back her recovery, if he and Jenny didn't reconnect.

Watching Willow this summer reminded him how painful it is to lose someone you're close to. Tara was a lovely woman who was wise beyond her years. She was good for Willow.

Rupert misses Jenny, deeply. She's alive, in New York, he'd recently discovered, but the years of self-imposed silence felt like part of him died. He didn't feel like he had the right to grieve her absence when he was the one who sent her away.

He'd been angry that last night, trapped in her apartment while Angelus taunted them from outside. Physically they were safe so there was no need to call Buffy. Jenny had whispered her plan to him, gave him the curse and explained the ritual. She didn't have everything at her apartment to perform the ritual then and there otherwise she would have. She wanted to make things right, but he wasn't entirely sure she was wrong in the first place.

Buffy was his charge and he will always stand by her, though from what Jenny said no one from her family made her aware of the consequences of what might happen to Angel.

Rupert regrets how he reacted, he was terrified for Buffy, for Jenny. If she tried to recurse Angel and failed…They only had one chance and he refused to let Jenny bear that burden. Angelus wasn't going anywhere without a fight.

"You're sending me away."

He remembers her tears that night as he told her to leave, repeating that she was in love with him. He'd been so close to confessing his love for her. He'd held his tongue; afraid he wouldn't be able to let her go if he told her. He pleaded with her to go to ground and eventually, she listened to him.

As dawn crept over the horizon, as Angelus retreated to the factory for the day, Rupert helped her pack a bag. Before they left her apartment, they stood at her entrance to say goodbye. Jenny told him she loved him again, willing him to say it back, to let her stay, to help him.

He couldn't muster the words. So, he kissed her.

Jenny had returned it desperately. She'd fallen back against the wall, her hands weaving through his hair to hold him to her. He lost track of time as he kissed her, pouring everything he couldn't say into their last embrace.

That night, he went to the factory before Angelus could follow her. The fire he set was a distraction so she could escape and earn himself a right hook from Buffy for being so stupid to go alone.

A few days later, he'd performed the curse with Willow's assistance.

He'd tried Jenny's beeper, to tell her they were successful, to apologise, but the service had been disconnected.

Jenny had left a gaping chasm in his life. She brought a lightness to him he'd never experienced. She understood and accepted his duty, she'd been someone he could confide in, someone to share his life with without keeping it from her.

"She might have moved on with her life," Rupert says, shaking off his daydream.

Willow glances up furtively, wrinkling her nose. "Maybe," she concedes. She frowns. "Do you regret sending the letter?"

"No," Rupert admits honestly. He could never regret reaching out to Jenny.

At the sound of the letterbox, they both look and Rupert spies the postman through the window. Before he can rise, Willow beats him to it. "I'll get it."

Alone, Rupert looks down at the photo in his hand. He can't remember the specific moment, they had so many similar moments that he lost track. He does remember the weight of her head on his shoulder, the smell of the perfume she wore, and how her hand fit into his as if it was meant to be there. He remembers her smile, the way her eyes would brighten when she was teasing him. The sound of his name on her lips.

Willow reappears in the doorway, holding some junk mail in one hand while studying another letter in the other.

"Willow, are you alright?"

Instead of answering she holds the envelope out to him. He takes it gently, recognising the writing instantly. Willow must still know it.

"I'll give you some time," his former student tells him as she clears away the photos, except the one clasped in his hand.

Rupert opens his mouth to tell her she's welcome to stay, only he can't. This is something he has to do by himself. Once she's retreated to the back of the house, he carefully opens the envelope.

Dear Rupert.

I thought about not replying. I wasn't going to, but then I realised that was never going to be an option. I told once that you're far too important to me. Even after all this time, you still are.

This feels so weird, but I'd like to try it. I'm not ready to give you my address, you can contact me at the school or my personal email. Seriously though, I can't imagine you at a computer.

England, huh? I'm sure there's a story there. I've been in New York since I left Sunnydale, there's not much to tell about that except that it's New York and I'm teaching.

Thank you for the book, I know what it means to you.

And don't worry about being breezy – nothing between us could ever be breezy. Send Willow my love.

I miss you, too.

Yours,

Jenny