Title: Present Tense (Part 4 of the Indiscretion Series)
Author: heathervamped
Email: heathervamped@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Willow/Giles
Diclaimer: Joss owns the characters and all the rights and gets all the money.
Summary: Willow goes to England with Giles after her brush with evil. He helps her recover and they put the past behind them.
Thanks to Jennilu for the beta.
“I love you,” he said, as Willow pulled back from his embrace and reached down to grab her suitcase.
“I know,” she responded with a sad smile, and then she was gone down the jetway and out of his life once more. Rupert watched her go, and when he lost sight of her, he found it all too easy to wonder if he'd hallucinated the last two months. Surely, his memory couldn't be accurate. They couldn't possibly have spent all that time in blissful sin, only to have it cut so short by an ancient enemy on the other side of the globe.
Willow's sense of duty had been one of the many qualities that always endeared her to Rupert, and he wouldn't dream of trying to dissuade her from responding to a cry for help, even though it meant the end of whatever had been between them.
There could be no defining what they were to each other. Once again, in a time of extreme despair and need, Willow had come to him. Her state of depression far surpassed any of the previous episodes that had sent her running to him. Her grief for Tara and her guilt over what she had done to another human being, not to mention the hell she had put her friends through, conspired to drag her down to depths of misery previously unknown to the human condition. In the beginning, romance was the furthest thing from either of their minds.
Willow's friends and family were all too happy to send her off with him to be “fixed”. This was no innocent spell gone awry. She'd tried to kill them, and forgiveness was harder to come by than ever before. Willow agreed, with no hesitation, to go along with the plan. Rupert could only imagine how hard it would be for her to face them again without being reminded of everything she'd been through. And, of course, the biggest concern of all was to ensure that Black Magic Willow would never make another appearance.
The first month of Willow's tenure in England consisted largely of sessions with a variety of grief counselors and meetings with the coven of witches who had agreed to help teach her to control her enormous power. Rupert saw her often and would take her on outings when she seemed in need of a getaway from the plethora of good-intentioned people who were interested in her wellbeing, both because they liked her, and because they were concerned for the safety of life as they knew it. Together they would take long walks, or ride horses, or sometimes just sit outside and enjoy the open air. At times, Willow would speak, suddenly, haltingly, of the events that had brought her there, and he would listen for as long as she cared to talk, never judging, never giving unwanted advice or meaningless platitudes. Other times, they might pass hours in companionable silence.
At the very least, they always shared the evening meal together. Rupert's hopes for Willow's recovery made a happy leap forward the day she began to gently poke fun at the English food and express mock surprise that he could cook. It took everything he had not to leap from his chair and spin her around in glee when he saw this tiny speck of the Willow he had known breaking through the tough shell that the woman he loved had become.
The Watcher's council had wanted her to stay at their headquarters, but Rupert had adamantly refused, reminding them that Willow was not a slayer, and they, therefore, had no jurisdiction in the matter. They had made a token fuss with some vague threats about involving the authorities, but he knew they were only blowing hot air and told them as much. The police, even the Sunnydale police, were unlikely to spend much time investigating a murder reported from another continent, without so much as a body to suggest that any crime had taken place.
The very idea of being subject to the daily scrutiny of a mansion full of strange Watchers had been enough for Willow, withdrawn though she was, to express some displeasure. She needn't have worried. Rupert brought her to his own house and gave her the spare bedroom with all the privacy she could want. In any other circumstance, having Willow in his home would have given Rupert nothing but delight. Yet, as it was, he would rather have forsaken ever having seen so much as a glimpse of her again, if it could have spared her a fraction of the pain she was in.
She went where he took her without protest. She answered all the counselors' questions, even when they made her cry, but she volunteered not a scrap of extra information. Yes, she was there when her girlfriend died. How did that make her feel? Like her heart had been torn out and set on fire. Did she want to talk about it? No. Did she have any thoughts about hurting herself? Yes. What about hurting others? No.
Usually, when her answers had dwindled to monosyllables, they would decide that she'd had enough for one day and let him take her home. Most of the time, they insisted that Rupert wait outside during her treatments, but those sessions seemed even shorter than the few where they permitted him to stay and observe. Certainly, if they'd had any idea of what she meant to him, he would never be allowed in the room, but as far as he could tell, their past indiscretions were among the many things that they never thought to ask her about, and therefore never discovered.
She wouldn't take the pills they gave her. In that, she mustered the effort to exert some control over her life. Rupert's gentle suggestion that they would help her sleep had no effect. Whatever feelings she endured were what she deserved, and she could not be persuaded otherwise. Walking around in a fog of indistinct contentment, or even accepting artificial sleep, did not advance her on the path of redemption.
The first few nights, neither of them got much sleep. Willow's nightmares made her scream, bringing Rupert flying down the hall to her room, his bathrobe flapping behind him like the cape of some comical British action hero racing to her rescue. Always, she had woken herself by the time he arrived and would sheepishly apologize for getting him out of bed. He would offer to bring her milk or tea, and she would decline, entreating him not to worry and to return to his rest.
In the mornings, they would split a pot of coffee, each too polite to mention the dark circles under the other's eyes. Instead, they would eat scones and talk about the weather. Rupert never did figure out if the nightmares lessened on their own, or if Willow did something to keep herself from screaming, but sooner than he would have thought, he slept through the night without a voyage down the hall to rescue the maiden in distress. Either way, it was some weeks before Willow appeared at the breakfast table looking as well rested as he wished for her to be.
After a time, things settled down into an acceptable routine. Willow met with the one counselor she felt most comfortable with three times a week for an hour. He was younger than most of the others, a proper gentleman in all respects. Rupert could not help but notice the other man's resemblance to himself, though he kept his observations quiet. The coven asked her to come every day, which she did, and quite willingly. After only a few meetings, Willow confessed that they had given her hope that one day soon she might learn the control necessary to use magic again to help people. She assured him, without any prompting, that she had already learned the difference between really helping people and just trying to make her own life easier or more fun.
Once a week, Rupert reported on Willow's progress to the other members of the Council, as part of the agreement that allowed him full responsibility for her recovery. He resented the necessity of the formalities, but he went along with them to prevent the council from butting in any more than they already were. Luckily, reports from her psychologist and the coven backed up his assertions that she was coming along quite well, all things considered.
Just after one such report, about five weeks into Willow's stay with him, Rupert returned home in a sour mood with an urgent need to vent some frustration. The posturing and politics always irked him, but on this particular occasion, the suggestion had been put forth to bring in yet another of the Council's pet doctors to examine his charge. He felt quite certain that someone wished to discover a reason to make him look incompetent, though to what end he could only guess. It seemed most likely that the Council disliked the idea of such a powerful force as Willow not being under their direct control.
He quickly put aside his discontent on seeing Willow in his kitchen, making a valiant effort at fixing dinner. She gripped a rather mangled potato in one hand and hacked at it with the steak knife held in the other, apparently having been unsuccessful in locating his vegetable peeler. Two equally misfortunate potatoes already sat before her on the counter, awaiting an honorable end in the pot of boiling water that simmered on the stove. Rupert set his briefcase down on a chair beside the door and came into the room. On hearing him, Willow turned, and when their eyes met, he saw that she was nearly in tears from the frustration. Observing the small pile of discarded skins and the chunks of potato still attached, Rupert could not help the small quirk of his lips the quickly became a low chuckle. The sound of his laughter brought forth a smile from the would-be chef, and after a moment, she joined him in a fit of giggles.
Their amusement did not quite escalate into hysterics, but even the subdued release felt good and they both continued to smile as Rupert produced a peeler and discreetly rescued the remainder of the potatoes from being reduced to tater tots. As they worked together to prepare the remainder of the meal, it was easy to imagine that life was normal again, if only for a short time.
They sat down to eat at Rupert's rustic wooden dining table and the feeling of ease remained. Their topics of conversation were light and without tension. Willow spoke of her time with the coven that day as though she simply went there to learn more about magic. Rupert made some derisive remarks about his fellow Council members that brought another welcome smile to Willow's face, and they both exclaimed about what an unusually sunny and lovely afternoon it had been outdoors. Neither of them spoke of Sunnydale or anything further in the past than that morning.
As they washed the dishes, Rupert felt their unusually pleasant time together drawing to a close, as Willow would typically now go to her room to meditate. He desired to prolong her company, so he suggested that since it was such a cheery day, they take the horses for a short ride. It was the height of summer and they still had nearly two hours of daylight remaining. She agreed immediately, so he led her to the stables, trying to hide the strange elation he felt at her acceptance of what had become a relatively common activity for them.
With Willow being from a town not known for its outdoor pursuits, Rupert had been hesitant to suggest a horseback ride the first time. He turned out to be correct in assuming it was her first time astride a horse, but was pleasantly surprised how easily she took to it. Though his horses were well trained to accept any rider, it seemed to him that the chestnut mare she rode actually liked his young companion and would immediately turn to her when the two of them entered the stables, as though she preferred to bear the witch over himself.
That fateful evening marked at least the tenth time that Willow had accompanied him on a ride, and just like every other time, her horse's ears twitched and she stomped her foot in greeting. Rupert paused to wonder just when he had begun to consider the mare, whose name was Sherry, ‘Willow's horse', but it seemed so natural that he didn't wonder long. They saddled up and trotted away from the barn, following a well worn path with no need to discuss a destination.
After letting the horses warm up for several minutes, they increased the pace, having a halfhearted race down a gently sloping hill, almost as much to amuse their mounts as themselves. Rupert let Willow win, of course, more than willing to accept defeat in exchange for the exuberant grin that plastered itself on her face when she looked back at him from her position just ahead.
Their path wound through a lightly wooded area of several hundred acres once they were off the property of the Giles Estate, as Willow insisted on calling it. They remained almost completely silent while plodding through the trees. Both of them enjoyed listening to the sounds of nature surrounding them and the gentle clop-clop of the horses hooves. On this particular day, the silence had an unusual quality of anticipation, as if the next words spoken would be the most meaningful in the world.
Caught up in his contemplation of the back of the red head swaying in front of him, Rupert failed to duck in time to completely avoid a low branch. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed as the offending limb nearly knocked his glasses to the ground. So much for that mythical fairy dust that seemed to hang in the air. But then Willow turned to see him fumbling to right his glasses as they hung from one ear, and pick bits of bark out of his hair, and she began to laugh. It was loud and clear and the very sound of it pierced his soul till he thought he might cry. It was laughter born of pure enjoyment, not simply a release of mounting tensions as their earlier giggles surrounding the potatoes had been. It was a sound that Rupert hadn't realized he missed until he heard it again, but then the realization hit hard, like being reminded of an old friend, long dead and sorely missed.
She saw the look on his face and that marvelous laughter ceased. He silently cursed himself, knowing his pained look must've come across as hurt that she had laughed at him and now it was too late to join in and set her at ease. He forced himself to smile at her. She returned it tentatively, then turned back to watch where she was going.
After about two miles, the woods began to thin out, then disappear altogether. Willow brought Sherry to a halt when they reached a small pond, and hopped off to stretch her legs. Rupert followed suit, letting his horse, Brandy, graze with her stable mate while he accompanied Willow down the grassy slope. A huge willow tree hung partially out over the water, and beneath it they always sat when they came to the pond.
The air between them had regained that sense of eagerly waiting for something to happen. Unable to define it further, only knowing that it had his stomach in knots, Rupert dropped down to sit under the tree. When Willow joined him, she sat closer than usual and it suddenly seemed very natural that he should put his arm around her while they relaxed together, watching the horses and the occasional bird. Giving in to this impulse, his reward came quickly as Willow's head descended to rest on his shoulder and her hand moved to clasp his own as it rested on her thigh.
That anxiousness that twisted Rupert's guts only intensified, insisting that he had found the right track, but simply hadn't moved far enough along it. Taking the next logical step seemed impossible in their present surroundings. The thought gave him another poke in his middle, as thought that had been the point all along. Observing the darkening sky, he conceded the point and suggested they be getting back as soon as she felt rested enough.
On their way back, Rupert called to mind certain memories that he had firmly locked away for the last five weeks. Each memory centered around the vision of Willow in his arms, in his bed, and each ended with the same heartbreak of their compulsory parting. The morning following their first coupling had been the only time they ever spoke of their affairs. Once they established that they would keep it to themselves, it had not been necessary or desirable to discuss the matter further. Willow's vanishing act after the second time spoke for itself, as did Rupert's trip to the airport most recently. When he finally returned to Sunnydale to confront his sometime lover in her moment of greatest evil, their former passions were hardly a relevant topic.
Here, in the calm of the woods, unfettered by friends or family that must be kept in the dark, all the things that had gone unsaid between them came back to him in a rush and left him wondering if Willow ever thought of their scant moments together. Yet, she must, he surmised, to so casually accept his arm around her in such a manner. There could be no mistaking his intention, could there? He urged Brandy to a faster trot. Eagerness to have his question answered, and the possibility that he had not misread Willow's response to him had his stomach moving on from knots to back-flips and the sooner the situation got itself sorted out, the happier he would be.
The trip back to his house took a year. Maybe two. By the time the horses were seen to and they made their way back to the front door, Rupert thought he might actually vomit. Uncertain of how to proceed once they were inside, he offered Willow a cup of tea. Instantly, he berated himself for being so stuffy and British. He should have at least offered wine if he wanted the evening to take the turn he was hoping for. To his very great surprise, Willow took the initiative on that end and asked if he didn't have something a little cooler to drink, going so far as to mention her fondness for white wine.
Minutes later they sat comfortably in the living room with two glasses and a bottle on the low coffee table in front of them. Rupert poured and when they each held a full glass, Willow surprised him again by offering a toast. “To old friends and new beginnings,” she said. He smiled and then drank, deciding he could take that as a further encouragement. As they settled back with the glasses in hand, Rupert took a deep breath and stretched his arm along the back of the couch, feeling absurdly like a teen in a movie theatre about to try to cop a feel off his date.
For her part, Willow inched closer till she could lean back against his chest. Flush with an increased sense of real possibility, Rupert slid his arm down further, so that it encircled her waist. They remained that way for a few long moments, sipping their wine and watching the sunset through the large bay window facing westward and overlooking a traditional English garden. If they spoke, he didn't remember a word of it afterward. His focus was on moving as little as possible, lest he break the spell and lose the feel of the woman in his arms.
All too soon, Willow herself broke the spell, sitting forward to place her glass on the table, having finished her wine. When she turned back to him, as though to ask if he'd like a refill, she caught his gaze and could not mistake the meaning in it. Rupert quickly set his glass on the table, wine forgotten. As soon as both hands were free, he pulled Willow towards him again, and she came willingly, not to rest her head against him but to raise it to meet his lips as moved in to kiss her. The tension that had been building in his middle in anticipation of this very event suddenly rose to a soaring new height and then plummeted lower, abruptly transforming into arousal as he felt her responding eagerly to his kisses.
It wasn't long before they both became aware that the couch offered insufficient surface area for proceeding comfortably. Guiding Willow to her feet, and taking a moment to admire how her hair looked slightly wild and her face was deeply flushed, Rupert quickly led her down the hall to his bedroom, where hands and lips quickly picked up where they left off, as soon as the door was closed.
Their night together was like none before. Willow let him take his time with her as he liked, and her encouraging moans and sighs were genuine, appreciative, and he could almost believe, loving. When he could hold back no longer and penetrated her, it felt as if not just the events of that night, or even of the last five weeks had built up to that moment, but that for their whole lives they had been directed through some strange and wonderful dance that concluded with this final pose. For the first time, as he moved inside her, Rupert knew that Willow was there with him, that she saw him, and wanted it to be him there above her.
Though the chances of Willow disappearing in the morning were slim, and no other lovers were betrayed by their actions, Rupert could not fully believe that this wasn't simply a small tear in the fabric of the universe, allowing them a moment of contentment not possible in their rightful world, that would mend itself the moment either of them left the bed. So much more likely did that seem than the two of them actually finding any lasting happiness together, that Rupert endeavored to prolong their lovemaking as much as he was able.
Being human, such blissful states can only last so long, and when the end came and brought its usual satisfaction, it also carried a note of disappointment in the reminder that all things are finite.
Afterwards, the temptation to whisper words of love and promises of commitment to the woman laying in his arms was nearly overwhelming, yet Rupert held himself in check. She had asked for none of it, and as it was, his feelings were clear enough, as they had always been. So he concentrated again on the warmth of her skin, the sweetness of her lips as she occasionally turned her head to kiss him, as though assuring herself that he was still there, and the simple pleasure that was having a beautiful, nude female in his bed.
When he realized she had fallen asleep, he also realized that they were finally alone. She had brought no one to the bed with her this time. Not Xander, not Oz, and not even Tara lay between them, keeping her from truly being with him. Was it then any wonder that at last he had made love to her without a prelude or a postscript of tears? A quiet, tentative, most fragile hope rose in him that maybe, just maybe, this time would be more than sex or comfort. That in the morning they would be more than friends, more than mentor and protégé, more than casual lovers using each other for selfish ends.
With each day that passed, Rupert's hope grew until it transformed into a realized dream, as their relationship continued to maintain the level it had achieved that wonderful night. Formerly mundane activities were filled with casual touches, secret glances, and silent promises that only exist in those first stages of romance. Willow did not come to bed with him every night, yet they were intimate as often as a man in his forties could hope to manage.
Willow still had her bad days, days when the weight of the world came crashing down around her ears and threatened to drown her in fresh bouts of guilt and despair. On those days, she clung to Rupert like a lifeline, and it gave him some small comfort that she felt she could still turn to him. However, the more time that passed, the more good days there were, and beneath the pleasure those days brought, lay the nagging dread that at any time she would decide she had healed enough to return home.
In the meantime, they faced other challenges brought on by their new relationship. Even had they desired to hide the truth, it would have proved impossible. Rupert could not help the way his eyes softened every time he looked at his love. The Watcher's Council frowned on his involvement with what they considered to be an unknown, and potentially dangerous element that he was supposed to be guarding. He was put through a series of tests designed to ensure that he still possessed his free will and was not operating under some sort of enchantment. Rupert found it difficult to keep a straight face during these inquisitions, wondering how anyone who had ever set eyes on Willow could disbelieve his genuine attraction to her. In the end, they could produce no cause to issue an official order to cease and desist.
The coven had a surprisingly opposite reaction. Having arranged to pick up Willow after one of her meetings with them, he could only stand in shock as each woman emerged from the room, patted his shoulder, smiled and winked at him. When his very own witch finally appeared, she laughed at finding him frantically polishing his glasses, surrounded by and admiring crowd. Taking him by the hand, she said her goodbyes and led him away. Once outside, he asked her just what had happened.
“Well, they're witches,” she said, as if that explained everything. When it didn't, she added, “Some of them, they can sort of see things. I guess they see good things about you. They know you really care about me and that you'll help me get better.”
Rupert's heart swelled. It was one thing to know his own mind, it was quite another to have others recognize that he wasn't just some lecherous old man. He made a mental note to be less jumpy around the other witches.
When Rupert and Willow had been together for the six most amazing weeks of his life, she had the first of what they would call waking nightmares. Rupert had just begun to sip a fresh cup of tea when he heard the terrified scream from Willow's room, where she had been meditating. The china cup hit the tile floor in the kitchen, smashing into millions of tiny fragments, unheard by any ear. He was kneeling by her side on the floor before he could remember moving, holding her, rocking her, desperate to halt her shaking.
Regaining control, she told him of her vision of the hell mouth opening. He tried to convince her that she must have dozed off and had a nightmare, but she insisted that wasn't it. “I felt it. And… I think it saw me, or maybe it felt me. I was connected to it, just for a second. It was terrible.”
That night, she slept restlessly, but did not remember dreaming. At least, she wouldn't tell Rupert about it if she did.
A week passed uneventfully, and then it happened again. This time, they were outside, and it was worse. It was getting stronger, she told him. And hungrier. That's when they began to wonder if all was not well in Sunnydale.
A call to Buffy confirmed their worst fears. Strange things were happening. Hellmouthy things. And yes, a powerful Wicca on their side would be most welcome.
Later that day, as they began to seriously consider returning to Sunnydale, Rupert got a summons from the Watcher's Council. A girl had been murdered. A potential slayer, and she wasn't the first one. Suddenly, watchers were being required to do more than watch. A call to action must be issued. The line of slayers must be defended. Rupert was needed right where he was.
As they faced their most painful separation, a tough decision had to be made. Their Sunnydale friends knew nothing of their relationship, and it certainly didn't seem like the time to tell them. If and when Rupert returned to the States, times would be even more dangerous and such a distraction could be fatal. They could not delude themselves into believing that anyone back home would understand, or be supportive of them.
Though Willow protested it, Rupert knew that her emotional state was simply not ready for the difficulties of trying to maintain a relationship across an ocean. She needed to take her heart with her and be a whole person to help her friends. And maybe, in the very depths of his soul, he wasn't certain how much of her heart he had anyway. When they'd begun this courtship she hadn't had very many pieces of her own heart to give away. Oh, he knew she loved him, as much as she always had. Maybe a little more. And she liked him well enough, desired him, enjoyed his company. But she had never told him that she loved him and he knew it was because she wasn't in love with him the way you're supposed to be when you say that to someone.
Given time, she would have fallen in love with him. At least, he let himself believe that was true. But now there was no time, they were parting again, though not in bitterness, but in pain as always. Still, for the first time, there was hope that the end was not really the end. That though the time was not right for them to be together, that such a time might still come to pass. That hope got him through their last few days together, just barely.
On their last night together, before Willow's trip back to Sunnydale, they made love as though nothing had changed. In the morning, they still had coffee and scones, sharing the newspaper with a practiced ease. Whatever they were to each other, they remained that way until Willow turned away from him, suitcase in hand, and gave her boarding pass to the airline attendant. As she walked through the gate, she ceased to be his Willow, and became just Willow once more.
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