Title: These Hallowed Halls
Author: Firephly
Rated: 12
Written for: writinggoddess
Challenge: Two things she wanted included in the fic: One of those big Crayola markers in either black or green, a bowl of chili with beans that has melted sharp Cheddar cheese mixed in.
One thing she didn't want included in the fic: Graphic smut; I kinda want...cutesy.
Preferred rating: R or lower, if you must, but PG-13 or lower would be ab fab.
Length: 6,292 words
Author's Notes: Huge thanks to janedavitt for her wonderful beta help!
These Hallowed Halls
Humming contentedly to herself, Willow wiped down the blackboard at the front of the classroom. She had to admit that these slayers were all really bright, even if they lacked the discipline of showing up to class on time - just like Buffy was in high school, she mused. The chalk dust sent her into a sneezing fit.
“Bless you,” Dawn laughed, standing in the doorway.
“Thanks,” Willow smiled. “You would think that since we had enough money from the Council to buy these state of the art computers, that they could spring for a couple of dry erase boards.” She wiped her hands on her skirt and started to gather her things to head to her next class.
“They would kinda clash with the whole Old English thing we've got going on here.” Dawn looked at the old brick walls, wondering how many Council students had walked down these halls.
“Well, they didn't have computers 100 years ago either.” Willow frowned at the white mark that now gleamed on her favorite plum skirt.
“What'cha teaching next period?”
“Spells of Protection.” She shut the computer lab door and locked it with an old skeleton key. She had convinced Giles to keep the old locks instead of installing new ones. A small spell on the lock and key kept the room secure enough.
“I can't wait to take that class.”
“Only another year and you can.” Willow was firm in her rule that only seniors would be taught and allowed to practice magic. She knew more than she would ever tell them just how dangerous it could be, so she decided to let them wait until most of their hormonal ups and downs were under control before she let them get acquainted with that kind of power. “Hey, aren't you supposed to be in Dr. Nolan's Demonology class right now?” Willow raised an eyebrow at the seventeen year old.
“Yeah, but they're studying Hellmouths today. Like I don't already have a one up on that one,” she said as she followed Willow down the hall.
“That may be,” she conceded, “but did you think about what you might be able to teach the others?”
“Not really.” Dawn looked down at her shoes, looking guilty.
“Well, I'm not gonna tell you what to do. You're old enough to make your own choices, Dawnie.” Willow forced a smile down as she saw Dawn cave into her sense of duty.
“Okay, I'm going,” she grumbled as she turned around and headed back down the hall.
Chuckling quietly to herself, Willow almost walked right past the older woman who stood silently next to the classroom door.
“Oh!” Willow put her hand over her startled heart. “Mrs. Travers, I didn't even see you there.” She took in the quiet, powerful presence of Quentin Travers' widow. Since the death of her husband, she had made it clear to the council that she wanted to continue her husband's work in whatever way they found her useful.
While she didn't have any skills or training in the occult, she was a wonderful, kindly soul. When Giles reestablished the Council, gathering together all the members who hadn't been killed in the explosion, their first official decision was to bring all of the new Slayers to England for schooling and training. They couldn't very well have rogue Slayers running all around the globe left to their own devices. So Buffy, Xander, Kennedy, and the others that fought with them in Sunnydale set out to find Slayers and convince them, or their parents, to let them come to England on a “scholarship” for private schooling at what had once been the Council's private University. Willow had originally set out with the others, with Kennedy actually, but had returned a few months ago. She and Kennedy had broken up and Willow had decided at that point to take Giles up on his offer to have her come teach at the school.
Mrs. Travers had become a den mother of sorts to the Slayers. Girls from ages 10-18, and a few older, came to the school and boarded on the grounds, with Mrs. Travers there to make sure that they adjusted well and that their needs were tended to. Willow had marveled at the woman from the moment they met. Although she was very kind with the girls, she was also firm and commanded respect at all times – which was an essential quality when dealing with dozens of immensely powerful young women.
Now she stood here looking uncharacteristically troubled.
“Miss Rosenberg,” she said, nodding her head in greeting. “Could I please have a moment of your time?”
“Of course.” Willow opened the classroom door and invited the woman to come in and take a seat. With a glance at the small desks, Mrs. Travers politely declined, and stood with her shawl clutched around her squat frame.
“Do you know little Tabitha?”
Willow nodded. Tabitha was their one exception to the age rule. Recently orphaned, the little girl was only 5 years old. She was, by far, the youngest Slayer they had encountered to date. Although she looked like an angel, she had the strength of a Slayer. Willow discovered Tabitha through an article that was written on her parents' car accident. The headline read “Toddler Lifts Car off Dead Parents,” which most people passed off as a typical Enquirer sensationalist lie. But instinct and the residual magic of the scythe told Willow that this girl was another Chosen One. And Willow was proven right when Giles brought Tabitha back to England with him and charged Mrs. Travers with looking after the girl.
“The poor dear has been having nightmares.” Mrs. Travers' face looked drawn, as if she hadn't been having peaceful nights either. “Every night since she arrived.”
“Do you know what they're about?”
“No, she won't say a word about them, but I hear her thrashing and yelling in her sleep every night.” She pulled her shawl tighter, as if to ward off a chill. “It must be something terrible, Miss Rosenberg. Something's put the fear of God into that little girl.”
“How can I help?” Willow switched into problem solving mode. It actually felt a lot more comfortable to her than teaching mode, more natural at least. She loved teaching. She had since her first attempts as Ms. Calendar's fill-in back in high school. But still she found herself looking more forward to her nights researching with Giles than her days in the classroom. Of course that may have had more to do with the company, she knew. But also, the calm ritual of figuring out a problem appealed to her.
“I thought that maybe you could cook up a potion or something to help her rest easy.” Mrs. Travers now looked uncertain, clearly out of her element.
Willow fought back the urge to groan. Witches were so misunderstood. But she treated Mrs. Travers with kindness.
“Potions probably aren't the best way to deal with Tabitha's problem.” Willow remembered many a failed potion and grimaced. “But maybe I could try and talk to her and we could figure out whether her problem can be solved better by magic or something more…traditional.” There, she patted herself on the back. That sounded reasonable and very responsible. Tara would be proud, she thought wistfully.
Mrs. Travers nodded and shot her a small grateful smile.
“That would be splendid. When should I bring her by?”
“After class I'm heading over to Giles – er- I mean Mr. Giles' office. We should be researching there for the rest of the afternoon, so why don't you bring her by. If I can't help, maybe G- Mr. Giles will have some ideas.” Students began filtering into the room.
“Yes, that would be very helpful. I'll bring her on by after her lessons – around three o'clock.”
“See you then,” Willow smiled as the older woman left her to her class.
?
“Nightmares?” Giles leaned back against his desk watching Willow as she plucked ancient volumes off his bookshelves in preparation for their afternoon of researching the latest demon Buffy had called about.
“Yeah, but Mrs. Travers can't get her to talk about them.” Willow turned to Giles, looking a little unsure of herself. “I'm not sure what I can do, Giles. Kids aren't exactly my thing.” Giles shot her a look of surprise; after all, she had agreed to come and spend her days teaching children. “I mean I like them and all – I'm just not Miss Intuitive when it comes to what makes them tick. Give me a witch or a lesbian and I'm all over that, but–" Her face reddened nicely as she took in the double meaning that Giles had obviously already gathered and hid neatly behind a stifled smirk. “You know, to coin a Xander-ism – sometimes I just shouldn't say words.” She turned back to the bookshelf and tried to regain her composure.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Giles fetched a package out of his top drawer. “You have some mail from him.”
“Really?”
Curiosity was enough to push aside her embarrassment for the moment, as she took the small brown package from Giles. Willow unwrapped it, feeling excited. She loved presents. And when no one had remembered her birthday last week she had tried not to take it personally. They were all uber busy with gathering and training the new Slayers. But apparently Xander hadn't forgotten. She could always count on him for a little something, no matter how small or inane.
His homemade card was humorous, of course – with a reference to being belated but at least not beheaded. Willow smiled and dug into the small item messily wrapped in African newspaper. Slightly puzzled, she revealed an 8 pack of thick Crayola markers. But then she smiled and wiped an unexpected tear from her eye as she read the attached note. It simply said – “Tell crayon-breaky Willow that these puppies will stand up much better under pressure. Love, Xander.”
“Only Xander could find Crayola markers in the middle of Africa.” Her affection for her best friend filled her voice. When Giles didn't make a witty anti-Xander retort, Willow looked up, and found him looking upset. “What's wrong, Giles?”
“I can't believe I forgot. God, I'm such a prat.” He scowled at himself. “Happy belated birthday, Willow.” He searched her eyes, hoping that she could forgive him. The most upsetting part was that he had planned months ago to take her to the Savoy Theatre to see the latest critically acclaimed version of The Pirates of Penzance. Willow had mentioned seeing an advert for the show and had mentioned more than once how dashing the Pirate King seemed. He had made a mental note to get tickets and surprise her. But he had become caught up in daily Council nonsense and had forgotten.
“Don't worry about it Giles. We've all been crazy busy lately.” She shrugged off his apology, but was also secretly glad to see that he cared.
“That's no excuse.”
“Sure it is. I'm giving you a get out of jail free card. You're off the hook.” She gave him a good-natured pat on the shoulder. Her stomach churned at the brief contact with his warm shoulder. It has been a while since I've been close to anyone , she thought, dismissing the feeling.
“Well, I'd like to make it up to you anyway.”
“It's okay, Giles, don't worry about it. Let's try and make some headway before Mrs. Travers gets here.” She resumed setting out the books on a small round table and left him to his long silence. His mind was definitely turning as he helped her set up the table for research, but he didn't push the issue.
?
He felt a little stung by her dismissal of his apology. Perhaps she didn't care a bit that he had forgotten. But that thought didn't provide him with any more comfort than the notion that he had hurt her. Unable to untangle his mixed emotions and unwilling to torture himself any further, he let himself become engrossed in researching this latest issue. He could always count on the focus of researching to distract him from thinking too much about things that shouldn't matter and could never be.
For over an hour they sat, heads bent, flipping through books and scrolls, pointing out key passages to each other. They were so engrossed that they didn't even hear Mrs. Travers and the girl walk in. Willow issued a small eep and nearly jumped out of her chair as she looked up to find herself eye to eye with the five-year-old.
“Tabitha, hi!” She smiled, trying to smooth over her surprise. The girl stared at her, wide-eyed and silent.
“Be a good girl, Tabitha, I'll be waiting just outside,” Mrs. Travers excused herself and closed the door behind her.
Willow stared back at the dark haired cutie. Like most children that age, her head was too large in proportion to her tiny frame. Freckles peppered her chubby cheeks. Unlike her namesake, Tabitha had the dark tan skin of a girl whose family originated from south of the border. Perhaps her father had once crossed the harsh land between Mexico and Texas in hopes of a better life, not knowing how short that might be.
Her dark eyes stood out in stark contrast to the light pink sweater she wore. Akin to the many experienced witches Willow had known, Tabitha's eyes held an intelligent watchfulness that belied her age. Although she still had an aura of innocence, she also looked wary, as if she had seen too many horrors in her short life.
As the two girls sized each other up, Giles brought over a chair for Tabitha to sit in. She hopped up into it, her feet dangling, unable to reach the floor, and continued to watch Willow.
“Would you like a snack?” Willow cast a quick glance at Giles, hoping he could backup her offer with something he might have stashed in one of his drawers. But Tabitha shook her head silently anyway. “Oh, okay then,” Willow said in her best chipper voice. She felt self conscious over her lack of skills in dealing with small children, but she kept pressing. “Mrs. Travers told me that you've been having some really bad dreams.”
At this the little girl nodded solemnly. Well, at least that was progress. Willow's hope began to increase.
“What are the dreams about, Tabitha?” Giles asked softly. The girl remained silent.
“Was there a bad man in your dreams?” Willow asked. Tabitha shook her head. Willow saw clearly how they were going to have to play this game.
“How about a bad woman?”
Nod.
“Do you know who she was?”
Shake.
“Was she trying to hurt you?”
Shake.
“But she was trying to hurt someone else?”
Nod.
“Was she hurting someone you love?”
At this Tabitha took a moment to think about the question and instead of nodding or shaking her head she looked up and pointed at Giles. Giles looked at Willow, as befuddled as Willow felt.
“She was hurting Mr. Giles?”
Nod.
Willow needed to figure out who they were talking about, but this yes/no questioning was infuriatingly slow. And who knew if this was a vision of something real or imagined - and if this was real, was it a vision of the future or the past?
In a stroke of genius, Willow recalled something from the days of her classes with Professor Walsh. Children who had experienced trauma responded to therapy with toys and also with drawing! She got up and retrieved her birthday gift from Xander and some blank paper.
“Tabitha,” she said, approaching the girl cautiously, “do you think you could draw me a picture of the bad woman who hurt Mr. Giles?” For a moment Willow held her breath, hoping that Tabitha would play along. She might not be able to draw anything accurately, but there might be some clues. After a long moment, Tabitha pulled the big black Crayola marker out of the package. It looked enormous in her tiny hand, but she wrapped her fingers around it and started drawing the woman.
Willow could make out a stick figure woman with a big head and shoulder length hair. Tabitha drew odd lines coming out of the stick hands. The more Willow studied the image, the less she understood.
“Are those fingernails?” She pointed at the long lines coming out of the hands, looking like long fingers.
Shake.
“Snakes?”
Shake.
Willow sighed. This, too, was going to take all night. Giles pushed closer to look and spoke gently to the girl.
“Tabitha, I want you to close your eyes and think about this woman. Try to see if she had special marks on her body. Try to see what kind of clothes she was wearing.”
She closed her eyes for a long moment and when she opened them she began adding more to her drawing. Biting her lip in concentration, Tabitha made the stick body thicker, darker, blacker. And she started adding little squiggly lines to the big face.
Willow stared at the image, feeling a familiarity set in. And suddenly, like a punch to the gut, she knew what she was seeing.
Giles watched Willow go white just before she jumped up and rushed to the bathroom off his office. He heard her retch and concern spread through him.
“I'll be right back, sweetheart,” He squeezed Tabitha's shoulder lightly and went after Willow.
By the time he entered the bathroom she was wiping her mouth and sitting on the floor, tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.
“What is it?” He knelt down beside her, alarmed.
She didn't speak for a long moment as she tried to slow her breathing. She kicked herself for not expecting that this would happen. She should haven known better. She knew the Slayer lore. All Slayers have the memories of the previous slayers who have slain and been slain before them.
“Willow?” he pressed, searching her eyes.
“It's me,” her voice croaked, hoarse from vomiting. “She's dreaming about me.”
Giles stared at Willow, utterly surprised. He, too, was surprised that he hadn't thought of that earlier.
“Of course,” He looked off at a random tile in the bathroom as his mind worked. “She has Buffy's memories of that time and they are surfacing in her dreams.” He hadn't considered that the typical memory transference between slayers had occurred when they had turned all of the world's potentials. “It must be terrifying for a five year old,” he added. At Willow's stricken expression he reached out and took one of her hands. “Willow, I'm not going to tell you that you shouldn't blame yourself for this, because I know you will, regardless of what I say.” He offered her a look that dared her to contradict him. “But that part of your life is over. You've grown far beyond that.”
Willow listened to Giles, but couldn't help but let the guilt wash over her. She felt herself start to drown in it. He squeezed her hand and looked at her fiercely.
“If it weren't for you, Willow, she wouldn't have survived that car wreck. Try remembering that too.”
She took a deep breath and nodded, trying hard to pull herself out of the dangerous downward spiral. Locking eyes with him, she let his strength and conviction wash over her. Willow was starting to lose track of how many times he had saved her from the dark.
“You're right, I have changed,” she affirmed, more for herself than for him.
He stayed there holding her hand for a long while until he was sure that she was calmer.
“We should probably go back in there. I left poor Tabitha alone.”
“I'm just going to freshen up.” Willow pushed herself off the bathroom floor and reluctantly let Giles have his hand back. She felt a sense of loss as she let him go back into the other room.
?
Willow entered the office silently, not wanting to disturb Giles as he spoke to Tabitha. He sounded like he was in the middle of a story.
“The Witch was very sad when her friend died…so sad that she started doing very bad things. She hurt her friends and her family and me. She hurt the man who killed her friend. But most of all, she hurt herself. She was so sad, that her heart was dying. But, her best friend, Xander – do you have a best friend Tabitha?”
Nod.
“They're very special people, as you know.”
Nod.
“Well, the Witch's best friend, Xander rescued her heart just in the nick of time.”
Tabitha's wide eyes grew wider.
“You see, she had to remember how to use her heart. And her best friend loved her so much that he gave her a little piece of his heart. And it helped her remember how to use her own.”
The little girl put her hand over her heart in a gesture that nearly broke Willow's just to watch.
“Did she make you all better?”
Giles, for his shock at hearing the little girl speak, didn't miss a beat.
“Yes she did. Then, the witch and I came here to England where we helped each other get better. She had to take lessons and learn many things about being a good witch - just like your lessons with Mrs. Travers about how to be a good Slayer.” He smiled at her.
“Mrs. Travers says that discipline is key,” the young one chimed in seriously. Giles hid a smile.
“Mrs. Travers is absolutely right.”
“Mr. Giles?”
“Yes?”
“What happened to the Witch.”
“Well, she worked so hard at being a good witch from that day forward that the Powers that Be granted her a great gift to give to the world.”
“What did they give her?” Tabitha's legs kicked excitedly under the table.
“They gave her the power to turn all the special little girls in the world, like you, into Slayers.”
“So we can fight the monsters?”
“Exactly so.” Giles finally noticed Willow standing in the doorway, wiping a tear from her cheek. Her eyes smiled at him.
?
“Thank you for your help tonight.” Willow started cleaning up the cluttered table now that Tabitha and Mrs. Travers had gone home. Her gratitude ran deep and she hoped he understood that. Giles' story for Tabitha had healed more than a little girl's bad dreams, and for the first time in a long while, Willow's heart felt lighter.
“I'm glad I could help."
He slid books home into their places on the shelves, enjoying the familiarity of the activity, and also enjoying Willow's company. He had been at such loose ends while she had been in South America. Certainly, there were old friends around whom he could talk to, but he never felt quite as connected with anyone as he did with Willow. He wasn't sure, but after thinking about it quite a bit he theorized that their connection really solidified, partially after they shared the same magic, and partially after spending that summer together without the others around. He had seen Willow at her best and her worst, and felt his love rooted in both.
When she had returned to teach the Slayers he was delighted to have her back. Just seeing her as they passed in the halls gave him a peace that frankly surprised him at first. He hadn't realized that the empty feeling he had been battling was specifically related to her.
“Well, I've got some papers to grade, so I better get going.” She didn't sound all that enamored with the idea.
“Dinner first?” he offered, not wanting to face another night alone at the cafe near his flat.
“Dinner?”
“Why don't you come over to my place and I'll cook something up for you first.”
“That's okay, Giles, you don't have to feed me.”
“Actually, I think I do have to. I believe I read in the birthday by-laws somewhere that when one misses an important birthday, one owes dinner and flowers at a bare minimum,” he joked.
“Me important? Nah.” She waved off his offer.
But he turned serious.
“Please, I would like to make you dinner.”
“Oh - Alright then.” The heat of pleasure crept up her cheeks.
“Good, it's settled then. Let's get out of here before there's another crisis.”
?
“Bugger all,” Giles grumbled. Willow could barely hear him with his head half buried in the cupboard.
“What's wrong?”
Giles extricated himself from the cabinet and sighed as he pulled out a large can of chili.
“Apparently this is the extent of my inventory at the moment. I must have been eating out a lot more often than I realized.” He frowned. “But that's alright. The market is just down the street. I'll run down and pick something up.”
Willow stopped him as he reached for his jacket.
“No, don't. I love chili.”
He sized her up for a moment, trying to assess whether she was putting him on.
“Seriously,” she smiled. “I haven't had chili since – oh – well that wasn't one of my fonder memories in South America. But in general, I'm a big chili fan. – And I'm not just talkin' about the country, mister.” She gave him one of her best Willow grins.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“I may at least have a bottle of merlot hidden inside that cabinet behind you,” he offered in consolation. Willow investigated and pulled out a dusty but impressive vintage. “Do you like merlot?” He prayed she did. Otherwise it would be water to drink, unless she fancied scotch, which he seriously doubted.
“I love merlot.” She smiled at his obvious relief.
“Then chili and merlot it shall be.” He pulled the can opener out of the drawer and smiled to himself.
?
Giles had banished her from the kitchen and promised to produce something edible within the next twenty minutes, so Willow curled up on his sofa with a glass of the merlot and a random book she had pulled from one of his many bookshelves. She was just getting into chapter three of Fairy Tales: Origins of Demon Lore when Giles entered the room carrying a delicious smelling tray.
He set the meal in front of her and they laughed together as Willow's stomach growled audibly at the sight of the melted cheese atop the steamy chili.
“Mmmm….this looks wonderful.” She carefully piled her fork with the beans and cheese, breaking the string of cheese with her delicate fingers, and blew on it gently to cool it off. Giles felt something stir in him at the sight of her pursed lips, and cursed at himself for choosing that moment to look over at her. She opened her mouth and slowly slid the hot chili inside, letting the fork slip out between her closed lips. God, he began to perspire. If he found just eating dinner with her this erotic… No, he shut the thoughts off, like a switch inside his mind. She was too young and beautiful, and had too much potential for her to waste it on an old man like him.
?
“I like it here.” Willow sighed contently and leaned back into Giles' sofa, watching the fire crackle, taking away the winter chill. Giles tried not to let his surprise show at her sudden declaration.
“You like it here?”
“Well, not here here. I meant here in England.” At his crestfallen expression that he valiantly tried to hide, she backpedaled, “I mean, I like it here too. Really, this is a great apartment.” She looked around. In all honesty she loved his apartment, with its dark oak wood and bookcases lining the walls. It was just what she would expect of a Giles apartment. “What I meant though, was that I kind of expected to miss Sunnydale – to feel out of place here in England.” She met Giles' eyes. “But it felt like coming home somehow. And I feel like this is home now.”
He watched her intently, a little more fortified from the wine. The way her fingers curled around her glass so gracefully enchanted him. And she spoke to him so openly that he wanted nothing more than to pour his heart out to her and have her reciprocate. But he would have to be a lot drunker for that to happen, so he kept his feelings to himself, locked safely away.
“Sunnydale never quite seemed like home to me,” he confessed, but had to clarify what he meant. “My apartment in Sunnydale, that is. But I never felt homesick in the library for some reason.” He hadn't realized he felt that way until the words came out of his mouth. But as he thought about it now, he had to admit to himself that he knew precisely why he felt that way…Because the library was where Willow always was. Aside from the comfort he always took from being surrounded by musty volumes, his spirits always lifted at the sight of her, at the prospect of a night researching with her. Back then he refused to even entertain the idea that he might have feelings for Willow. He had convinced himself that that would have been very wrong. She had been very young and innocent then. But she had changed quite a bit since that time. At least he no longer felt like a dirty old man when he watched her and felt drawn to her.
“I miss those days,” she said wistfully. “Things were a lot simpler then.”
Giles raised his brow quizzically. According to his memory, their time in the library had been fraught with peril.
“I mean it was us, the good guys, against them, the bad guys. Not – Black Eyed Willow against You and Buffy or Kind-of-Souled-Spike-but-working-for-Wol fram&Hart versus Psychotic-Homicidal-Slayer-girl. You see what I mean?” Her voice rose up an octave.
Giles refreshed her glass and sighed. She had a point.
“I see what you mean,” he conceded. “But there are some definite benefits to the way things are now.”
She encouraged him with her silence.
“You are a lot more accomplished as a witch, for starters,” he offered.
“I'm not quite so sure that's a good thing, Giles,” she confessed.
“Well, it hasn't been without its trials, but I wouldn't change what we've been through together.” He let his statement hang in the air for interpretation. There, that was as close as he would ever come to saying it, saying how he felt about her. She looked up at him, staring at him for a long time as if trying to work out what he was thinking. For all he knew, she could probably read his mind. Her skills were unparalleled by anyone he knew. And he knew quite a number of accomplished witches.
?
Her heart pounded silently beneath her breastbone as she looked over at Giles. All night he had been saying little things, hints even, about feeling strongly about their friendship. She had originally taken them as his effort to help her feel better after her emotional meltdown in the bathroom. But she wasn't so sure anymore. He was sending off waves of energy like she had never felt from him before. But just when she began to think he was attracted to her, the waves would stop, like a faucet shutting off. It was really disconcerting. At the moment, though, the waves coming off Giles were strong and thick with a sense of aching, a longing that surprised her. Could Giles possibly have been feeling that longing for her?
She felt drawn to it like an alcoholic to a bottle of fine scotch. Willow shifted on the couch so that she sat facing him, only a few feet apart. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. So many times she had fantasized about this moment, the moment where things might change between them. She was terrified, to be honest. At this point she knew unequivocally as he met her stare that he felt something more than friendship towards her, but would he dare act on those feelings.
Willow had made herself a promise after Sunnydale had become a large hole in the ground. She had promised herself that she would never let her fear stop her from trying anything from then on. As she learned from Buffy the first day they met, so she finally took to heart when the world almost ended – ‘Life is short. Seize the moment. ‘Cause tomorrow you might be dead.' Willow hadn't appreciated it at the time, but Buffy, at fifteen, had been brilliant.
“We certainly have been through a lot.” Her voice sounded thick and low in her ears.
?
He was honestly startled by the sudden switch of their conversation from casual to whatever this was. He could hardly convince himself that what he was seeing in Willow's eyes was lust. Not for him. But…he wasn't that oblivious either. His intellect battled his baser instinct to grab her and lose himself in her.
?
She could see the uncertainty in his eyes. They truly were the windows to the soul. Willow set her glass on the coffee table and took one of his hands in hers. Giles looked down at their joined hands trying to understand how it could feel so natural.
“I was worried for a long time that I had ruined our friendship.”
“Never.” He spoke the word quietly, but with conviction.
“That means a lot to me.” Emotion bubbled inside Willow.
“I will always be here for you, Willow.”
“Always?”
“For as long as you let me.” His eyes smiled at her in that way that always made her stomach flip flop.
Willow brought up a hand to his cheek and cupped it lightly. She watched his eyes close at her touch and decided that now would be the ideal time to seize the moment. She leaned over and pressed her lips against his. She must have expected him to pull away because when he didn't and instead opened his mouth to hers, an unexpected thrill of excitement and relief washed over her. She deepened the kiss. He made a small noise of passion as he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her.
Her tongue met with his and sent electric shocks all the way down her body. It was as if their pent up sexual energy could have lit a small country for that brief moment. She pulled back to take a breath.
“Woah,” was all she could manage.
He met her eyes, relieved to see that she was smiling.
“I dare say that ‘woah' just about sums it up.” He trailed his fingers up her back and delighted in the shiver that he produced. In a moment she was kissing him again. Miraculously kissing him. Giles finally let himself go, releasing the logical part of his brain, and pulled her tighter, his fingers tangling in her long red locks.
?
The next morning she stood in the empty classroom at the blackboard daydreaming about the feeling of Giles' lips on hers, the feeling of his strong arms around her waist. They had kissed and cuddled and talked late into the night until she had fallen asleep in his arms. It had been heaven.
Willow stifled a yawn. He had finally driven her home just before dawn so she could shower and change for school. The thought hit her suddenly – I just spent the entire night making out with Giles . A wide grin spread across her face.
“What are you smiling about?” he teased from the doorway.
“Oh, just some incredible guy I spent the night with.” She played along, as her pulse skipped a beat at seeing him. He looked slightly rumpled, and therefore adorable.
“I'd say he's a rather lucky bloke if he got to spend the night with you.” Giles crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her. He bent his head until their lips met and kissed her soundly.
For a long moment afterward, she held his gaze until he raised an eyebrow at her.
“Yes?”
“Oh, I'm just lookin'.”
“At what, dare I ask?” His eyes crinkled with mirth.
“At the real reason I came back to England,” she said seriously.
“I didn't sleep at all the night before you got back,” he admitted.
“Really?” She smiled, relieved to hear that she wasn't the only one who had been holding back secret longings.
“Really.” He kissed her again, this time long enough to leave her breathless.
Their lips parted just as Dawn entered the classroom. Her squeal of delight made Giles grimace slightly.
“I knew it! I knew it!” She practically jumped up and down, waving her hands about excitedly. “This is great! I have to go call Buffy right now!” She turned and squealed some more as she took off down the hall.
“Oh dear lord,” Giles rested his forehead on Willow's soft hair.
“Do you think Buffy'll take it ok?” Willow's contentment began to seep away as her concern over Buffy's reaction moved in.
“I don't know. But perhaps Dawn's screeching will deafen her before she has time to hear the news.”
Willow giggled.
“It's probably just as well. Buffy has an uncanny ability to figure these things out on her own anyway.”
“Quite true.”
Willow looked at the clock and sighed. Her students would be arriving any moment for class.
“Time to be responsible-teacher-Willow.” She put on her mock serious face.
“Perhaps you could stop by my office later and show me sexy-randy-Willow?”
“Giles!” She batted him playfully.
His feral grin surprised her. It would be the first of many such surprises, she hoped.