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Fic: Last Resort

Author: Neena

varscona_pal@yahoo.ca

Pairing: Giles/pretty much everyone (except Dawn)

Rating: NC-17

Warning: contains both slash and het. pairings.

Disclaimer: Joss, the WB, Fox, Sandollar, Kuzui, et al own the rights to Buffy and the other BtVS characters. The only one that belongs to me is Bobrachnilothtot, but I’ll share him with Joss if he wants him :)

Spoilers: Canon up until ‘Tabula Rasa” in season six. Then I get my hands on them.

A/N: This story is the second in a series of stories centred on Bobrachnilothtot, who first appeared in my story “A Mile in My Shoes”. The stories are completely independent—the only common factor is Anya’s relationship with her ‘Uncle Bob’.

Last Resort
By Neena

One thing Bobrachnilothtot liked about Florida was that there were nearly as many demons as there were Canadians. And they knew how to treat tourists—especially the ones with horns. Bob had only been on vacation for a year, but already he was starting to feel more relaxed.

As he sat back on his beach chair, lemonade in hand, and stared directly into the sun, Bob basked in the knowledge that he still had another nineteen years before they were expecting him back at work. He sighed. Life didn’t get much sweeter than this.

The sun suddenly disappeared behind a human-shaped silhouette. Bob craned his neck to see around the obstacle, but it moved to block his view again.

“You’re in my sun,” he said, testily. “I may not look that scary, but I could still rip out your intestines and make balloon animals out of them.”

“No you couldn’t,” said the obstacle in a distinctly feminine voice. “You tried that once at my birthday party. All you could do was a snake.”

“Anyanka?” he said. His whole demeanour changed from lethally cranky to jovial in the blink of an eye. “Please, have a seat,” he said, pulling over another beach chair. Anya sat carefully, trying not to get sand in her clothes.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asked.

“I need a favour. And since you said ‘anytime you need a favour, just ask’, I’m asking,” Anya answered in her usual, endearingly blunt way. With a small frown she took off her shoes and shook out an enormous amount of sand.

“Of course, Dumpling. You know Marcy and I think of you as one of our very own spawn. I’ll do anything in my power to help you out. Is there someone you need smited? That boyfriend of yours giving you trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. My boyfriend is now my fiancé and we live in a very expensive apartment and plan on getting a new car soon.”

“Then what is it?” he asked.

“It’s my boss,” she said.

“You want me to smite your boss?”

“No. No smiting.”

“Then perhaps a little brainwashing so he gives you a nice raise?” he suggested.

Anya had to think about that one for a moment, but at last she shook her head. “As hard as it is to believe, it’s not about the money. Giles is threatening to leave.”

“And you wish him to stay?”

“Yes. Kind of. Don’t get me wrong—the store would run much more smoothly if I were in charge, but Giles is more than just my boss.”

“That’s right…he’s the Slayer’s watcher, isn’t he?” asked Bobrachnilothtot, feigning ignorance. He’d kept a close eye on Anya since she’d become human, and he knew all the players. So far, none of them had done anything to warrant disembowelment.

“Yes, only she’s been acting weird ever since Willow dragged her out of Heaven, and Giles thinks she’d do better without him there to cling to.”

“And you disagree?” he asked, thoroughly confused.

“Not at all. It makes perfect sense. Buffy will never stand on her own two feet if she keeps leaning on Giles like he’s her father. But if he goes back to England, he won’t come back,” she explained.

“I still don’t get it. Why is that a bad thing?”

Anya huffed, annoyed that she had to explain herself. “It’s like this…if life in Sunnydale was like a cookie, Xander would be the chocolate chips, Buffy and the others would be raisins and nuts, and Giles would be the batter. He’s what holds the cookie together. And besides…”

“There’s a besides?”

“Besides…he’s an incredibly good kisser,” she admitted. “Last night Willow screwed up a spell and we all lost our memories. Giles and I came to the conclusion that we were engaged, and we kissed. And it was pretty…amazing.”

“And you want me to get Xander out of the way so you can have your boss… I see,” said Bob.

“No!” said Anya, growing more frustrated. Why was he having such a hard time with this concept, she wondered? “I’m happy with Xander—weren’t you listening? What I’m trying to tell you was that last night, for the first time, I saw what kind of potential Giles has. If the kiss was any indication, that man is going to waste, sitting around all alone in Sunnydale. And if he goes back to England and gets a life, he’s bound to find a kiss-buddy there and he won’t want to come back again.”

Bobrachnilothtot looked bewildered, much to Anya’s chagrin. “Sorry Anya, Sweet-pea, I’m not following.”

“I want him to stay—to be my cookie batter,” she said, spelling it out for him. “Without him, the nuts and the raisins and…and the chocolate chips…will fall apart, and they’ll end up on the floor where they could get stepped on or eaten by mice. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“No smiting, then?” he asked, unsure what she wanted.

“No smiting.”

“Then what is it you want me to do?”

“You know all the best holiday spots in pretty much every dimension, right?” she asked.

Bob nodded confidently, relieved that the conversation had finally steered itself towards something he could understand. After all, he’d literally written the book on demon vacation hot spots.

“Good,” she said. “Then what I’d like is for you to give Giles the vacation of a lifetime. Send him somewhere for a couple of weeks. Somewhere he can live a little—sow some wild oats. The rest of us will get Buffy back on her feet again, then when he comes back, he’ll have no reason to leave and he’ll be ready to settle down in Sunnydale, where he’s needed.”

“I could book him on a flight to Florida,” he suggested.

Anya wrinkled her nose at the idea. “Think bigger. Something more exciting,” she said, then added, “but safe.”

Bob got a demonic look in his eye. “I know just the place. It’s nice and safe, and sunny. And plenty of wild oats to sow.”

“Okay. Finally we’re on the right track,” said Anya with immense satisfaction.

“One catch, though,” he warned. “This place is inter-dimensional, so Giles will have to trade places with his counterpart from the other dimension. There must be a balance, or the fabric of both dimensions could come unravelled.”

“So you’re saying we’ll have to baby-sit a Giles from another dimension? That’s no problem—it’s Giles…how much trouble could he possibly cause?”

“So it’s decided?” asked Bob, hoping he’d got things right at last.

“Yes. But you have to hurry—he’s leaving for England today.”

“Consider it done,” he said, and sat back in his lounge chair, taking a merry slurp of his lemonade.

Anya waited, but he seemed content to just sit there soaking up the sun. “Well?” she prodded.

“You mean right now?” he whined. “Can I at least finish my drink?”

“All right. But drink quickly,” she said, and went off to find her friend Halfrek to transport her back home.

Giles hated teary farewells, but tears would have been preferable to the cold send-off he’d received. As he stood in line at the terminal to have his ticket taken, he found himself checking hopefully over his shoulder, in case one of his young friends should have decided to give him a proper farewell.

It was silly of him to expect, considering the way things had turned out. Buffy was too mad at him to say good-bye, and Willow and Tara were too caught up in their own troubled relationship to even notice he’d gone. Anya hadn’t been able to look him in the eye since he’d kissed her last night, and Xander must have picked up on the unusual tension, because he seemed ill at ease just giving him a handshake. Of the lot, only Dawn seemed genuinely sad to see him go.

Giles chastised himself for entertaining such self-pitying thoughts. He was leaving because it was best for Buffy if he did. His own feelings didn’t enter into it.

The line began moving again, and Giles hefted his carryon off the floor with a sigh. But instead of shuffling forward with the rest of the weary crowd, he dropped like a stone, passed out cold on the airport’s hard linoleum floor.

Giles’ eyes blinked open, but the light was so strong that he quickly closed them again. He groaned, assuming that he’d been knocked unconscious and should, therefore, be in pain. But after doing a quick survey of all his body parts, he discovered that there was no pain to warrant a groan.

“I think he’s waking up,” came a woman’s voice from somewhere nearby.

“Should we call an ambulance?” This time it was a man’s deep baritone coming from directly overhead. The man’s shadow was blocking the light, and Giles risked opening his eyes again. A large, barrel-chested man in a miniscule tank top and shorts grinned down at him. The man’s close proximity played tricks with Giles’ perception, making his mouth look enormous.

“No,” said Giles, testing out his voice. “No need for an ambulance. I’m fine, really.” To illustrate his point, he raised himself into a sitting position, aided by the many people who’d crowded around him.

Giles blinked, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. It was almost as if he was outside on a sunny day instead of in an airport. And that, he suddenly realised, was because he was outside on a sunny day instead of in an airport. What’s more, his carryon bag was missing. He could only surmise that these concerned citizens, having witnessed his collapse, had carried him outside to give him some fresh air.

…And then changed him into a pair of tight running shorts and a flimsy white undershirt, apparently. Giles noticed his unusual attire with a modicum of shock—why should anyone want to change him into this outfit…

…and then dump him in the car park of a strip mall? Things were making less and less sense, and Giles instinctively brought his hands up to his skull to check for any new bumps.

“I…erm…don’t suppose any of you lot happen to know h-how I got here? Or-or what happened to my luggage?” he asked.

“Goodness, I think he’s hurt his head—he’s not thinking clearly,” said a matronly brunette wearing a top so revealing it made Giles blush. “You were just walking along and down you went, like a sack of potatoes.”

“How long was I out for?” asked Giles. He picked himself off the ground, once more accompanied by many helping hands, one of which lingered for a disturbingly long time on his behind. Giles moved away nervously, making a show of brushing himself off.

“You was only out for a few seconds,” said the barrel-chested man with the enormous mouth.

Giles scratched his head in confusion, and noticed that he wasn’t wearing his glasses. But he could see clearly enough. How strange, he thought. He blinked a few times and felt the presence of contact lenses shifting slightly on his eyes. When had he put them in? How did he get where he was, wearing what he was wearing? It would appear that he was missing some time.

And thanks to his lengthy conversations with Xander, Giles’ thoughts leapt to the possibility of alien abduction. According to his young friend, time loss was a common complaint among abductees. Giles laughed at himself for even considering the possibility—it was absurd! Aliens! Really, quite ridiculous.

Giles realised he must have been laughing out loud, because his little clutch of concerned citizens was eyeing him oddly and backing away.

“I’m fine, honestly,” he assured them. He fished around in the pockets of his shorts and pulled out a set of keys. “Ah! My keys. To my car, which is…” he pressed the button on his car alarm and a car one row over honked in response, “…just over there. So, if you’ll excuse me,” he said and turned to head for the car that had beeped at him.

He heard one of the ladies in the crowd mutter “how rude,” at his back, and this puzzled him. But then everything puzzled him at the moment. Like why he recognized his key ring but not the keys on it or the car they belonged to. Instead of his red convertible, he was driving a white four-door sedan. He supposed it might be borrowed.

He got in the car and started it, but as he was about to reverse out of his parking space the thought occurred to him that he didn’t know where he was going. He put the car in park again and looked around for some clue as to what was going on. A search of the passenger seat and glove compartment offered some interesting information. According to the vehicle registration, the car was his and had been since January 2001. And his driver’s license stated that he resided at 1630 Revello Drive. Buffy’s address.

Obviously there was more going on than some missing time. He supposed that since he could find no sign of his luggage or plane tickets, he had no choice but to go to Buffy’s place. Besides, whatever was happening, he’d feel better knowing that the others were safe. His travel plans would just have to wait.

Rupert stirred and stretched, wondering why his bed was so hard. But that made no sense—it was the middle of the day—he shouldn’t be sleeping. He opened his eyes.

“What the hell?” he muttered to himself. For some reason, he was lying on the floor of an airport. It looked like the Sunnydale airport, but it couldn’t be. The people were dressed all wrong and there were uniformed guards everywhere. Two of them were standing over him, looking more bored and put out than concerned. Neither of them offered him a hand up. More than a little perplexed, Rupert started to sit up on his own, but one of the guards held out his hand, stopping him.

“Please, sir, don’t move,” he ordered. “We have paramedics on the way.”

“Paramedics?” asked Rupert. “That won’t be necessary; I feel fine.”

“It’s for your own safety,” said the other guard, with no more compassion that the first guard. “And for insurance purposes. Please just lie still and let them have a quick look at you.”

“Is this your wallet?” asked one of them, holding out the leather item like it was part of a crime scene.

“Yes,” Rupert answered, thinking it would be prudent to go along with it until he figured out what was going on.

“I’m afraid you’ve missed your plane,” he said.

“What plane? I wasn’t taking a plane,” said Rupert.

“Then this bag isn’t yours?” asked the second guard. Rupert tilted his head awkwardly to get a look at the offending baggage, feeling foolish still lying on the floor.

“The bag is mine,” he said, confused. It was his old bag—one he thought he’d thrown out years ago. “But I wasn’t travelling anywhere.”

“So this plane ticket under the name Rupert Giles doesn’t belong to you?” he pressed.

Rupert was starting to get panicky. ‘Rupert Giles’? What did it all mean? Everything was off kilter, and wherever he was, he felt instinctually that it was a hostile place.

“I don’t understand…the last thing I remember I was out getting groceries. I have no idea how I got here.”

The first guard looked at him with a touch of concern, but the second one looked sceptical. Why would anyone think he’d be lying about something like that, Rupert wondered?

The paramedics arrived, and now there were four men in uniform hovering over him. Rupert felt a growing sense of unease at his situation, and as the paramedics poked and prodded at him, the guards kept up a barrage of questions that made him feel as if he was under interrogation. When he couldn’t answer some of the easier questions, like ‘what day is it today?’, the paramedics strongly suggested that he come back with them to the hospital. Rupert got the distinct impression that it was not open to negotiation.

Rupert reluctantly allowed them to usher him out of the airport to a waiting ambulance. It was nighttime, and even though it looked like Sunnydale, it felt darker somehow. He clutched his carryon bag tightly to his chest, refusing to let the paramedics pry it away from him.

PART 2

Giles drove the short distance to Buffy’s house concentrating harder on figuring out his unusual circumstances than he was on his driving. However, he was aware enough of his surroundings to notice the number of couples walking about. It seemed like everyone was either holding hands or kissing. He wondered if it might be St. Valentine’s Day. Was it possible that he’d lost that much time?

As he pulled up in front of Buffy’s place, he saw Dawn sitting on the front step writing in her diary. When she saw him get out of the car she raced up to him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. He hugged her back just as fiercely, thinking how much he was going to miss the youngest Summers girl when he had to leave.

“You’re back fast,” she said, smiling and swinging her glossy brown hair off her shoulders.

“Yes, I’m afraid I rather missed my flight,” answered Giles.

She squinched her face up at him: “I don’t get it,” she said. “Is that, like, some kind of weird watcher humour?”

“What?” asked Giles.

“Never mind,” she answered. “Where’s the stuff?”

“What stuff?” he asked, quickly losing his grasp on the conversation.

“The groceries,” she said as if speaking to a toddler. “Don’t tell me you went all the way to the store and forgot to buy groceries!”

“Yes, well…a funny thing happened on the way to the grocers,” he said, then realised what a horrendous cliché he’d just uttered and decided to stop talking.

“It better be good—you know what Buffy’s like when she’s planning a big dinner.”

Giles shuddered. He remembered all too well the Thanksgiving dinner fiasco two years ago. He was curious as to what the occasion was this time, but he didn’t want to ask and raise any more alarms with Dawn. To her everything seemed to be normal, so it was possible he was the only one being affected by…whatever this was.

Giles stepped up to the front door and knocked on it, drawing an odd look from Dawn, which he chose to ignore. Anya opened the door, which confused Giles until he remembered that there was a special meal in the works. She and Xander were probably helping out with the preparations.

Anya, too, gave him a strange look: “What are you doing knocking on the door?” she asked, then kissed him soundly on the lips.

Giles jerked backwards, his eyes wide with shock. Anya grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them.

“Anya,” he said, after he’d regained his composure, “is this about last night? Because I assure you, what happened between us was strictly the result of Willow’s spell.”

“What spell?” asked Anya, her hand gliding down his back to pat his bum. Giles gave a little yelp and jumped out of her reach.

“Anya, please!” he said in a stage whisper. “It was an accident—let’s not make any more out of it than it was.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Anya, also in a stage whisper.

“Our kiss last night,” Giles answered, still whispering.

“What about it?” she asked, dropping the whisper out of annoyance.

“I think it’s best if we both forget it ever happened. There’s no reason any of the others need know of it.”

“Know about what?” came Buffy’s voice from behind him. Giles turned around and froze on the spot like a deer caught in the headlights. His slayer had just come out of the kitchen wearing an apron. And as far as he could tell, that was all she was wearing. His mouth flapped uselessly as he stared at her.

“What’s with him?” she asked Anya.

“He’s behaving strangely,” said Anya. “Ever since he got home he’s been all jittery. I think he’s upset with me for kissing him.”

“Anya!” Giles hissed. He was still reeling from the sight of Buffy in the near buff. He simply couldn’t juggle Anya’s bold declaration on top of everything else. His hand automatically went to pluck the glasses from his face to give them a good, reassuring rub down, and remembered too late that he wasn’t wearing them. “Damn,” he mumbled under his breath.

“You see? I don’t know why he’s mad with me,” said Anya, pouting prettily.

“Are you feeling alright?” asked Buffy, closing the gap between them. Giles took a modest step back, trying to keep a respectable distance. “You look pale. Did something happen while you were out? And hey! Where’s the groceries? I can’t make strawberry shortcake without the strawberries.”

She was now only inches away from her squirming watcher, who was backed up against the staircase banister.

“Where’s my manners?” she said, smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I didn’t even say hello.” Buffy grabbed two fists full of his t-shirt and pulled herself up to him, kissing him hard on the lips.

“Mmmphh!” Giles protested against her lips. He grasped her by the shoulders to push her away, but panicked when his hands met with nothing but bare skin. Her strong little hands roamed shamelessly south until they were firmly planted on his butt. She gave his cheeks a playful squeeze.

“Mmmphh! Hmmph!” he protested vehemently, squirming uncomfortably in her grasp.

Buffy pulled away, a deep frown creasing her brow. “What’s with the freak out?” she asked, concerned about her watcher’s fast breathing and wide-eyed look of panic.

Heavy footsteps clumped down the stairs behind him, and when he looked around, Giles’ heart nearly stopped beating. Xander had obviously just come out of the shower and was towelling himself dry. No one but Giles seemed to notice that the young man was completely naked.

“You’re back early,” said Xander, and he reached over the banister to kiss him softly on the lips.

Giles fainted.

Rupert climbed out of the taxi but didn’t even consider giving the rude driver a proper tip. He’d spent over an hour at the hospital and he’d found the experience to be disconcerting to say the least. He knew many of the doctors and nurses very well, thanks to his fated profession, yet when they greeted him tonight, they’d been cold and distant. They barely touched him except when it was required for his treatment. By the time they released him he was beginning to feel like a pariah—ostracised unfairly by the world at large.

But he was home now, and the thought of being surrounded by family again was enough to dispel the misery of the last few hours. He imagined dinner would be waiting, and their guest of honour would be anxious to start the ceremony. They were probably worried sick about him, and he could almost see the cross look on Buffy’s face when he told her he’d forgotten to get the strawberries.

Dragging his luggage behind him, he went to open the door and found that it was locked. He took a quick peek through the little window in the door and saw there was a light on in the living room, but there was no one in sight. He rang the doorbell and waited, a knot of tension neatly tying itself in his stomach.

When the door was opened by a squealingly happy Dawn, Rupert’s nerves settled a bit and he allowed himself to smile. Dawn threw her arms around him and squeezed him hard enough to make him grunt.

“I knew you’d come back,” she said, her face bright and grinning as she let him go.

“I’m sorry if I had you worried—it’s been a most unusual day.” Rupert followed Dawn inside and set down his bag. He took off his jacket and draped it over a chair, wondering why he’d been so dressed up anyway. He felt as if he’d been wearing every piece of clothing he owned. “Where is everybody?” he asked.

“Buffy’s on patrol and Willow’s…out,” she answered, her vibrant smile quickly fading.

“Dawnie? Who is that you’re talking to? You didn’t invite any vampires in, did you?” Anya’s voice called out from the kitchen. A moment later the ex-demon came into the room and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Rupert standing there.

“You’re back. But I thought…” she started. But before she could finish that thought, Rupert swept her up in his arms and began kissing her heartily. Anya could see no reason why she shouldn’t enjoy it, so she kissed him back, and she was really getting into it when Xander trotted down the stairs and caught them.

“What the…? Anya? Hey!” Xander grabbed Rupert by the shoulder and spun him around, intending on giving him an earful. But he ended up getting a mouthful instead.

Xander couldn’t have been more astonished if he tried. He had literally no idea how to react. If someone had pointed a gun at him and demanded to know what he would do if he suddenly found himself necking with Rupert Giles, he would have been shot, because he’d have been at a complete loss for words. Yet here he was, on the receiving end of an intimate and tongue-involving embrace with his former high school librarian. The Tweed Man unleashed. And why wasn’t he pushing him away, he asked himself? Why hadn’t he knocked him flat on his British butt already? And it was too late now, of course, because the kiss had gone on too long for him to believably pull off ‘disgusted and appalled’. The best he could hope for now was ‘bewildered and abashed’.

Rupert broke off the kiss, sighing happily as he affectionately ruffled Xander’s hair. It took a moment for him to notice the dumfounded stares he was receiving from all three of his companions.

Anya was the first to speak, addressing Xander: “Didn’t I tell you he was an amazing kisser?”

When Giles awoke, he groaned loudly. Not because he was in pain, but because it hadn’t been just a dream. Buffy was still one apron away from full-frontal nudity, and Xander…

Giles groaned again.

“Rupert? Geez, big guy—you had us scared,” said Xander, helping him to sit up.

“Did you and I…did we just…kiss?” Giles stuttered.

“That’s good. Testing the memory is good,” said Xander. “I kissed you hello, then you spiralled with spectacular gracelessness to the floor. Ooh—and your eyes rolled up into your head…I thought that only happened in the movies!”

“You’re hurt. Are you hurt? Was there a demon, or a gang of trolls or something?” asked Buffy, hovering over him with concern etched on her face. “’Cause you haven’t looked this pale since, well, since ever. And why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m having a hard time concentrating with you in that apron,” he said tactfully.

“You want me to take it off?” she asked.

“No!” he shouted. “I most certainly do not. What’s gotten into you?”

“Okaaay. Maybe we should start over here,” said Buffy. “Hello, my name is Buffy. And you are?”

“Rupert Giles,” he answered tersely, feeling the strain of constant befuddlement. “And I don’t know what this is all about, but if this is some sort of elaborate prank…”

“Hang on,” said Xander. “Rupert Giles?”

“Yes—Rupert Giles. Who else would I be?” he asked a little sharply.

“Well, unless there’s been a divorce we don’t know about, you would be Rupert. Just plain Rupert,” said Anya. “He does realize that he can’t divorce us unless we all consent, right? In which case we would retain full ownership of the Magic Box.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at the ex-demon’s tactless obsession with material possessions. There were other, more pressing, matters at stake. “Is this about Spike?” she asked, getting to what she felt was the heart of the problem. “’Cause you were totally on board with it this morning. You even offered to officiate, and we all agreed, and now the roast is in the oven. There’s no going back once the roast is in the oven.”

“Spike? What has Spike got to do with anything?” Giles asked. “All I know is that I was at the airport about to board my plane, then I was waking up in the supermarket car park, feeling very much like Alice through the looking glass.”

“What were you doing at the airport?” asked Buffy.

“Going back to England, as you know perfectly well.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You weren’t planning a trip—not with the ceremony tonight,” said Buffy.

“That’s right. You wouldn’t miss Spike’s ceremony if it was the end of the world,” said Xander, drawing angry glares from the girls. “Sorry—did I just say something jinxy? I take it back—no end of the world. There, is that better?”

“What’s going on down there?” came the familiar sound of Willow’s voice from upstairs. Giles breathed a sigh of relief; if there was on person he could trust to make sense of all this it was Willow. “Who’s missing the ceremony?” she asked.

“No one,” Buffy answered menacingly, shooting a warning glare in Giles’ direction. “Everyone will be here, and everything will go without a hitch, even if I have to tie you all down and force-feed you the roast.”

Willow and Tara descended the stairs together, holding hands. Willow, too, had apparently just come from the shower and had neglected to put on clothing. But Giles hardly noticed. He was too overwhelmed at the sight of Tara.

“Oh, dear Lord,” he said.

PART 3

“Did I miss something?” asked Rupert. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” said Xander. “Like you’ve gone completely nuts? Like years of taking blows to the head finally caught up with you and you’ve lost your marbles?”

“I don’t understand,” said Rupert, taken aback by the caustic tone of Xander’s voice.

“What? It wasn’t bad enough that you made out with my fiancée last night so you decided to come back and rub it in a little? Yesterday we were under a spell, so I can almost forgive you for that. What’s your excuse this time? And what in God’s Great Hellmouth were you doing playing tonsil hockey with me?” His face was burning red, partly out of anger, but mostly out of embarrassment, and he was shouting.

“Xander…” said Anya, trying to calm him down.

“’Cause you’re way outta line, buster,” said Xander, ploughing straight through Anya’s verbal roadblock. “I don’t know what kind of twisted little three-way fantasy you’ve got brewing in that bumpy old head of yours, but count me out.”

“Xander…” Anya said again, seeing the look of total devastation on Rupert’s face.

“I thought you were going back to England. Maybe that sort of thing goes on all the time over there, what with all the boy’s schools and boarding houses, but that’s not how it works here.”

Before Xander could add more venom to his sting, Rupert backed his way past the still-dumbfounded Dawn and ran out the door and into the night. Xander slammed the door after him and spun around in triumph. Anya glared at him angrily, something she’d had over a thousand years to perfect, and Xander’s look of triumph plummeted from its perch on his face.

“Xander!” she barked.

“What?” he asked, trying to come off as defensive rather than cowering. “It felt good to get that out. Weird, though: don’t you think he was acting weird? I mean it’s not like Giles to just stand there and take it—I figured I’d have a good fight on my hands.”

“Xander, stop talking,” she said sternly. “Do you remember this morning when I talked to you about how Giles kissed me, and how much he needed to go on vacation?”

Xander’s hand automatically went to his temple and started rubbing. He remembered the conversation very well. Anya’s warped sense of logic was enough to liquefy his brain. All he’d managed to glean from that conversation was that Giles had kissed Anya and she had liked it. A little too much, in Xander’s opinion.

“Well I paid a visit to Bob this afternoon. I told you about Uncle Bobrachnilothtot, haven’t I?” asked Anya.

That was another mind-numbing conversation he was never likely to forget. Xander rubbed more furiously at his temples and nodded for her to continue.

“Okay. So I explained the vacation thing to Bob, and he arranged to send Giles to a happy, sunny dimension where he can have plenty of sex.” Anya and Xander both turned to Dawn at the mention of sex, but Dawn was still recovering from the shock of seeing Giles kiss Xander and she seemed oblivious to her surroundings. “Anyways, I promised we’d look after the Giles from the other dimension while they traded places.”

Xander felt as though someone had hefted a bloody great cleaver into his skull. “So…that means…?”

“That wasn’t Giles. That wasn’t our Giles,” said Dawn, who apparently had been listening after all.

“Of course it wasn’t Giles,” said Anya. “And now Xander’s gone and scared off our replacement Giles. He doesn’t come from this dimension—for all we know there’s no such things as vampires where he comes from and he’s out there right now asking directions from the nice, lumpy-faced man in the park.”

“Don’t worry,” said Xander. “He may not be our Giles, but he’s still Giles. He knows how to take care of himself.”

“That’s my point—he might not,” Anya insisted. “And if anything should happen to him… Let’s just say that the multi-verse hates imbalance.”

“Are you saying that if Don Juan out there gets himself dead, our Giles will die too?” asked Xander.

“There’s a very good chance, yes,” said Anya.

“Then I should go find him before he runs into any demons. Or worse…Buffy.”

The three of them silently reflected on what would happen if he came across Buffy and greeted her the same way he’d greeted them. They all shuddered.

Rupert set a fast pace, heading anywhere so long as it was away from home and the ugly scene he’d left behind. He wracked his brain, trying to find some reason why Xander should be so angry with him, but he kept coming up blank. They’d been happy this morning—all of them. But somehow, in the space of one afternoon, all that had changed. His world was coming unravelled—the one thing he could always be certain of, especially living on a Hellmouth, was the love of his family. Without that, he didn’t think he could go on. What would be the point?

Images of Dawn’s shocked face and Xander’s feverish rampage looped endlessly in his mind. It didn’t feel right. And, thinking back on it, some of what Xander said made no sense; he’d called Anya his fiancée, for one thing. It’s not that he’d never heard the word before—he was a student of anthropology, after all—but he wouldn’t have thought Xander would know it. And he didn’t see how the word applied to them, anyway. It could be, of course, that Xander didn’t know what the word meant and had thrown it in by mistake.

But there were other things that felt off, too. Like Xander’s vehement objection to being kissed. He’d acted offended and embarrassed, as if even the thought of kissing him was an affront. Yet at the same time, he’d clearly enjoyed it. There were too many unanswered questions. What he needed right now was to find Buffy. Together they would find whatever was sucking the love out of Sunnydale and put a stake in it.

His feet automatically steered him to the most likely place she’d be…Restfield Cemetery. He didn’t have to go far to find her—he followed the familiar sounds of a skirmish in progress until he rounded the Holborn crypt and there she was, fighting off three vampires. Rupert kept to the shadows, ready to leap into the fray should it become necessary.

He was stunned to find her taking so much pleasure in pummelling the vampires. She should have staked them quickly and moved on, but instead, she toyed with them, tossing insults at them and teasing the creatures with a series of morbid jibes. Only when she got bored of playing with them did she finally go in for the kill. He’d never seen this dark and predatory side of her. It was so…un-Buffy-like.

Buffy pounded the dust out of her jacket as if she was delivering one last blow to her enemies. When he saw she was about to leave, Rupert decided to come out of hiding and confront his slayer, but Spike suddenly appeared from the far side of the clearing. Rupert thought it best to play it safe and observe their encounter from a distance.

“Looks like somebody’s got a bit of pent-up frustration to work out,” said the blond vampire, popping a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it with theatrical flair.

“Spike, if you want to finish this conversation without a piece of wood lodged in your ribcage, I suggest you change the subject. What do you want?” asked Buffy, annoyed and visibly hostile.

“What do I want?” Spike laughed bitterly. “That’s rich, coming from you! Try answering that question yourself, ‘cause, frankly, I’m tired of playing your games.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Buffy defensively.

“No?” asked Spike. He flicked his cigarette away and grabbed her by the wrist. Then he yanked her close, ravishing her mouth with his own. Buffy pushed him away so hard that it sent him flying into a nearby tombstone, cracking it. From his vantage point in the shadows, Rupert winced—had that been him in Spike’s place, he’d probably be dead right now. It was clear that whatever had affected the rest of Sunnydale had taken hold of Buffy as well. But at least Spike appeared to be unaffected. Rupert imagined he was probably just as hurt and confused as he was right now.

Buffy glowered at the fallen vampire and marched out of the clearing as if daring him to follow. Pulling himself gingerly to his feet, Spike dusted off his jacket and stared directly into the shadows where Rupert was lurking.

“Watcher?” he said. “I know you’re out there, mate. Taking your job title a bit too literally, don’t you think? Did you at least get an eyeful?” he smirked; imagining the kind of astonishment and fury his little display with Buffy must have caused her overprotective watcher to feel.

Rupert came out of the shadows and smiled warmly at Spike. This should have been his big night—a festive occasion—but instead the vampire was wandering the cemetery, seeking out companionship and answers, just like he was doing himself. He wrapped the lean, blond man in his arms, not surprised to feel him struggling for release. Who could blame him? Especially if he’d had the kind of day Rupert was having.

Spike knew he was being played, but he just couldn’t figure out how. He didn’t like being toyed with—not by Buffy, and certainly not by her stodgy old watcher. He had half a mind to deck him one and sod the bloody consequences.

“Hush, Spike. It’s alright,” Rupert cooed in his ear. His hand trailed down Spike’s side to that spot just above his left hipbone—that sensitive spot that always made the vampire squirm in the best possible way.

“Jesus Bloody H. Christ!” Spike yelled, pushing Rupert away with enough force to give himself an instant migraine. He crumpled to the grass, palms pressing hard against his temples to hold back the waves of pain.

Rupert immediately came to his aid, trying to soothe him by gently stroking his hair. Spike batted his hand away as if he was fending off a swarm of gnats.

“Spike…?”

“Piss off!”

Rupert looked at him dejectedly. It looked like he’d been wrong about Spike. He was starting to think that the problem wasn’t with Sunnydale…that maybe the problem was with him. Something had happened to him that made him despicable to others. He plunked himself down on the grass next to the recuperating vampire and hung his head.

Spike got to his feet once more and started walking away. He was almost out of the clearing when his conscience got the better of him. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t because he liked Giles—it was because Buffy and the Little Bit would never forgive him if he left him here in this state to get eaten by demons. With a heavy sigh he trudged back over to Rupert and crouched down next to him.

“Well you can’t sit there all night,” Spike said by way of apology.

“I can’t go home. I got the same reaction from Xander when I kissed him as you did when you kissed Buffy.”

“You kissed Xander?” Spike blurted, desperately trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

“For some reason he took offence,” said Rupert.

“And that surprises you?” asked Spike in disbelief.

“It doesn’t surprise you?” Rupert countered.

“A lot of things surprise me, mate, but Xander freaking over you kissing him ain’t one of them.”

“The it is me,” Rupert sighed. “Something happened today—I don’t know what, precisely—but it’s turned everyone against me. Perhaps Xander was right; maybe I should just leave.”

Spike eyed the man suspiciously—this maudlin, melodramatic attitude jarred with everything he knew about Giles. He couldn’t help feeling that this was some sort of test…that Buffy and the rest of the illustrious Scoobies were holed up in the bushes somewhere watching him through binoculars. Waiting for him to screw up…or laughing themselves silly. Thing of it was, he’d seen Giles’ attempts at acting, and he was complete shite. And the despair emanating from the man before him was the genuine article. He could smell it.

“C’mon, Rupes. Let’s get you inside.” Spike offered his hand to Rupert, who grabbed hold of it and didn’t let go even after he was back on his feet. Spike scanned the bushes, half expecting the gang to jump out and shout ‘gotcha!’ but they were quite alone, and he could see no harm in letting Giles hold his hand. What the hell, he thought; the poor sod’s not right in the head. They arrived at Spike’s crypt without being spotted, and Spike hurried to get Rupert inside before his luck ran out.

Rupert poked about—he’d never been inside Spike’s crypt before. It was roomier than he’d expected. And cleaner, too. The stone sarcophagus that resided in the middle of the crypt stood out as the only piece of furnishing that didn’t look homey. He stood beside it, patting it thoughtfully.

“It’s not the most comfortable bed, is it?” he said.

“Don’t be daft,” said Spike. “I don’t sleep on that thing. I’ve got a proper bedroom, don’t I?” Spike sauntered over to the trap door in the floor and pulled it open for Rupert to check out.

Rupert peered into the darkness below warily. He’d had too many nasty surprises today to risk venturing into a dark pit alone. That would be tempting fate too much. “After you,” he said.

“Afraid of the dark?” Spike leered. “Or d’you think I’m trying to trick you? What’s wrong, don’t you trust me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I trust you. I trust you with my life. It’s just…I’d rather not go down there alone.”

Spike blinked mutely at his fellow Englishman, trying to wrap his brain around what he’d heard. “You mean it, don’t you?” he asked at last.

“Mean what?” asked Rupert.

“What you said just then. When you said you trusted me, you meant it—you’re not just having a laugh.”

Rupert looked deep into Spike’s blue eyes, reading the raw, unfiltered emotion brewing just below the surface. There was fear in those eyes, and a painful loneliness that didn’t belong there. Could it be that he had no notion of how important he was to them? To him? With his whole world out of whack, this, at least, was something he could set right. He placed his hand on Spike’s shoulder and led the unwilling vampire back to the sarcophagus.

“Have a seat, Spike. We need to talk.”

Spike didn’t know where this was leading, but he’d already shown too much of his hand to pretend he had nothing to hide. He hated himself for his inability to disguise his feelings—Giles’ words affected him, caught him off guard, and Giles knew it. Scraping together as much dignity as he could, Spike jumped up and sat on the stone slab, swinging his feet up to sit cross-legged, hoping he looked more comfortable than he felt.

“Spike, it’s very important to me that you understand what it means to become a part of our family. I know we’ve never had a heart-to-heart on the matter, but then I always assumed it wasn’t necessary. You do realise that our relationship is one based on trust, don’t you? We’ve fought alongside each other a long time now; we’ve saved each other’s lives countless times over. And there’s not a soul on Earth Buffy trusts more to take care of her little sister—and that’s saying something. But when I looked into your eyes just now, I could see that you don’t feel that trust, and that pains me more than I can say. You’ve earned our trust, and I’m telling you right now that you have it. But I need to know that you trust me as well. I want you to trust me when I say that I honestly want you to be a part of our family,” said Rupert. Then he added, with a wicked leer; “After all, our relationship can’t survive on sex alone.”

Spike’s eyes bulged at that and he nearly fell off the tomb. “Sex! You and me?” he sputtered. “Alright…who are you and what did you do with the real Giles?”

PART 4

Giles was busy warding off a massive aneurysm being brought on by the unexpected vision that was Tara. The entire group watched him with mounting concern as he sputtered and stuttered himself into speechlessness, until all he could do was stare.

“Is he alright?” asked Tara, rubbing a protective hand over her swollen abdomen.

“You’re… You’re… But how? I thought…you and Willow… Who’s the father?” Giles demanded, feeling his paternal instincts kick in at the sight of his sweet, innocent Tara in the final stages of pregnancy.

“Well you are, you big silly,” said Willow, giving Tara’s hand a squeeze and steeling a loving glance at her.

“M-m…me?”

“That is to say, you’re one of the fathers—along with Oz and Xander and Spike,” said Tara, her sweet doe eyes shining happily in the soft light of the front hall.

Giles could feel a prickly heat rising to his face, and he thought he might be sick. He sat down. It didn’t matter that there was no chair. He was happy enough to sit on the floor—at least he couldn’t fall off the floor when the next shock hit him.

“It’s not possible. How long was I out for? And how can I be the father? It’s not the sort of thing one is likely to forget, is it? There’s something wrong here. Something very, very wrong.” Giles kept up his babbling, seeking some kind of affirmation in his young friends’ eyes.

Dawn came in at that moment, and seeing the weird tableau, said: “What happened? Who broke Rupert?”

“Dawn,” said Buffy in her strict, no-nonsense voice, “didn’t I tell you to finish your homework before dinner?”

“But…Rupert…” Dawn whined, knowing she was about to get shut out of whatever was going on, just because she was the youngest. It wasn’t fair.

“Upstairs, now,” said Buffy. “Or I won’t let you watch the ceremony.”

Dawn’s eyes burned with resentment—she’d wanted to take part in the ceremony, but her sister had refused because she was too young. Now she was threatening to not let her watch? Dawn trudged grumpily up the stairs, sticking her tongue out at her sister when she thought no one was looking.

“I saw that,” Buffy called out after her.

“Ugh!” they heard Dawn harrumph from upstairs.

Buffy turned her attention back to Giles, who was still muttering quietly to himself on the floor. With Anya’s help she managed to get him over to the living room couch.

Everyone gathered close, situating themselves so they could all easily reach Giles. Willow’s hands massaged his shoulders while, beside him, Xander sat running his hand through Giles’ hair. Buffy and Anya each had a hold of a leg and were gently stroking him as Tara held his hand. He could tell by the expressions on their faces that they were earnestly trying to comfort him, but the result was anything but comforting. Giles felt oddly panicked, like he was trapped in a circus funhouse with an over-attentive octopus. Wherever he turned there were hands and naked bodies, and…dear Lord! Was that Xander’s hand slipping under his waistband? Giles felt his control snap. Hell, he practically heard it snap.

“Will all of you please leave me alone!” he bellowed, his arms flailing to break free from the groping circus octopus. Everyone backed off as if they’d been burned.

“I demand to know what’s going on. Right now,” he said, his voice loud and shaking.

“Nothing’s going on here, Rupert,” said Buffy, trying to sound calming. “Except for you wigging out on us, everything’s the same as you left it when you went out shopping.”

“No—you’re wrong—everything’s different. You’re all different.” Giles could see that they thought he was out of his mind…they genuinely saw nothing out of the ordinary here. He thought back to the events that took place in the car park earlier, and remembered the touchy-feely group of concerned citizens, and it suddenly clicked. “Or maybe it’s me,” he said quietly.

“Amen to that,” Anya agreed cheerfully.

“This afternoon I passed out, and when I awoke everything was different. I’ve been trying to understand why everyone’s behaving so oddly, but I was looking at it from the wrong angle. I’m not in Sunnydale anymore.”

The Scoobies swapped glances.

“Uh…Dorothy…hate to spoil your trip down the yellow brick road, but you’re still in Sunnydale,” said Xander with a wry smile.

“Yes… Quite,” said Giles, thinking that if he hadn’t been naked when he said that, he wouldn’t have been able to tell this Xander from his own. “I’m not saying there aren’t similarities, but this is not the Sunnydale I belong in.”

Giles explained to them the situation as he saw it, pausing occasionally for Buffy, who kept running back and forth between the kitchen and the living room as she prepared dinner.

“So you figure you were brought here from another dimension?” asked Willow.

“Which one?” asked Anya. “There are an infinite number of alternate dimensions.”

“Like the one where there’s no shellfish,” Tara added helpfully.

“Exactly,” Anya agreed. “And if we’re going to rescue Rupert, we need to know which hell dimension he was sent to.”

“I didn’t come from a hell dimension,” Giles said with some resentment. They all looked at him askance. “What? There was nothing wrong with my Sunnydale.”

“Were we all married in your dimension?” asked Buffy.

“No, but…”

“Was everyone happy and in love?” asked Willow.

“Hardly, but…”

“Were you at least getting sex regularly?” Anya asked.

“That’s none of your business,” said Giles, pinking a little at the cheeks.

“Which means no,” Anya concluded.

“Sounds like a hell dimension to me,” said Xander.

“Granted, we aren’t as…open…sexually…as you appear to be here, but it’s hardly a dimension of hell,” Giles said, feeling the need to support the home that he’d been running away from. No—not running away—that made it sound too cowardly.

“In this dimension of yours…am I pregnant?” asked Tara in her soft voice.

“No,” Giles replied, mesmerised once again by the maternal beauty of the young woman. “And you weren’t likely to become so.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” she asked.

“W-well…” he faltered, feeling a hot flush come over him as he tried to think of a way to explain it. “In my world, you and…and Willow… You were, uh…dating. Exclusively. Or at least you were until yesterday.”

“When you say ‘exclusive’, do you mean temporarily, or in a permanent sense?” asked Willow, intrigued.

“Ideally it would have been permanent. Just like Xander and Anya, who are engaged to be married. Where I come from people form bonds in pairs—marriages, at least in our culture, are strictly between two individuals.”

Xander and Anya looked at each other like they’d never seen each other before.

“So…it would just be me and Xander?” asked Anya. “And Willow’s got Tara. Does that mean that you and Oz are a couple?”

Giles scratched at his ear, wishing he had his glasses to tinker with. “No. Oz left town when he and Willow broke up.”

“I see,” said Anya. “Then you and Spike must be…”

“Good God, no!” Giles replied quickly.

“Then you’re all alone?” asked Buffy.

“I suppose I am,” admitted Giles; but when he saw the looks of pity being bandied about, he thought it best to qualify his remark. “That is, I never married, but that doesn’t mean I’m lonely. As your watcher I’ve found that relationships with outsiders can be…difficult. And my duty to you was always more important, anyway.”

“Then why aren’t we married, then?” asked Buffy. “That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it? Or am I paired off with someone else?”

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the dawn of a brand new headache approaching. “We’re not married. It would be improper for us to be romantically involved. And, sadly, my Buffy is as alone as I am.” When he’d spoken the words he realised how true they were. Buffy had clawed her way out of her own grave to face the harshness of life alone. And then she was expected to battle evil and raise her little sister as well. How could he have expected her to bear it all alone when she wasn’t even fully recovered herself?

“Hang on,” Willow said, belatedly latching on to his earlier comment, “Oz broke up with me?”

“You make it sound like we’ve never had sex before,” Rupert said.

“That’s because we sodding well haven’t!” Spike reasoned loudly.

“You don’t remember?” asked Rupert.

“There’s noting to remember. We’ve never so much as looked at each other before, let alone got all naked and squelchy.”

“And the joining ceremony tonight… Do you know anything about that?”

Spike cocked his head and squinted at him as if examining a rare species of beetle. “You really aren’t Giles, are you?” he asked.

“I’m starting to think I might not be,” said Rupert. “At least I’m not the Rupert that belongs here with you.”

“Hunh,” Spike grunted, mulling it over.

“In a way I’m relieved,” Rupert added with a shy smile. “I was honestly starting to think there was something wrong with me. Now I know I’ve just been…misplaced.”

“So in this place you come from…you and me are…”

“Intimate?” Rupert supplied.

“I was gonna say ‘bangin’ each other’, but if you want to get all posh about it…”

Rupert surprised him again by laughing—a deep, earthy laugh that was anything but repressed. “Trust me, it wasn’t as tawdry as you make it sound. Tonight was supposed to be your joining ceremony—our relationship was going to be formalized.”

“You mean I was gonna marry you?” Spike chortled.

“Not just me—all of us. Buffy, Tara, Willow, Xander, Oz, Anya…we’ve been married since they came of age nearly two years ago. You were to be our first additional member.”

“Let me get this straight—you’re saying that somewhere out there is a Spike who’s about to take part in a never-ending, legalized orgy? I always knew I’d got the short end of the stick.”

“Am I to understand that’s not how it works here?” asked Rupert, puzzling over the novelty of such an idea.

Spike merely shrugged, not wanting to let on that he was supremely jealous. He got down off the sarcophagus and pushed the lid half off. Then he reached inside and unlocked the mini fridge he kept hidden there. He pulled out a packet of O-neg. and replaced the lid.

“I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t think you’d appreciate the house red,” said Spike. He tore into the packet and emptied it into the slightly used mug on the coffee table. “Don’t have much in the way of food, neither.”

“That’s quite alright,” said Rupert. “What with all the excitement today, I’ve rather lost my appetite. Do you mind if I crash here tonight?”

“Knock yourself out. Bedroom’s at the bottom of the ladder,” said Spike, taking a long pull on his drink. Rupert was still standing there when he looked up again. “What?”

“Will you come with me?” asked Rupert quietly.

“You’re not really afraid of the dark, are you?”

“I don’t mean downstairs… Will you come with me to bed?”

Spike sputtered, nearly choking on his blood. He was halfway to laughing when he realized the man was being serious.

“Relax,” said Rupert. “I wont try to seduce you…if you don’t want me to,” he added. “It’s just that I’ve never slept alone before.”

“You’re joking! You mean to say you get shagged every night?” Spike exclaimed, not caring now if he did sound jealous. “When you go back, can you take me with you?”

“Spike, as hard as it is to believe, not everything is about sex,” said Rupert. “I’ve simply never gone a night without sharing my bed, that’s all. I don’t think I could fall asleep without someone lying next to me.”

“What you mean is you want me to be your teddy bear for the night?” Spike couldn’t believe he was actually considering his proposition. But he couldn’t remember the last time anyone wanted to just cuddle with him. Much to the shame of his big-bad demon self, he kind of fancied the idea.

“More or less,” said Rupert.

“More?” asked Spike warily.

“That is entirely up to you,” he replied, his voice hinting towards the seductive.

“Hunh,” Spike grunted, mulling it over. It was something he was getting good at. He stared off for a while, making it appear as if he was seriously deliberating when he had in fact already made up his mind. “What the hell—didn’t have any plans anyway.”

Buffy was holed up in the kitchen stirring the gravy as Giles and the others compared notes in the other room. Out of consideration for their guest, Willow and Xander put on what they considered to be ‘clothes’, but which looked to Giles to be more like gauze with delusions of grandeur. Still, he appreciated the effort.

“So I guess that puts an end to the ceremony,” Anya said glumly.

“Shh…” said Xander, steeling surreptitious glances at the kitchen. “Buffy might hear you. She’ll freak if she hears you say that.”

“You keep mentioning this ceremony—it must be very important. If it’s not too difficult, perhaps I can take Rupert’s place. I may be a bit out of practice in giving speeches, but given a few cue cards, I’m sure I can muddle my way through it.” He couldn’t figure out why they were all looking at him as if his pet hamster had passed away.

“Yeah…Giles, I think this one might be out of your league,” said Xander, giving him a consoling pat on the knee.

“Why? What is it I would have to do?” asked Giles, nonplussed.

Just then the front door banged open and Oz appeared. “I come bearing the guest of honour,” he said and stood aside to let Spike enter.

Spike looked resplendent in his very best pair of black jeans and his least dirty white shirt. The second he was inside he locked eyes with Giles and grinned lustily.

“Hope Watcher-Boy here took his vitamins, ‘cause he’s in for one helluva ride,” said Spike.

PART 5

The dark, damp underground crypt was slowly transformed into a warm, cosy bedroom as Spike went around the room lighting candles.

“See…nothing to be frightened of,” said Spike, lighting the last one. He turned around to find Rupert stripping out of his clothes. In the dancing orange glow of the candlelight his strong features looked chiselled, and the flickering shadows accentuated lean muscles that Spike never would have guessed were there. The match Spike was holding burnt itself to the quick and he dropped it with a hiss of pain.

He watched the naked watcher climb into his bed, happy as can be, then turn to him expectantly. Spike shrugged and started undoing his belt. It felt odd, undressing in front of Giles, even if it wasn’t his Giles. The man lying in his bed was watching him with the kind of detached appreciation that comes from familiarity. That made it easier, somehow—like nothing was expected of him—and Spike relaxed, allowing himself to enjoy the attention.

Spike crawled into bed and lay staring at the ceiling, blankets clutched in his fingers as he waited for the inevitable groping to begin. But nothing happened. He was strangely disappointed when he heard Rupert’s deep, even breathing coming from beside him. He took a quick peek and saw Rupert lying on his side facing him, a tiny smile gracing his sleeping features. Spike rolled onto his side and shimmied himself closer so they were spooning. A large, warm arm wrapped itself around his waist and he smiled. It took a little manoeuvring, but he’d got his cuddles.

Buffy came out of the kitchen, beaming from ear to ear as she approached the newcomers. Giles watched as the three of them embraced—Oz’s hand disappearing beneath Buffy’s apron as Spike buried his face in her neck in a mock bite that made her giggle.

Giles’ mouth went dry as he began to piece together the possible nature of this ceremony. He turned to Xander who saw the raw panic in his eyes and gave him another consoling pat on the knee.

“Xander…I can’t,” he croaked weakly.

“Fine, but you’re telling the Buffster,” said Xander giving him an ‘I’m glad I’m not you’ look.

Giles swallowed hard and looked at his slayer who was preening over Spike and looking happier than he could ever remember seeing her. He reminded himself that this wasn’t his Buffy. No—if it had been his Buffy, Spike would be nursing a black eye by now and most of the people gathered in the room would be fighting.

He took a long look at the people around him. Tara was nestled contentedly against Anya, their hands entwined over her rounded belly. Xander and Willow were absently playing footsie with each other as they happily watched Oz and Spike kissing. There was no jealousy or discord—or at least there hadn’t been any discord until Giles had come along to mess things up. Here again, he found that he was in the position of falling short of his young friends’ expectations. Back home they wanted him to be their father, and he’d let them down. Here they wanted him to…well, he wasn’t exactly sure what they wanted him to do, but he suspected it involved a level of intimacy with Spike that he felt less than comfortable with.

Every instinct he had told him to get the hell out and run for it, before things went too far. But he was beginning to doubt his instincts. He was starting to think he’d been too hasty in his decision to leave Sunnydale. Despite his reasoning, he couldn’t help feeling that he was running away from Buffy when she needed him the most. And he’d always found that running away, even for the right reasons, usually ends in disaster. So maybe, he reasoned, running away now might not be such a good idea. Besides, different dimension or not, these were still his friends and he knew he could trust them.

“Oi! What’s wrong with Rupert?” asked Spike, breaking away from Buffy and Oz to make a closer inspection. “Why’s he all pale and shaky?”

There was an awkward silence and everyone turned to Buffy, making it clear that it was her call.

“Right. About Rupert… I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” she said. “Rupert’s…”

“Fine,” said Giles, piping up before she could finish—before he could chicken out. “I’m feeling much better now, thank-you, s-so there’s no need to postpone the ceremony.”

Buffy, Xander, Willow and Tara all stared at him like he’d suddenly sprouted big yellow feathers.

“Well that’s a relief,” said Anya with a bright, toothy grin.

“Rupert, can I see you in the kitchen for a minute?” said Xander in what he thought was a subtle manner. He gripped Giles firmly by the arm and propelled him into the kitchen. When they were far enough out of earshot, Xander said: “Are you out of your mind? A little while ago you passed out from the shock of me kissing you. Now you’re all on board with the group sex?”

“G-group sex!” Giles nearly choked on the words. He’d assumed the ceremony would involve Spike, but he never dreamed it would entail…dear God, he couldn’t even think about it.

“Oh yeah, I can tell you’re ready for this,” Xander remarked sarcastically.

Giles composed himself enough to speak. “You’re right—I’m not ready for this, but I’ve caused enough grief for one day. This ceremony means so much to everyone…I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Group sex,” Xander tossed out, making Giles blanch visibly. Xander just shook his head. “No offense, but I don’t think you can do it.”

Giles puffed up a bit at the challenge. “I’ll have you know that my sex life was very…adventurous when I was your age. It’s not so much the idea of,” he lowered his voice, “group sex…that has me concerned, so much as who would be participating.”

“Our Rupert doesn’t seem to mind the company. He married us, after all. And remember—we’re not the same people you left behind. We’re all good with this kind of thing here.”

Giles frowned slightly and leaned against the kitchen island, lost in thought. When he finally spoke it was with a new sense of determination. “I have no idea how I was brought here or how I’m going to get back home, but I could be here for a while. And I have to consider the possibility that I may never manage to get home…in which case I’d much rather be here with all of you than out there on my own. And if I do manage to get home it’s not like anyone there will ever know about what happened here, so there’s no harm done if I indulge in a little…experimentation…is there? I mean, for the sake of the ceremony?”

“Good. I see you’ve worked out some nice, comfy, logical excuses, Mr. Oxford-Educated. But you still look like you want to puke,” said Xander.

“I—I can overcome it,” said Giles, but even he wasn’t convinced by his words.

“Kiss me,” said Xander.

“What?”

“You heard me. Let’s start you off with something simple—see if you can deal.”

Giles couldn’t argue the logic. If he couldn’t handle kissing Xander, then there was certainly no way he’d be able to survive an all-out orgy. And he’d have disappointed two Buffies in one day. Deciding it was now or never, he took Xander by the shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss.

It was actually pretty amazing once he got past the ‘Oh my God, this is Xander’s mouth I’ve got my tongue in’ aspect of it. In the seediest part of his brain Ripper awakened and whispered to him that it was precisely because it was Xander’s mouth that it was so amazing. Instead of telling that voice to go stuff itself as he usually did, Giles allowed himself to listen to it. As if with a will of their own, his hands started exploring, mapping out the terrain of Xander’s barely concealed body.

“Hey! Save some of that for me.”

Giles nearly leapt out of his skin. Standing in the doorway was Spike, eyes glinting sharply as he took in the view. Buffy was behind him looking all apologetic.

“Sorry guys,” she said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your pre-game warm-up, but you were taking so long…” she trailed off, eyes tracking down Giles’ body to where his tight-fitting running shorts were bulging noticeably. She smiled knowingly.

Xander gallantly stepped in front of him to provide cover. “Can you give us a couple more minutes?” he asked.

Spike smirked and eyed the couple hungrily. “Right. Just don’t wear yourselves out,” he warned, and exited the kitchen with Buffy in tow.

Giles let his breath out and fell back against the island counter. “Sorry,” he said.

“Sorry for what?” asked Xander. “You did fine. Better than fine—you did really, really fine. Really.”

“Don’t you think we should tell Spike about what’s happened?”

“Nah. We promised Buffy the wedding would be incident-free, and we’re nearly up to the eyeballs in incidents. We’ll tell him in the morning.”

“So it is a wedding, then? I thought as much,” said Giles, strangely comfortable with it now that he’d committed himself to a course of action. Kind of like a soldier on the morning of a battle—numb to the terror of what might lay ahead. “You’d better fill me in on the proceedings—I don’t think I my heart can take any more surprises today.”

Spike smiled to himself when he felt Rupert’s warm fingers casually toying with his nipple. Took him long enough, he thought. Half the candles had already burnt out as he lay there, awake and waiting. But his patience had paid off—it seemed randy old Rupert liked a bit of slap and tickle in the wee hours of the morning.

He’d told himself that in the case of such an event he would make it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he was not interested. Problem was, now that the time had come, Rupert’s attentions felt too good to put a stop to. He seemed to know exactly how he liked to be touched—soft and light in some places and with just enough force in other places to cause the most delicious pain. But after several long minutes of relatively chaste fondling, Spike was growing impatient for more.

He took Rupert’s hand, which was busy tracing circles around his bellybutton, and nudged it to where he wanted it to be. He heard soft chuckling behind him, and soon there was nothing chaste about the way he was being fondled. Apparently he’d given the right signal, because Rupert snuggled up closer, enveloping him in his heat and scent, pressing scorching lips to his cool skin, making him burn.

Without even thinking, Spike twisted into the embrace and their mouths found each other. No one—not even Drusilla, bless her demented self, had ever kissed him like this. With Dru there had always been a certain cautious detachment, like he knew he was expendable. With Harmony, the kissing experience wasn’t so much a learning curve as a flat, featureless expanse. And with Buffy he was simply the sexual equivalent of a punching bag. But this kiss felt different—like it meant something…like it was going somewhere. There were no ulterior motives involved—just pure, unadulterated passion. And damn if he wasn’t rock hard in record time.

Rupert’s lips strayed from Spike’s, nibbling and kissing their way down his throat to his collarbone. Spike shivered, feeling more naked than he had in all the years since he’d been turned. How this man had managed to strip everything away and lay him bare like this was beyond him. He wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t deserve it. He… Screw it, he thought. Why waste a good shag by trying to analyse it?

With a deep, predatory growl, Spike flipped Rupert onto his back and let his cock take over the controls.

PART 6

Buffy was relieved that dinner had gone without a hitch, despite the notable lack of strawberries. For reasons unknown, Rupert…no, not Rupert, she reminded herself—Giles…had decided to take part in the ceremony. And even though they were all concerned about their own Rupert, she was grateful that Giles was willing to fill in at the last minute. Especially considering the prudish nature of his home-dimension. She only wished he didn’t look so terrified—he’d hardly eaten a bite of dinner. But if Spike suspected anything out of the ordinary he wasn’t letting on.

As she, Dawn and Oz cleared the table, Willow, Tara and Anya set up the ritual incense and decorated the living room with pillows and blankets, turning it into one large bed. Spike had gone to prepare himself in the guest bathroom, where he would wait until he was sent for. Meanwhile, off in one corner and away from all the hubbub, Xander was coaching a jittery-looking Giles on the ins and outs of ritual joining ceremonies (complete with ‘in and out’ hand gestures that had Giles blushing furiously).

When at last the preparations were complete, Giles rubbed his sweaty palms on his t-shirt and joined the other participants in the middle of the room. This was it—sink or swim, he was about to get thrown into the deep end, and it was too late to change his mind. Giles was just starting to get control over his nerves when he caught sight of Dawn sitting all perky and cross-legged in the armchair.

“What’s she doing here?” he croaked through his instantly parched throat.

“I did my homework!” Dawn protested as if anticipating the outcome of this argument before it even began.

Buffy turned to Giles: “I did promise she could watch,” she said pleadingly.

“No—Buffy, I’m begging you! This is difficult enough for me without having your sixteen year old sister cheering from the sidelines.”

“What’s with Rupert?” Oz whispered to Tara.

“I’ll explain later,” she answered. Oz nodded, satisfied enough to accept her answer without having to ask more questions.

Buffy took in the situation and decided she’d just have to deal with the wrath of Dawn later. Giles looked as if he was ready to bolt, so she grabbed her sister by the hand and tugged her halfway up the stairs.

“Buffy, you promised,” Dawn whined.

“I know I did, but things changed. Giles is serious—he’s not gonna take part if he thinks you’re watching.”

“And if he doesn’t know I’m watching?” asked Dawn in a quiet, conspiratorial tone.

“He’d better not catch you spying,” said Buffy, knowing that she’d just given Dawn unspoken permission to do exactly that. Dawn grinned and mouthed a ‘thank-you’ to her older sister before stomping angrily up the stairs for the benefit of the others.

“Thank-you, Buffy,” said Giles, looking a little less green around the gills now that the only minor was out of the room.

“It’s nothing. Really,’ said Buffy, trying not to appear guilty. “So you think you’re ready?” she asked.

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose,” he answered. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to control his galloping heart with some of his tried and trusted meditative techniques. It was hard to remain focused, however, when all around him clothes were being shed and tossed to the far corners of the room. He gave up on meditation and concentrated on remembering Rupert’s prepared speech instead. Again, not so easy when all his closest friends were walking about naked and slathering themselves with oils. He cleared his throat nervously and felt a jolt of fear when he saw Oz leave to fetch Spike from the bathroom.

“Giles…” whispered Willow. His eyes darted towards her, reluctant to lose track of Oz. “Time to get ready.” She smiled up at him sympathetically with her large eyes.

Removing his t-shirt was not a problem, but his hands were trembling too badly to successfully untie the drawstring of his running shorts. Within seconds there were five sets of hands deftly freeing him from the restraints of his clothing. Giles’ hands instinctively flew to cover his exposed groin.

“Vanilla or cinnamon?” asked Willow, offering him his choice of oils.

“Um…cinnamon?” replied Giles uncertainly, feeling absurdly relieved when Willow grinned at his decision.

“That’s what Rupert likes, too,” she said happily.

Giles had expected her to simply hand him the bottle, but he wasn’t horribly shocked when she opted to apply the oil herself. Best get used to it, he thought, as her practiced hands quickly oiled him down. He was just thankful that she kept those well-practiced hands away from his more private areas. She handed him the bottle and let him finish those areas himself.

“No different than sunbathing, see?” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

Giles returned her smile with a tenuous one of his own then took his position in the centre of the semicircle they had formed, forcing his hands to remain at his sides despite his desperate urge to cover himself up. Oz, returning from his errand, took his place at the end of the half circle and they all stood waiting anxiously.

They didn’t have to wait long. Spike soon appeared, and the sight of him took Giles’ breath away. It wasn’t the oversized silky-white cloak he wore, or the glistening ‘v’ of alabaster skin the loose garment revealed that did it. It was the smile on his face. There was none of the characteristic ‘Spike’ smugness or barely concealed contempt that he was so used to seeing. The Spike that entered the room was as radiantly happy as any bride on her wedding day.

Spike seemed to be gliding on a cushion of air, the folds of his vast cloak billowing around him gracefully. He glided to a stop in front of Giles and the Scoobies formed a circle around the two of them.

Giles licked his dry lips and began his speech, bolstered by the joyful eagerness the entire group was exuding.

“We are here this evening to put an end to a journey—one that began long before the rest of us were born. This journey started with a poet whose trusting soul led him down a dark path. His wanderings took him all over the globe, exposing him to a wealth of knowledge and experience. And though he rarely travelled alone, he remained lonely, always searching for something or someone to fill the void. Despite his numerous companions and the experiences he’d gained, the darkness around him always overshadowed the light, and no matter how far he travelled he could never outrun the demon within.

“But his journey finally brought him here to us, and circumstances have shown us all that there is light enough within him to overcome the darkness. He has shared with us his bravery, his loyalty and his passion, and I have invited him, on behalf of the whole family, to put an end to his wanderings by taking one last step.”

Giles held out his hand and Spike laid his own on top of it. “You were born ‘William Pemberton’ and history has dubbed you ‘William the Bloody’. But you have taken the name ‘Spike’, and in choosing to join this family, you relinquish your past names and vow to become one with us. Take one last step and share with us your love, and in return we will take up your burdens and lay your journey to rest. Do you accept my invitation?”

“I do,” said Spike.

As Giles slipped the gold wedding band onto Spike’s finger, he heard sniffling behind him. He turned to see Tara smiling sheepishly, wiping happy tears from her cheeks. Willow and Buffy also looked glassy-eyed and ready to cry. Steeling himself for what was to come, Giles faced Spike and took a step forward, leaning in to kiss the vampire.

Any repulsion he’d felt towards Spike before the ceremony started had melted away as he recited his speech and felt the truth behind the words. These people were so clearly devoted to each other that he felt their love rubbing off on him. And when Spike’s cold lips touched his own, he didn’t shy away or flinch, as he feared he might.

With his last ounce of courage, Giles undid the sash and the snaps that held the cloak closed. Spike then wrapped the voluminous silken folds around both of them and Oz did up the snaps again, using the sash to tie up the neck hole so that the two of them were completely enveloped in the garment. Finding himself suddenly alone with Spike, Giles timidly wrapped his arms around the naked vampire.

“An’ here I thought I was nervous—Jesus, mate, your heart’s pounding fit to burst,” Spike muttered in his ear.

“I-I just want everything to go smoothly,” Giles answered just as quietly.

Spike nuzzled him closer so his lips brushed Giles’ ear. “That was the most beautiful speech I’ve ever heard. It meant a lot to me, what you said.”

Then those cool lips caught at Giles’ earlobe, pulling the baby-soft flesh into his mouth. Giles’ entire body shuddered as Spike’s tongue flicked over the soft skin—it was his secret weakness, and it invariably made him weak at the knees. Thankfully, Spike caught him just as his knees gave out, and held him up effortlessly.

“Breathe, Rupert,” said Spike. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Giles found he couldn’t speak—that part of his brain had switched off and left him indefensible. He gave a weak nod and willed his legs to hold him up. Spike’s icy blue eyes, just inches away from his, held him entranced.

“You really are nervous, aren’t you?” asked Spike with a devilish spark in those ancient eyes. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

That flash of pure ‘Spike’, complete with smirk, was all Giles needed to break out of his trance. With a Ripperish smirk of his own, he slid his hands down Spike’s oiled back, digging his nails into the soft globes of his ass.

Spike’s yelp was squelched as Giles’ lips ploughed into his in a rough kiss. Their tongues battled for dominance while two sets of hands competed to find the most responsive bits of flesh.

“That’s my boy,” said Xander from his spot in the circle. “Taught him everything he knows.”

“And it looks like he’s done the smart thing and gone with his instincts instead,” said Buffy.

“Hey!” Xander protested, giving her a playful push.

Meanwhile, inside the vast cloak, things were heating up nicely. Giles couldn’t believe he was actually enjoying himself. With Spike, no less. And all the light-hearted groping was definitely having an affect on him. Spike’s experienced hands had him harder that a pubescent schoolboy. But it was far too early to get carried away. He had a job to perform, after all, he reminded himself. And smiled.

His hands slipped and slid over Spike’s vanilla-scented skin, down his spine and straight on down into the crack of his ass. His fingers probed the tender, slicked aperture and met with no resistance. Spike was ready…much more so that Giles was himself.

Giles’ heart tripped at the thought of what he was about to do. He couldn’t say whether it was out of fear or anticipation; or perhaps it was the fear that he actually was anticipating it. He gave Spike one last kiss and then turned him around. Spike obligingly bent over and grabbed his ankles with an agility that Giles envied. It was an awkward position, and it didn’t help to know that only a thin silk cloak separated them from a circle of spectators, but somehow Giles managed to keep from toppling over as he slowly pushed himself inside the tight coolness of Spike’s body. He worked his cock in slowly, fearful of causing him pain.

“Fuck, Rupert—quit teasin’ already,” Spike said with a throaty growl.

Giles continued with his slow pace, no longer worried about hurting Spike, but loving the fact that going so slow was driving the vampire mad. He was so caught up in the moment that he’d forgotten about the others in the room, and he nearly lost control when the cloak was ripped away, leaving them exposed in mid-act.

“It’s party time!” said Xander, and the circle closed in on them.

Giles had a moment of blind panic where he desperately wanted to click his heels together and go home. His mind couldn’t wrap itself around the fact that it was Willow’s tongue in his ear or that Anya had his balls cupped in her hand as she kissed Buffy. There was no escaping it, though, so he pushed past the fear and…dear God, was it good.

With so many bodies vying for attention, he quickly lost track of whose hands were where and whose tongues were doing what to whom. At one point he watched in fascination as Willow’s tongue swirled circles around Tara’s enlarged nipples as she, in turn, was taken from behind by Xander. It was too surreal to be believed. At least, that’s what he thought until he felt a finger slipping into his anus. That was very real. Giles gave an involuntary jerk forward, which pushed him deeper inside Spike.

“Now we’re talkin’,” he heard the vampire shout as he turned his head to see who was behind him. Oz waved to him with the hand that wasn’t finger-deep up his ass. Somewhere nearby he heard the girls giggling and Xander moaning, and all he could think was that he finally knew what Oz’s true hair colour was. Then the finger inside him crooked and wriggled, and swept him away in a wave of pure bliss.

Giles was aware that he was making a lot of noise, but he couldn’t help it. No matter which way he moved he was assaulted by stimulus. When he felt the tight ring of his anus stretching to accommodate Oz’s penis, he gave a shout and dug his nails into Spike’s midriff. Spike responded by clenching his muscles around Giles’ cock.

With a strangled groan, Giles came deep inside Spike, his fingers still embedded in the vampire’s cool flanks. The trio collapsed to the floor and Spike quickly freed himself to seek action elsewhere. But Oz stayed inside him, taking his time, making it sweet.

Giles couldn’t say how long the whole thing lasted, but he was sure it was several hours from beginning to end. With all the barriers broken and nothing left to lose, he found himself taking the initiative more often; less shy about where his hands strayed or which part of whose body he had in his mouth. When it was over and everyone was too exhausted to move, they wound up in a mass heap of pillows and limbs, blankets and bodies.

Giles was drifting off to sleep with his head pillowed on Willow’s chest, rising and falling with every breath she took. He felt a sense of contentment and belonging that had been lacking in his life until now, and wondered, briefly, how the other Rupert was faring.

PART 7

Buffy arrived home late. Very late. She was too full of anger and frustration to face her friends, so she’d spent much of the night prowling the town in search of a fight. Sadly, she hadn’t seen any action since she’d left Spike—and that was definitely not the kind of action she was after.

She snuck into her house, not wanting to wake Xander and Anya, but she didn’t have to because they were still awake, and Xander was busy pacing a hole into her carpet. Buffy’s slayer alert went off.

“What happened,” she demanded. “Is it Dawn?”

Anya, who was far calmer than Xander, answered her; “Dawn’s fine, but we don’t know where Giles is.”

“I know where Giles is,” said Buffy bitterly. “He’s as far away from me as he can get.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Xander, finding time to speak between bouts of nail chewing.

“Am I missing something here?” asked Buffy. “What’s with the looks of guilt?”

“Have I ever told you about my Uncle Bobrachnilothtot?” asked Anya.

“Please—for the sake of my sanity, say yes,” said Xander, his brown eyes haunted with memories of past discussions on the subject.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Yes,” said Buffy.

“Well, when Willow’s spell went all wonky and Giles and I…”

“I think I’d better tell the story,” Xander cut in before she could mention the amazing kiss part. “Anya decided that Giles needed to take a vacation so he wouldn’t want to move away anymore.” He saw the veil of confusion descend over Buffy and held up his hand; “I know—don’t ask me how she came to that conclusion, I’m still trying to work that one out myself. Anyway, she asked her demon friend Bob to give her a hand…”

“And now Giles is stuck in some weird demon dimension?” Buffy guessed.

“Don’t be silly,” said Anya. “I asked him to send Giles to a safe place where he could have plenty of sex. Xander and I aren’t worried about him—it’s the Giles from the other dimension we’re worried about.”

Buffy stared blankly at the ex-demon, her brain snagged on the phrase ‘plenty of sex’, and trying to imagine Giles in such a place. It couldn’t be done. Her mind refused to let her visualize it; so instead, she concentrated on the last half of what Anya had said.

“There are two Gileses?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

“Yup,” said Xander. “The sex-verse Giles showed up at your front door, kissed everyone, then ran off.”

“He didn’t just run off…Xander scared him away because he’s homophobic and he didn’t want to admit that Giles is a good kisser,” said Anya.

Xander shot her a scathing glare, and then tried to explain it better to Buffy. “I didn’t know it wasn’t our Giles. I mean, how was I supposed to know that a sexually uninhibited Giles from another dimension was gonna show up and french me?”

“He frenched you?” Buffy squeaked.

“That’s beside the point,” Xander said, trying to salvage the discussion with a minimum amount of further embarrassment. “The point is there’s a replacement Giles running loose in Sunnydale, and if he kisses the vamp down on 34th and Vine, he might get more broken than just his bottle of love potion number nine.”

“Huh?” asked Buffy.

“What my pop-culturally challenged boyfriend is trying to say is that Giles’ promiscuous doppelganger is wandering around on a Hellmouth and will likely end up dead if we don’t find him,” said Anya.

“And if he dies, our Giles dies too,” Xander added, and began chewing his nails again.

For a very brief, dark moment, Buffy thought to herself ‘good, it would serve him right’. Then she felt horrible—she might be pissed at him right now, but she still loved the guy. And she had no grudge against this other Giles.

“Okay, so we need to find him…but I’ve been patrolling all night, and I didn’t see him,” she said. “Maybe he found cover for the night?”

“I’ve been out there all night, too,” said Xander. “I couldn’t find him. And I was actually looking for him.”

“Right. Let’s assume the worst, then. If Hugh Heffner got himself in trouble of the demon variety, you can bet Spike knows about it. He was creeping around the cemeteries being all pesky.”

“So I guess we’re paying a visit to the Big Not-So-Bad,” said Xander.

“No. You and Anya stay here with Dawn…Giles might wander back here on his own. I’ll take care of Spike.”

Judging by the fierce glint in her eye, Xander decided he was glad he wasn’t a bleach-blond vampire named Spike right now. Buffy spun efficiently on her heel and marched out the door.

Rupert had long since dozed off, sleeping the sleep of one truly at peace with the world. But Spike couldn’t close his eyes for all the thinking he was doing, so he lay there watching the man who’d dropped into his life and turned everything upside-down.

The sex wasn’t supposed to be good. But it was. Hell, if he was being completely honest, it was spectacular sex. Primo sex. And just who the hell did Rupert think he was, stirring up all these feelings then falling asleep to let him deal with them on his own? He had half a mind to shake him awake so he could tell him off. But he looked so happy, all curled up next to him, his hair all ruffled and that little smile playing on his lips. It would be evil to wake him up.

Spike flicked at Rupert’s arm, but got no reaction. So he flicked harder. Rupert awoke, sleep-muddled and alarmed.

“Spike? What is it? Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Rupert raised himself up on his elbow and waited patiently for the rest. Spike didn’t disappoint.

“How can you sleep after what we just did?” he asked.

“Actually, I find that’s usually when I sleep best,” said Rupert with a sly-cat grin.

“Don’t get smart—you know what I mean. Did what happened tonight mean nothing to you?” Spike asked. Then he thought about what he was saying and smacked his hand to his forehead. “God! I sound like a bloody ponce!”

Rupert gave a whispery chuckle; “You’re not a ponce, Spike. Of course I know what you meant. But to be honest, I don’t know how to answer you. I love Spike—my Spike—very much…but I don’t know how I should feel about you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Spike snarked and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Please don’t do that,” said Rupert.

“Do what?”

“Close yourself off,” he answered. “You’re so much like the Spike I know—you wear your heart on your sleeve for all to see, but you don’t let anyone near it. Least of all the people you love the most.”

“Don’t love you,” Spike replied coolly. “Don’t hardly know you, do I?”

“Perhaps. But you know the Rupert from this dimension, and I doubt you’d have slept with me tonight if you didn’t feel something for him,” said Rupert.

Spike eyed him appraisingly for a moment. There was no doubt that he looked exactly like Giles—sounded like him and all—but his Giles would sooner stake him than kiss him. It was ludicrous. And yet…

“Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that I had occasionally…noticed him,” said Spike. “What good does that do me if you go back where you came from and I get my Giles back? He can’t stand the sight of me.”

“Really?” asked Rupert, genuinely surprised.

“Threatened to kill me more than once,” he answered.

“Well that should make for an interesting joining ceremony,” said Rupert.

Spike barked out a laugh. “What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that wall,” he said, joyfully going over the scenario in his head. “What? Why are you looking at me that way?” he asked, feeling self-conscious under Rupert’s suddenly intense gaze.

“I love the way you laugh,” said Rupert, tracing his finger over Spike’s lower lip.

Spike’s eyelids fluttered shut as he savoured the delicate touch. He didn’t see Rupert lean over him, but he felt it, and he waited for his warm lips to cover his own. But Rupert had other things in mind. Instead of going straight for the kiss, he trailed his fingertips over Spike’s cheekbone and jaw.

Spike couldn’t resist taking a peek, but Rupert smiled and shook his head at him, then leaned down to place a light kiss on each eyelid, forcing them closed again. Spike grinned as he felt Rupert’s fingers resuming their exploration of his face. He didn’t mind—it had been decades since he’d had a nice, slow shag.

And of course, that’s when the trap door banged open and Buffy dropped down, landing cat-like on the floor near the bed.

For a minute that lasted an eternity, Buffy gaped at Spike and Rupert in startled silence. Spike didn’t know how to react. On one hand he was worried about what Buffy must think of him now, but on the other hand he just wanted her to piss off so he could get back to business with Rupert.

“Well, I guess I don’t need to ask if you’ve seen Giles anywhere,” said Buffy tersely, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t suppose I can expect one of those ‘this isn’t what it looks like’ speeches, can I?”

Spike sat up, not caring that the sheet had fallen away to expose his full-frontalness. Buffy’s face flushed scarlet, and she scowled at him.

“You jealous?” Spike jabbed. “I gave you your chance back at the cemetery, an’ if I remember right, Victor Montrose’s headstone paid the price for it.”

“I can’t believe you—you can’t have me, so you get your revenge by sleeping with my watcher? Well I’ve got news for you,” she said triumphantly; “That isn’t Giles.”

“Well, duh! I knew that the minute I saw him,” said Spike, stretching the truth until it nearly snapped. “And not that it’s any of your business, but we didn’t do a whole lot of sleeping.”

“Okay…Eww! That’s a mental picture I’d like to erase,” said Buffy. “Come on, Giles. I’m taking you home.”

“My name’s Rupert,” he said. “And I think I’d rather stay here with Spike, if that’s alright. I know for a fact that I’m not welcome in your home.”

“What? Because of what Xander said?” asked Buffy. “He didn’t mean anything by it… He just freaked because he thought you were our Giles when you kissed him.”

“And you care so much for each other that such a simple show of affection results in insult and expulsion? Thank-you, but I’ve problems enough as it is without having to deal with hostility from members of my own family as well.”

“Your own family?” asked Buffy.

“Rupert here’s married to you lot where he comes from,” Spike answered, smugly parading his insider’s knowledge.

“Yeah, whatever,” said Buffy, dismissing the idea out of hand. She turned to Giles; “I want you where I can keep an eye on you until we can get you home. It’s not safe here—this is a Hellmouth, not a whorehouse,” she said, casting a frosty glare at Spike.

Rupert’s eyes’ narrowed at the insult; “I know exactly where I am, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“This isn’t up for discussion—you’re coming with me,” Buffy stated, taking up a stance that dared him to defy her.

“If you insist,” Rupert finally acceded with a sigh. “But I’d like Spike to come along…I could do with an ally.”

Spike’s jaw jutted out and his eyes sparkled as he smiled victoriously at Buffy.

“Fine. Bring whatever you want,” she said, taking a low shot. “But unless you want your honey bursting into flames, I suggest you get a move on—sun’s almost up.”

Rupert threw back the sheets and got out of bed; naked as the day he was born. He ignored the choked gasps issuing from Buffy’s flapping mouth, and proceeded to get dressed. Or, at least minimally dressed—he chose to put on only his pants and undershirt, leaving the rest behind.

Spike, too, got dressed quickly, taking great pleasure in flaunting his casual nudity in front of Buffy. He had a feeling this was going to be a very fun day. So many Scoobies to shock! The thought brought a wicked leer to his face.

When Giles awoke, the living room was awash in warm sunlight. All around him people were stirring, and there were a few mumbled ‘good morning’s. Giles’ entire body ached pleasantly, and the raw throbbing of his backside left him in no doubt that he’d actually done all the things he remembered doing last night.

He looked about and spotted Buffy curled up against Spike in the shady part of the room. The memory of what it was like having sex with her surfaced and the first tendrils of guilt seeped into his conscience. He wondered if he would ever be able to look at her again without picturing her at the moment of her climax—all flushed and sweaty.

His pillow moved—Willow was waking up.

Giles felt her fingers comb through his hair and he turned his head so he could look at her.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked with a sleepy smile.

“Bad? No…bad is not the word I would use to describe it,” Giles answered, smiling uncertainly back at her. He stretched out his limbs, working out some of the kinks, and inadvertently smacked Oz with his foot.

“Five more minutes,” said the redheaded young man, rolling over to go back to sleep.

Giles got to his feet and blinked into the sunlight streaming in through the window. He finished stretching out his tight muscles, and then turned around only to come face to face with Dawn, who was standing there wearing a broad grin and nothing else.

Giles panicked, trying to cover himself and run away at the same time. He ended up tripping over Oz and landing face-first into Anya’s bosom.

“Hey! My breasts are not meant to be used as air bags,” groused the ex-demon.

“Sorry,” said Giles, hastily pulling himself off of her. He grabbed a pillow off the floor and covered himself with it, backing slowly towards the stairs. In the cold light of day, with the eyes of all his dear friends on him—and Dawn giggling—Giles felt absolutely mortified at what he’d done.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he said and quickly stumbled up the stairs.

“Nice bloke,” said Spike. “Anyone care to tell me who he is?”

PART 8

Rupert had never been so grateful to see Revello Drive in his entire life. The long walk back from the cemetery was made infinitely longer by the bickering and name-calling being bandied about by Spike and Buffy. And Rupert was caught in the middle of it. Literally.

On one side he had Spike holding his hand, while on the other, Buffy was stubbornly trying to pretend she didn’t notice. He couldn’t understand why they appeared to despise each other when he could practically taste the sexual tension between them.

What was worse was that all the negative energy seemed to be rubbing off on him—he came very close to snapping at them both just so he could have a moment’s peace. It was like the atmosphere in this dimension was caustic and his good humour was quickly eroding away. As they walked through Buffy’s front door he thought how odd it was to be inside his own house and yet still be so terribly far from home.

A frazzled looking Xander jumped off the couch and bounded towards them, wringing his hands, a nervous twitch in his eye.

“Giles! Great, you’re back!” he said. “And hey—great! You brought Spike!” His forced enthusiasm waned at the sight of the vampire. “You are Spike, right? You’re not like the Spike from his dimension—you’re not gonna try and kiss me, are you?”

“In your dreams, whelp,” said Spike.

“Where’s Anya?” asked Buffy, heading off what would have become a shouting match.

“She’s sleeping,” answered Xander, reluctantly letting Spike get away with his jab. “She said someone had to be awake enough to open the store in the morning.” Xander gave Spike a tiny glare and thought he saw Rupert holding the vampire’s hand. But that was ridiculous—Giles…even the sex-verse Giles…wouldn’t stoop so low.

Spike caught Xander ogling them and decided it was time to give him a show—nothing over the top, just a teeny glimpse of their newfound intimacy. He led Rupert by the hand over to the sofa and sat with him, his arm draped around his shoulders.

Rupert knew exactly what Spike was up to, but he had no intention of letting him turn their new romance into a carnival sideshow. He leaned over and whispered in the vampire’s ear: “Thank-you, Spike. You have no idea how much it means to me to have someone here I can trust implicitly.” He pulled back far enough to make his meaning clear from the look in his eyes.

Spike swallowed hard and blinked back at Rupert, feeling chastised and a bit foolish. He gave him a quick nod—yes, he did understand—and withdrew his arm. So much for the fun, he thought.

Rupert saw the dejection in Spike’s face and then he turned to Xander, who was simply begging to be toyed with. What the hell, he thought, and throwing caution to the wind, he pulled Spike to him and proceeded to snog him to within an inch of his un-life.

“Gah!” Xander convulsed. “That’s just not right!”

“That’s nothing,” said Buffy. “You should have seen what they were up to when I found them.”

“Are you trying to give me nightmares for the rest of my life? ‘Cause it’s working,” said Xander.

Rupert ended the kiss, satisfied that he’d made Xander squirm almost as much as Spike—if for very different reasons.

Spike arched his scarred brow at him, silently demanding to know what that was all about. Rupert answered with a shrug and tossed his arm around the blond vampire’s shoulders possessively.

It’s not like Spike was about to complain, confused as he may be by Rupert’s behaviour. Watching Xander squirm and turn several shades of pink was even more fun than he’d anticipated. And Buffy looked all cross and bothered, which was also of the good.

“Are you through, or do you want a room?” asked Buffy sarcastically.

“Yeah—a room. We’ll have one of those,” said Spike, enjoying himself immensely.

The front door squeaked open quietly and Willow tiptoed in. She soon realized that the cloak and dagger routine was unnecessary—it looked like everyone was already awake and loitering around the living room. She guessed Buffy must have had a long night of patrolling, and Xander had waited up for her. She had no idea what Spike and Giles were doing there, but…

“Giles!” Willow squealed once it sank in that he was here and not in England where he was supposed to be. She ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck, holding him tight.

“No!” Buffy and Xander yelled in unison.

Willow jumped back in surprise and volleyed her attention between Giles and her two friends who seemed to be freaking over something she couldn’t see.

“What? What is it?” she asked them, here eyes wide with confused worry.

“That’s not Giles,” said Buffy.

“Oh, for God’s sake—you’re acting like I’ve got plague or something,” said Rupert. “Willow, it’s true, I’m not your Rupert; but I doubt I’m all that different from the man you know.”

“Hah!” Xander snorted. “Our Giles is totally different—there’s no way in a million years he’d ever sleep with Spike.”

“I resent that!” said Spike.

“It’s true,” Xander argued.

“Yeah, but I still resent it, all right?” he shot back.

“Umm…can we back up a bit?” asked Willow, looking more than a little lost. “Giles slept with Spike?”

Giles slept with Spike?!” came a high-pitched shout from the top of the stairs.

“Dawn, how many times have I told you not to eavesdrop?” Buffy demanded.

“About a gazillion,” she answered. “But it’s not like I could help it this time—you guys were practically yelling in my ear. And can we get back to the whole ‘Giles slept with Spike’ thing?”

“He’s not Giles,” Xander said. He was starting to feel like he was caught in a loop.

“He’s not our Giles,” Buffy corrected.

“Well if you all don’t want him, I’ll have him,” said Spike, squeezing Rupert’s knee. Rupert tightened his arm around the vampire like he was hanging on to a life preserver in a storm-tossed sea.

“If he’s not Giles, then who is he? And where’s our Giles? And…did he really sleep with Spike?” asked Willow.

“Giles slept with Spike?” asked Anya, who was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she descended the stairs.

“Here we go again,” Xander muttered.

“Yeah, he slept with me. Can we please get over it already?” said Spike.

“I thought Giles was on his way to England,” said Willow.

“He was,” said Anya, “but I thought he needed a nice vacation… Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Bob?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no…” Xander moaned as Anya proceeded to fill the others in on the whole story—the whole convoluted, logic-impaired tale.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Willow demanded once Anya had finished. “Giles could have ended up anywhere—he could have landed in the middle of a battle or something. And what makes you think he’d even want to go to this other dimension? You had no right.”

“Like you had a right to drag me back from the dead?” Buffy’s voice was flat, clamped tight over her roiling emotions. “All Anya did was send Giles on a nice little getaway—you ripped me out of Heaven.”

“I didn’t know you were in Heaven. I thought you were stuck in some horrible dimension of Hell!” Willow glowered back at her, and Buffy could have sworn she saw something dark coiling behind the young witch’s eyes.

“Stop it!” Rupert shouted from the couch.

All eyes turned as one to the cause of all the fuss—the man who’d remained silent through it all.

“All of you…please just stop,” he pleaded. “I cannot believe how bitter and angry you all are.”

“Maybe things are all peachy back in Smoochie-dale,” said Buffy, “but here in our world it’s not always a frolicking good time. Maybe your Buffy never died, but…”

“She did,” Rupert interjected quietly. “She died, and Willow and I brought her back. It wasn’t easy for any of us when we learned we’d taken her out of Heaven, but we got through it. Maybe the real difference is that we got through it together. Or maybe my world isn’t as far from Heaven as yours is. I can’t say I’d be thrilled about being dragged back here.”

Buffy’s eyes filled with tears, which she held back by sheer force of will. “Then maybe you should just leave. That’s all you Gileses are good for,” she said, and then she flew up the stairs and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

“That went well,” joked Xander. But no one was in the mood to laugh.

Xander approached the master bedroom with trepidation. The family had decided that their skittish guest would respond better to Xander, seeing as they’d already built up a kind of rapport. So they voted him into the job of checking on Giles.

He knocked on the door, wondering belatedly whether he should have got dressed first. There was no answer.

“Giles?” he asked, and gently pushed to door open.

Giles was perched on the end of the bed, his pillow in his lap and his head in his hands.

“Giles” asked Xander again, approaching the older man.

“Please, Xander—I’d like to be alone,” said Giles, his face still buried in his hands.

“No,” Xander said.

“No?” Giles looked up at last. Although he was trying to appear annoyed, it was impossible to hide the redness of his eyes.

“No,” Xander repeated. “I think you’ve been alone too long. Like it or not, you’re a part of this family now, and that means we share everything. So spit it out… What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” Giles said, his voice bitter with sarcasm. “I’ve only taken the trust of my dearest friends and dashed it to the ground.”

“Why? ‘Cause of the sex?” asked Xander.

“Yes because of the sex—what did you think?” Giles bit back at him.

“Okaaay—I can see the honeymoon’s over.”

“I’m sorry, Xander,” Giles said, somewhat abashed. “I know this isn’t your fault. But you have no idea what a serious indiscretion I’ve made. Last night I did things that my friends will never forgive me for—all because…”

“All because…?” prodded Xander when it became clear he had no intention of finishing the thought.

Giles studied his hands intently, debating on how much he was willing to share with someone who was essentially still a stranger. But then, considering everything they’d already shared, it seemed silly to keep anything hidden. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow sigh.

“I was lonely,” he admitted at last.

Xander sat down next to him on the bed, so close that their bare legs brushed against each other. Giles shifted nervously but didn’t move away—what would be the point? It was far too late to act prudish.

“Why were you lonely?” asked Xander. “You had us…or at least versions of us…where you came from.”

Giles glanced sidelong at the dark-eyed young man sitting next to him. He may have looked exactly like Xander, but he was different in so many ways. He’d probably never felt what true loneliness was like.

“Certainly they were my friends. But there’s always been a distance between us. I’m older. I’m Buffy’s watcher. Or at least I was until I outgrew my usefulness. Now they don’t need me at all, really.” Giles thought a moment, then amended; “No—that’s no entirely true—Buffy still needs me. But I can’t be what she wants me to be.”

“And that is…?”

“Her mother,” he answered, a sad smile on his face. “She was feeling vulnerable, and she turned to me to take over where her mother left off. She needed that kind of security. But I couldn’t do it. That wasn’t the life I wanted.”

“Then what did you want?” Xander asked, his hand rubbing softly up and down Giles’ back.

Giles swallowed hard—he wanted to say ‘this…I want this’—but he couldn’t admit that out loud. “I wanted a normal life,” he said instead. “I wanted a wife and two point five children and maybe a dog. I was so scared I’d end up old and alone in a foreign country with more regrets than blessings.”

“Wow,” said Xander with a whistle. “You really were lonely. Why did you never hook up with Buffy or Willow…or, well, any of us?”

Giles merely raised a brow at him like the very idea was absurd.

“Right,” said Xander, nodding. “’Cause you think you’re so old and it wouldn’t be proper. Whatever. But why move back to England? Why not find someone else here in Sunnydale?”

“I tried that. More than once. But my duties as Buffy’s watcher made it impossible—they either ended up fleeing in a blind panic, or worse. Much worse.”

“Jenny?” asked Xander softly.

Giles’ eyes widened; “Your Rupert dated Jenny as well?”

“He was about to marry into her family when Angelus got to her,” Xander explained, and his features darkened as he mentioned the vampire’s name. “That was when the Scoobies took Rupert into the fold. I don’t know how he would have coped otherwise.”

“It was one of the hardest times I’ve ever had to face,” said Giles, his throat tight with emotion. “Your Rupert was very lucky to have you.”

Xander couldn’t stand to see the pain in Giles’ eyes. He was obviously still mourning for her—he’d never moved on. Xander slid his hand up Giles’ back to his neck where he gently stroked his thumb along the soft skin of his hairline. He knew how soothing it could be, and to his relief, Giles didn’t fight it. Instead, he leaned into the touch, relaxing into it.

“Well now it’s your turn to be lucky to have us,” said Xander. “I think that’s why you’re here. I think you need us to give you something you were afraid to ask for back home. You don’t have to be lonely anymore. Not while you’re here.”

A tiny whimper snagged at the back of Giles’ throat as the young man pulled him into a hug. He knew that right now he’d do anything Xander wanted—anything, just to continue to have the comfort of those arms around him. He waited for the young man to take what he wanted, but Xander pulled away.

“What do you want?” asked Xander, his cheeks flushed from their embrace. His rich brown eyes bored earnestly into Giles’.

“This,” Giles admitted quietly. “I want this.”

Xander waited a beat, searching Giles’ eyes for any sign of uncertainty, and when he found none he brought his mouth up to Giles’ in a soft kiss.

Rupert tapped lightly on Buffy’s bedroom door. He’d insisted on going to check on her, despite her friends’ assurances that she just needed some space. Did they not realize that such apathy was the source of their problems, he wondered? Rupert couldn’t sit by and let Buffy slog her way through her emotional quagmire alone.

He tapped again, more loudly.

“Go away,” came Buffy’s muffled response, followed by an even more muffled sniffling.

“It’s me…Rupert,” he said.

“Oh, well—in that case… go away,” she said.

“Buffy, please. I’d really like to talk to you.”

“You’re not gonna let it drop are you?”

“No, I’m not,” he answered.

The door opened a crack. “Fine,” she said. “Come in. But I’m warning you, I’m not a pretty sight right now.”

Buffy let him in; wiping her tears dry on her sleeve. Rupert surveyed the room, noticing that it was filled with Buffy’s things and no one else’s. All the furnishings and knickknacks were meant to make the room look cheery, but to Rupert it was jarring—like a beautiful piece of music played off-key. He wandered over to her bed and picked up the stuffed pig that held the place of honour on her pillow.

“Ah, Mr. Gordo,” said Rupert to the little pig. “It’s good to see you.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you always talk to stuffed animals?” she asked, plopping heavily onto the bed, making it squeak in protest.

“No,” he answered. “Only when I can’t think of an intelligent way of starting a proper conversation.”

“Hmm…avoidance through puppetry. You may have something there.” Buffy plucked the little pink pig out of Rupert’s hands and fixed it with a serious expression. “So, Mr. Gordo, do you think Rupert here’s come to lecture me about leadership and responsibility?”

“Lecture you?” asked Rupert. He sat next to Buffy on the bed and rested his large hand over her little one. Buffy’s eyes flickered up to meet his.

“I came here to apologise, not to lecture,” he said. “I fear I behaved badly earlier, and I said some things that were overly harsh. I was out of line, and I apologise.”

Buffy sniffled. “No. I’m the one who should apologise. You didn’t do anything wrong…it’s just…well, it’s like you’re this big, beautiful tropical bird trapped inside a tiny cage. With its wings clipped. You’re just being you—I get that—but it’s gonna take a while to get used to having such a…colourful…Giles around.”

Rupert’s eyes crinkled up in a friendly smile and he wrapped his arms around his slayer.

Buffy stiffened defensively at first, but then she relaxed a bit and found that it was really nice to be hugged. She started to hug him back, burying her cheek against the cotton-covered expanse of his chest. She was reminded of a hug she once shared with Giles not too long ago. Just after he’d come back to her from England. Just after she’d returned from the grave. She remembered how safe she felt in his arms and she hugged him a bit tighter.

Only when the hug had gone on too long to be considered a simple friendly gesture did Buffy pull away.

“Sorry…was that too much?” asked Rupert.

“No, it was perfect. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“In that case, the pharmacy’s always open, whenever you need it,” he said.

“You’ll spoil me. What am I gonna do when you’re gone?”

She was attempting to be light-hearted about it, but Rupert could tell she was half-serious.

“I think you’ll find that hugs go both ways. You should never be afraid of initiating a hug—sometimes it’s a little thing like that that keeps us going.”

She sat quietly for a moment, contemplating what he’d said. “You’re right,” she said. “We don’t hug nearly enough. It’s weird—we fight side by side all the time; we risk our lives together to end apocalypses—I guess I always assumed the hugs went without saying. That’s gonna change, I promise. But I draw the line at Scooby smoochies.”

“Pity. You don’t know what you’re missing,” Rupert teased.

“Don’t push your luck, Romeo,” she teased back.

Rupert got up and headed for the door. He stopped, though, when he realized she hadn’t joined him.

“You go ahead. I need a minute to make myself pretty again,” she said.

“Alright,” he said and was about to leave when he thought of something he’d been meaning to ask for a while. “Buffy, where’s Tara?”

“I think she went back to her old apartment, why?”

“Do you really think that’s such a good idea? She’s due any day now,” said Rupert.

“Due?” she asked, fearing she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Dear Lord—of course! I hadn’t thought. Your Tara wouldn’t be pregnant—we’re not even married here.”

“Tara’s having your baby?” Buffy squeaked.

“Our baby—yes. And she could have it any time now,” he added anxiously. He hated to think he might miss the blissful event.

It was at that moment that Willow appeared in the doorway, her jaw dangling open. “Tara’s having a baby?”

Rupert and Buffy looked back at her mutely, neither one knowing what to say to the distraught redhead.

PART 9

Willow felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. Her nerves were still raw from her recent break up with Tara, and hearing her name brought it all to the surface again. But the thing that really freaked her out was the ‘having a baby’ bit.

Of course she knew it wasn’t her Tara that was pregnant, but knowing that somewhere out there there was a Willow and a Tara who were still happy together and about to have a baby…well that just stung.

She stood there blinking at Rupert and Buffy, waiting for them to say something that would make the pain go away. But they remained stubbornly mute. Willow needed to make an escape, before the pain bubbled over the top and spilled out in an embarrassing display of grief.

“Dawn’s making breakfast,” she blurted out, saying what she came there to say and beating a hasty retreat.

“Will!” Buffy shouted after her, but it was too late. She turned to Rupert, her brow creased with worry, her eyes pleading with him to fix it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go talk to her,” he said, getting up to follow the redhead.

“Rupert, wait. Be careful with her—Tara just broke up with her…and I don’t think she’s taking it so well.”

Rupert nodded and went out in search of Willow.

The guilt was still there, buried deep in his subconscious, but Giles paid it no heed. It was hard to focus on such nonsensical concepts as guilt when one was sprawled, naked and sticky, on a bed with Xander.

“Giles?” asked Xander.

Giles looked down at the dark-haired man nestled against his side. “Yes?” he asked.

“I think we’re glued together,” he said, only half joking.

“I refuse to take all the blame for that,” Giles replied.

Xander grinned goofily up at him. “I’ll race you to the shower—if we don’t go now, there won’t be any hot water left. That’s one downside to the big family thing…never enough hot water.”

“You haven’t left me with enough energy to race you anywhere. But if we leave now, I might make it there before Christmas.”

Prying himself off the older man, Xander climbed out of bed and held his hand out. Giles accepted it and allowed himself to be heaved out of bed and dragged down the hall to the bathroom.

Xander pushed open the door without bothering to knock. Steam billowed out from the curtained-off bathtub, but that didn’t deter Xander from ripping the curtain open and exposing the shower’s occupants.

Tara and Willow smiled and waved at the newcomers then squeezed over to make room in the little tub.

“You can’t be serious,” said Giles. “We can’t all fit in there.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” asked Xander. He stepped into the tub.

“Are you in or out? You’re letting all the cold air in,” said Willow, rubbing her hands over her goose bumpy arms.

Shaking his head doubtfully, Giles climbed in after Xander and an unseen hand reached behind him to close the shower curtain. He soon found himself sandwiched between two wet, soapy witches. Tara’s rounded belly nestled itself neatly in the curve of his lower back while Willow’s pert young breasts pressed firmly up against his chest.

“So…you feeling better?” Willow asked, tilting her head back so she could look up at his face.

“Much better, thank-you,” he replied. The tremor in his voice gave away his uneasiness—he wasn’t sure if he was ready to deal with so much communal closeness just yet. He was only thankful his recent dealings with Xander had left him too drained to respond to the abundance of stimulation around him.

“Soap me,” said Xander, resulting in a flurry of activity and the passing around of a very slippery bar of soap that inevitably ended up at their feet.

“I got it,” Willow volunteered. The redhead slid down along Giles’ body, wrapping her arm around him to prevent herself from falling. Her squirming attempts to grab the soap off the tub floor brought her face-to-groin with Giles; so close her hot breath tickled his tender flesh. Giles’ penis twitched, apparently not out for the count after all.

“I got it!” said Willow triumphantly.

“Good. Pass it over,” said Xander.

Willow chose the most direct path and snaked her arm between Giles’ legs, then through Tara’s where Xander’s hand was waiting to retrieve the bar of soap.

Giles gasped as Willow’s wet hair tangled around his privates, the strands clinging to his swelling cock like little fingers.

Willow untangled herself and grabbed Giles’ arm to pull herself to her feet. He figured she either hadn’t noticed his arousal, or she’d chosen to ignore it. Giles closed his eyes, trying to recite Hamlet’s soliloquy in Latin in his mind, hoping that would curb his seemingly insatiable appetite.

“Hey Giles, look!” said Willow.

Giles opened his eyes to see Willow’s hands right in front of his face.

“They’re all soapy,” she said with a beatific smile. “Now…what needs cleaning…?” she teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously. Not waiting for an answer, she trailed her soapy hands down Giles’ chest until they reached a very dirty place indeed. “Aha!”

One of her soapy hands glided deliciously over Giles’ erection, which to his amazement was formidable despite his recent activities. Her other hand lathered up his stomach and chest, pausing occasionally to tweak a pebbled nipple. As warm water sluiced the suds away, Willow’s mouth latched onto a nipple, licking and kissing her way down his chest to his belly button. Her tongue darted in and out of his navel, swirling around in the tiny orifice in a way that made his balls ache for release.

“Oh God…” Giles moaned.

Then more soapy hands joined in the fun. There was now a second hand helping Willow ‘clean’ his cock—he assumed it was Tara’s. And he was pretty sure it was also Tara slipping a bubbly digit between his butt cheeks, gently stroking the tender skin behind his balls.

“Oh, God…” Giles groaned again.

The water was starting to get cool, but Giles scarcely noticed. With four slippery hands and two pairs of lips lavishing him with attention, the world had narrowed down to the simple formula of stimulation and response. And right now, Willow’s tongue was stimulating the hell out of his rock-hard penis. Giles braced his hands against the tile wall of the tub, his eyes rolling up toward the steamy ceiling. His mouth opened in a wordless yelp of sexual gratification as he came for the second time that morning.

“Oh…Oh God!”

At first Giles thought the words had come out of his own mouth, lost as he was in the dopey afterglow of his orgasm. But then the words repeated themselves and he finally clued into the fact that it was Tara who’d spoken.

“Guys…I think my water broke,” she said.

Xander immediately went into panic mode.

“Are you sure? Of course you’re sure—why wouldn’t you be sure?” he babbled.

“Actually…I’m not really sure,” she said quietly. “I’ve never done this before—I don’t know how it’s s-supposed to feel.”

“Was it warm and gushy?” asked Willow.

“Very,” answered Tara with a firm nod of the head.

‘That means it’s time, right?” asked Xander. “Warm and gushy means the baby’s coming, right?”

“Don’t panic,” said Willow calmly, reaching behind her back to turn off the water. “Let’s all stay calm, okay? We’ve rehearsed this. Remember the power-point presentation I did?”

Xander seemed to relax instantly, knowing that Willow was taking charge of the situation.

“Okay. Good,” she said. “Now Rupert, you know the drill…”

“Uh…sorry, Willow—I’m afraid I wasn’t here for the debriefing,” said Giles with a wry twist of his lip.

“That’s it! We’re done for!” said Xander with renewed panic.

“Xander, you’re not helping,” said Willow. “Look—it’s no biggie—we just need to tweak our plans a bit.”

“Like how? What are we supposed to do?” asked Xander anxiously. “I’m needing some direction here, oh Wise Unshakable One.”

“May I suggest we first get out of the shower?” Giles volunteered.

“See? We’re doing just fine without a plan,” Willow said proudly as they all stepped out of the tub onto the fluffy pink bath mat. “Who needs a plan? Plans are for losers—I laugh at people with plans.”

The others stood waiting for further instructions, but sadly their fearless leader suddenly went all jelly-like and passed out cold at their feet.

Rupert raced through the kitchen past Dawn (who’d somehow managed to get pancake batter in her hair), and out the kitchen door. He didn’t have to go far to find Willow. She was sitting stooped over on the back step, and Rupert nearly fell over her in his haste to catch up with her.

“Willow, are you alright?” he asked, taking a seat next to her on the step.

Willow shrugged, her eyes cast down at her stocking feet. Her red hair shielded her face from his view, but Rupert didn’t have to see her face to know she was suffering.

What he didn’t know was how they handled such situations here. He had a sneaking suspicion that if he tried his usual method of providing comfort it would backfire and make things worse. So he settled for giving her a gentle pat on the back.

After a minute’s silence, Willow straightened up and brushed the hair away from her face. There was no sign of tears, but the deep creasing of her brow betrayed the heaviness of her thoughts.

“Do you think…” she said, then hesitated. “Do you think I should let her go? I made a real mess of it, Giles.”

Rupert didn’t correct her on his name. If she felt more comfortable calling him ‘Giles’ then he was okay with it. “Is this about the magicks?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “Did Buffy tell you?”

“No,” he said. “But magick is a dangerous calling. The power it unleashes can be euphoric…and extremely addicting. My Willow struggles daily with her addiction—we all help her as best we can. In the end it was decided that she should only practice magick if I’m there to keep her grounded.”

“Huh.” Willow took a moment to process this new information.

“What?” asked Rupert.

“Nothing. It’s just… before you mentioned that you helped your Willow bring Buffy back from the dead. But here I did it all by myself.”

Rupert’s eyes darkened with anger; “How could your…’Giles’…” he fairly spat the name out, “…be so stupid as to let you delve into the black arts alone? He must have known the danger it would put you in—the mystical forces you called upon will have marked you, and they will consume you whole the second your guard is down.”

Willow looked sheepishly down at her feet again. “Giles didn’t know about it. We never told him. Anyway, he wasn’t here—he’d already moved back to England, and we didn’t want to ruin his plans.”

“Dear God, Willow…didn’t you think he’d want to know you were resurrecting his slayer?”

“He would have tried to stop us,” she said defensively.

“He may have. Or perhaps, like me, he would have helped you bring her back. The point is, dark magick in the hands of a novice can be lethally volatile. Did Giles never tell you how close he came to losing himself to dark magicks?”

“You mean the Eyghon thing?” she asked.

“Yes, Eyghon…among other things,” he answered.

“That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell him about the spell. I knew he’d freak—he’s always been twitchy about letting me near the heavier spells,” said Willow. “Giles never told me everything, but I picked up enough hints over the years to know that he was holding back—he had a lot more power than he let on, and he was afraid of it. It wouldn’t have been right to put him in a position where he’d have to use that power and face those demons again.”

Rupert studied her sorrow-laden eyes and brought his large hand up to cup her chin. “If your Giles is anything at all like me, he would sooner face all the demons of his past than risk losing you.”

A flicker of gratitude lit her eyes and Rupert leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, feeling her shudder and relax under his touch.

“What’s done is done, Willow,” he said gently, looking deeply into her large, hazel eyes. “The question is, how hard are you willing to fight to put things right again?”

Willow swallowed hard, still slightly stunned by the kiss. “I don’t know if I can,” she muttered softly. “It might be too late.”

“It’s never too late to start over,” he assured her. “You asked me if you should let Tara go. I think you have to.” Willow was about to protest, but Rupert put a finger to her lips, silencing her. “You haven’t lost her for good—I’m sure she still loves you very much—but she left so you could focus your energies on healing yourself. Work on that, and I promise she’ll come back to you.”

“You think so?” she sniffled; her big eyes dampening with unshed tears.

“I know so,” he smiled back at her with confidence.

“Thanks, Rupert,” she sighed and squeezed him in a tight bear hug.

“My pleasure,” he wheezed with what little breath she’d left in him.

Giles kneeled down beside Willow and checked the pulse point at her throat. “She’s alright,” he announced to the others.

Tara and Xander looked at him expectantly.

Giles sighed. “Alright,” he said, reluctantly taking charge, “both of you get dressed…or whatever passes as such here…and go downstairs to tell the others it’s time. I’ll stay here with Sleeping Beauty until she wakes up and we’ll follow as soon as we can.

“Tara,” he added, “do you have a bag packed?”

“A bag? What for?” she asked timidly.

“Personal things…for while you’re at the hospital,” he explained.

“But I was going to have the baby at home,” she replied, swirling her palms nervously over her large abdomen.

“Oh,” said Giles, momentarily stumped. “Then I suppose we should call your midwife… You do have a midwife, don’t you?” he asked.

She nodded sadly and pointed at the lump of Willow on the floor.

“Lovely,” he sighed. “Just lovely.”

“Is it panic time yet?” Xander said, loudly panicking. “’Cause, personally, I’m good to go with the panic.”

The bathroom door opened. “Can’t a fella get a decent day’s sleep around here?” said Spike as he barged into the cramped bathroom. “Oi! What happened to Red?” he asked, spotting Willow passed out on the floor.

“Funny thing,” said Xander. “She’s all ‘let me be in charge; I wanna deliver the baby’. But Tara’s water breaks and she’s suddenly Unconscious Girl.”

A broad grin spread across Spike’s face: “It’s time? I’m gonna be a dad?” he beamed.

Tara ducked her head shyly and nodded, a little overwhelmed at being the centre of so much attention. Secretly she was almost thankful Willow had passed out; at least it diverted some of the attention away from her.

Spike immediately wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her out to the hall. “Well? Don’t just stand there,” he called over his shoulder at Xander. “We’ve got work to do.”

Xander snapped to attention at the barked command, the military in him instantly responding to the authority in the vampire’s voice. The three of them took off, leaving Giles to tend to Willow.

He rummaged through the linen closet to find a washcloth, which he then soaked with cold water. He sat on the floor again and cradled her head in his lap, applying the cold cloth to her forehead.

Willow’s eyes slowly blinked open and she smiled dazedly at the bright, hazy light all around her. A moment later she focused on Giles’ face, hovering above her.

“Are we dead?” she asked drowsily. “Is this Heaven?”

“No, Willow. You’re very much alive, and this is the bathroom, not Heaven,” he said—though for a moment it came pretty close, he thought.

“I had the weirdest dream,” said Willow. “I dreamt that you’d left us and you missed the joining. And then Tara went into labour, and you were going to miss that, too…but look—you’re here! I’m so glad you’re here… I love you, Rupert.”

Giles blinked back at her, momentarily taken aback by her proclamation of love. “I… I love you as well, Willow,” he said. “But I’m afraid that wasn’t a dream. Your Rupert isn’t here. And Tara really is in labour.”

Willow bolted upright and pretty purple fireworks went off behind her eyes.

“Take it easy, Willow,” said Giles, clasping her arms to stop her from falling over.

“Take it easy? We’re about to become parents and you want me to take it easy?”

“I only meant that if you get up too quickly you might faint again,” said Giles.

“Oh. Right. Valid point,” she conceded. “Help me up?”

Giles took her by the elbows and brought her to her feet. It was odd how quickly he seemed to have overcome his issues with nudity. Perhaps it was just because he was too preoccupied with the arrival of the baby to care that he and the others were constantly naked, but he doubted it. Nudity was simply starting to feel…natural.

Willow gave Giles a weird look. “Giles? You can let go now, I’m okay.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “My mind wandered for a moment there.”

“Don’t fizzle out on me now,” she said. “I need you fully functioning to perform the cleansing spell.”

“Th-the what?” he sputtered.

“Oops! That’s right—you don’t know about that, do you?” she said and her forehead instantly developed more lines than a road map. “This is seriously not good. The spell needs to be cast as the baby’s head is crowning.”

“Why? What do you need a cleansing spell for?” asked Giles.

“There’s a very good chance Oz is the biological father…” she said.

“I see…and the cleansing spell is to ensure the werewolf part of him doesn’t pass on to the baby,” he concluded.

“Got it in one.”

“And if Oz isn’t the child’s father?” he asked.

“Then we’ll have a baby with a super squeaky-clean aura,” said Willow with a proud, toothy grin. But when she saw Giles’ pensive expression her smile dimmed. “This is a lot to ask, I know…especially since it means putting off getting you home…but the spell needs to be done. You do know how to do the spell, don’t you?”

His frown deepened. “It’s not that I don’t know how to do the spell…in theory, at least. It’s just that my…skills…aren’t advanced enough to handle such powerful magicks.”

Willow giggled, and kept on laughing despite Giles’ glowering. “Not advanced enough?” she said and burst into a fresh bout of giggles.

“I fail to see what’s so funny,” he said tersely.

“You’ve raised demons and dabbled in Chaos…you nearly brought down the British government with a spell…but you don’t think you’re advanced enough to do a little cleansing spell?!” She snorted, clutching at her sides as she surrendered to her laughter.

Giles felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him off-balance. He leaned against the sink, grasping the cool porcelain to keep upright as he stared blankly at the giddy woman in front of him.

She knew.

Obviously his counterpart had shared much more of his past with her than he had with his own Willow. But did she know everything, he wondered? He doubted it—she wouldn’t be laughing so hard if she did.

“If you know so much about me, then you’ll understand why I’m hesitant about using magicks that draw on such primal forces. This is not a ‘little’ spell you’re asking me to do. It would be dangerous for me to attempt it alone, given my…history.”

Willow fought to reign in her mirth in order to form a cohesive sentence. “Silly! You won’t be doing the spell alone! Why would you even think I’d ask you to do it alone? That’s just…stupid,” she said and gave him a playful little shove.

Giles was baffled but relieved. He would have done the spell by himself if it had come to that, but he had to admit he was overwhelmingly grateful he wouldn’t have to. He was confused, however, as to who would be helping him. The only other people in the family with skills in magick were Willow and Tara, and both of them would be rather busy when it came time to do the spell.

Willow answered his unspoken question: “Wesley’s helping out with the spell. Oz has probably already called him.”

“But he’s in L.A., isn’t he? It’ll take hours for him to get here. We may not have hours,” he said nervously.

“Don’t worry about that—Anya’s got it covered,” said Willow. She took him by the hand and led him out the door. “You just concentrate on getting the spell right.”

Buffy came downstairs to a relatively normal domestic scene. There was bacon and pancakes and everyone was gathered around the dining room table, smiling and chatting amiably. Even Willow seemed to be having a quiet moment of happiness. The only unsettling thing about the scene was Rupert and Spike sitting side-by-side and holding hands.

Although Xander was doing his best to ignore them, the others seemed to be fine with the new couple. Buffy could see no reason why she should object—it wasn’t her Giles, after all—so she mentally shrugged and moved past the weirdness. Anyway, it was hard to be upset with Rupert. He was kind of cute…and he’d somehow managed to cheer up Willow, so extra brownie points for that.

Still, when this was over and she had her own Giles back, she’d have to have a serious chat with Spike about the ‘hands-off’ rule for her Watcher. There was no way he was going to get his cold, undead hands on her Giles. Buffy’s eyes widened at the proprietary nature of her thoughts. Since when had she thought of him as ‘her’ Giles, she wondered?

Buffy took a seat at the end of the table and poured herself a tall glass of orange juice, shaking off the thought.

“So, Anya,” she said, “did you get a hold of your friend Boba Fett?”

“You mean Bobrachnilothtot?” asked Anya, to which Buffy nodded. “No, why? Was I supposed to?”

Everyone glared at her like she’d said perms were back in style.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“Uh… Sweetie—you were planning on getting our Giles back, weren’t you?” asked Xander with an air of strained patience.

“He’ll be back,” she said. “Bob only sent him away for a couple of weeks.”

“Uh…” Rupert interrupted, drawing everyone’s attention. “I hate to put a damper on your friend’s holiday, but I really do have to get back. I’m due to become a father any day now—so the sooner I can get home the better.”

Rupert felt Spike’s hand tense underneath his own and he turned to face him in time to see the vampire’s quickly concealed look of disappointment. Rupert squeezed his hand gently, but Spike pulled it away and refused to meet his eye.

Anya sighed in defeat. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But finding Bob is a lot more difficult than you might think.”

“I thought you said he was vacationing in Florida,” said Buffy.

“Oh, he is,” she agreed readily. “But which one? There are millions of Floridas and only one Bob to go around.”

“Well how did you find him the last time?” asked Dawn as she snatched the last piece of bacon off the serving platter before Xander could get it.

“Luck,” Anya answered. “His wife Marcy told me where he was the last time he called her, and he just happened to still be there. But he bounces around a lot—skips out on his hotel bills by hightailing it to a new dimension every few days.”

Buffy’s expression grew stormy. “You’re still going to try, though. And if he’s not there, you’re going to track him down until you find him, right?” It wasn’t a question.

“Fine—no need to get snippy,” said Anya. “First thing after work I’ll call Marcy…”

“Now,” Buffy insisted.

“But the store,” Anya protested.

“I’ll look after it for you,” Rupert offered.

Anya looked at him distrustfully. “You won’t kiss any customers, will you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered, his lip curling up in a sly smile.

Anya seemed pacified enough by his promise to behave and with a brief round of farewells she was out the door, Xander in tow.

“C’mon, Rupert,” said Buffy. “I’ll drop you off at the store on the way to Dawn’s school.”

As they gathered themselves up to leave, Spike rose to his feet. “Right. I’m coming with you,” he said to Rupert.

“No, you’re not,” Rupert replied firmly. “It’s daylight. I’ll see you when I get back from the shop.”

“Yeah—if Anya doesn’t send you packing, that is,” Spike sulked under his breath.

Rupert pulled him aside, away from the prying ears of the girls. “I suppose I can’t promise I’ll return. But we both knew I’d have to go back to my own home eventually.”

“But so soon?” said Spike, keeping his voice low and casting cautious glances at Willow and the Summers girls. “I thought…well I thought we’d have a bit more time, is all.”

Rupert smiled wistfully and grabbed hold of the lapels of Spike’s duster, yanking him forward into a kiss. Rupert almost forgot they had an audience until he heard Dawn giggling.

Giles sat by the bedroom door and kept looking up from his book, casting worried glances at Tara, as if the baby might suddenly spring from her loins, catching him off guard. She was resting serenely on the bed as various family members came and went, offering their services in making her more comfortable. So far her contractions had been few and far between, and Tara seemed to be taking it all in stride.

Giles only wished they could take her to the hospital—these home-birthing experiences were fraught with danger. But under the circumstances they had little choice—he doubted the hospital staff would think too kindly of strangers performing witchcraft in the labour room. He got a mental image of it and had to smile. Tara smiled back at him and waved, assuming he’d been smiling at her.

Giles waved in return and looked at his watch nervously. It had been over an hour since Tara’s water broke and there was still no word from Wesley. He fought the urge to bite his fingernails—an old habit he’d abandoned ages ago in favour of eyeglass fiddling, but still reverted to when deprived of his spectacles. Giles ignored the fluttering nerves in his stomach and buried his nose in his book of incantations.

He’d never performed a cleansing spell before, and the language of the incantation was an obscure dialect of Old French—not one of his stronger languages. If only it were Latin, he thought disparagingly. He could do Latin. He was so engrossed in his studies that he failed to hear the front door opening and the clumping sound of footsteps climbing the stairs. His first indication that there was a new arrival in the room was the sound of Wesley’s voice coming from the open doorway.

“Rupert!” he boomed. “Come here, you big old mutt—get your head out of that book and say hello!”

“Wesley!” Giles beamed, relief fairly dripping from his voice. He quickly laid the book on his chair and stood to greet the anxiously awaited ex-watcher, noting as he faced him how different he seemed from the Wesley he knew back home.

He didn’t so much as flinch when the younger man pulled him into a kiss. Nor did he fight the hands that slid firmly down his bare chest to rest on his hips. Whatever inhibitions he’d had when he came to this dimension had abandoned ship and left him to fend for himself.

Not that that was a bad thing, necessarily, he thought, as Wesley’s hot tongue gained entrance to his mouth and tangled with his own. Giles deepened the kiss, his fingers twining in Wesley’s thick brown hair.

Wesley finally pulled back, his lips pleasantly swollen and his eyes half-mast as if still imagining himself in Giles’ embrace.

“Wow,” said Wesley, catching his breath. “That was…uh…quite the welcome.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” said Giles, slightly embarrassed by his own enthusiasm.

“I could tell,” Wesley purred huskily in reply.

“But how did you get here so quickly? Weren’t you in Los Angeles?”

Wesley looked at him askance, wondering if he was being serious. Willow had drilled them so hard and so frequently on what they were supposed to do that it seemed impossible Rupert could have forgotten.

Anya appeared in the doorway behind Wesley, followed by a badly sunburned, scrawny old man in Bermuda shorts, wearing a hideously floral sunhat that only partially obscured the horns on his head.

“I pulled in a favour from my friend Bob,” said Anya, then proceeded to kiss Giles hello. “He offered to provide emergency teleportation in exchange for a front-row seat at the big event.”

“I can’t believe my little Sweet Pea’s all grown up and having children of her own,” said Bobrachnilothtot, getting all teary-eyed. “I’m so proud I could burst!”

“Don’t worry—he won’t really burst,” said Anya, as if they’d presumed he might just do that.

“Ah!” cried Bob, clapping eyes on the expectant mother. He pushed his way between Giles and Wesley and scurried over to Tara. He hovered uncertainly for a moment with his hands poised over her bare belly. “May I?” he asked.

Tara nodded proudly and Bob gently placed his hands on her tummy, oohing and ahhing appreciatively. Tara giggled, but not for long—the giggling turned to pained panting and grunting as she was hit by another contraction.

“I didn’t do it, I swear!” Bob exclaimed, swinging around to face the others in a panic.

“That was a contraction, Bob,” Wesley explained calmly. “I thought Anya said you’ve been around for thousands of years; have you never witnessed childbirth before?”

“Not a human one,” he answered. “Not many humans are keen to have demons present at such an occasion. Is…is it supposed to be so painful?” he asked worriedly as Tara’s moaning grew louder.

No one had a chance to answer, though, as Willow came crashing through the door, her arms overflowing with candles and pillows. Giles and Wesley rushed to relieve her of her burden.

“Tara, sweetie,” said Willow, taking her position next to her. “Remember your breathing.” She demonstrated helpfully, getting a positively hateful glare from Tara in response.

“Okaaay—I’m being quiet now, see?” said Willow with a frightened little smile.

The contraction eased at last and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. With the fear of decapitation no longer deterring her, Willow took the opportunity to examine the mother-to-be.

“Is it almost over?” wheezed Tara hopefully.

Willow shook her head, her big eyes filled with regret at having to deliver the bad news. “Don’t kill me, okay? But it looks like we’re just starting.”

PART 11

Rupert might have been joking with Anya about not kissing the customers, but after a couple of hours working at The Magic Box, he was beginning to think the people in this dimension wouldn’t kiss each other if their lips were on fire. It was all he could do to wrest a smile from most of the embittered souls that entered the shop.

He was feeling so miserable and lonely that when Willow and a smouldering, blanket-wrapped Spike arrived through the door, he practically jumped them.

Willow sniggered as Rupert enthusiastically smothered her face in kisses before transferring his affections to Spike, who smiled despite himself.

“Honestly, Rupert,” said Spike. “You’re like a puppy’s been locked up all day. Did you miss us? Don’t hold back, now.”

Rupert swatted the vampire’s ass playfully. “That’s for being cheeky,” he said.

“That so?” asked Spike. “What do I get if I’m really naughty?”

Rupert leered at him and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “That would require a first-hand demonstration of how I got the name ‘Ripper’.”

Spike’s blue eyes lit up and a sly grin coiled its way into the corners of his mouth. “Mind the shop, would you, Red?” said Spike huskily. “Ripper and I need a little one-on-one time.”

He pulled Rupert past a sputtering Willow and into the empty training room in the back of the store. Barely was the door shut behind them when Spike had the Watcher pinned against the wall. His cool lips clamped desperately onto Rupert’s while his hands made quick work of his belt and zipper.

Rupert was loath to interrupt Spike’s eager advances, but if he didn’t stop him now, it would be too late to turn back. With considerably effort, he managed to pry Spike off him and keep him at arm’s length.

Spike looked at him, confused and maybe a little hurt.

“Spike—I’d love to, I really would,” said Rupert, doing up his trousers. “But I don’t think we should leave Willow alone in the shop. Not with the…difficulties…she’s had of late. She’s too vulnerable to temptation to be left to her own devices in a magic shop.”

“So I have to suffer ‘cause the witch’s got control problems? That’s hardly fair, is it?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. You can’t fool me, you know, Spike. I’ve seen the way you look at Willow—I know you’ve got a soft spot for her.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the soft bits of me I’m thinking about right now. ‘Sides—maybe what she needs is to be shown a little trust. If we go rushing back in there she’ll think we don’t trust her. Ever think of that?” he remarked smugly.

“Spike…” Rupert warned.

“Alright. But you have to promise me you’ll make up for it,” said Spike.

“Any time, any place,” Rupert agreed solemnly. “Just not now.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Spike muttered as they made their way out into the store.

Willow was standing rigid as a board in the middle of the sales floor. She looked deeply distressed, as if the products on the shelves were out to condemn her. Only when she saw Rupert and Spike re-emerge from the training room did she allow herself to take a deep breath and relax her limbs.

“I didn’t touch anything, I swear,” she said vehemently, as if they’d accused her.

Rupert chuckled softly. “I never thought you would,” he assured her. “Nevertheless, I thought you might feel more comfortable with a bit of company.”

She smiled gratefully at him. “Don’t feel like you have to baby-sit me, though. I know you were…busy…in there,” she said, but it was obvious she was hoping he wouldn’t take her at her word.

“Nonsense,” said Rupert quickly, before Spike could open his mouth to take advantage of her offer. “It’s no trouble whatsoever.”

Spike sighed dramatically and dropped into a chair, propping his feet up on the table. He rummaged in his duster for his cigarettes and proceeded to light up, defying anyone to object.

Twelve hours later and it was apparent that Wesley’s hasty arrival had not been necessary. Willow had informed them all that these things happen in their own time, and that, so long as the baby was doing okay, there was no need to worry. She also informed them—repeatedly—that it wasn’t necessary for the entire family to be in the bedroom throughout the whole ordeal. So they took turns, going up to visit Tara in pairs or threesomes and returning to the anxiously awaiting group with progress updates.

Giles had spent the extra time going over the incantation. In fact, he’d gone over it so many times that he’d committed it to memory. He’d also spent so much time fiddling with the ritual candles that Willow threatened to light one and give him a hot beeswax enema if he didn’t desist.

With so many people hanging around with very little to do but wait and worry, the kitchen became a popular place to be. Preparing dinner suddenly became a huge event, involving more cooks than the little kitchen could comfortably hold. Vegetables were chopped and chicken was grilled, but when it was all over, no one had much of an appetite, and the feast sat mostly untouched on the dinner table. Even Xander, famous for his unstoppable appetite, could only manage to put away one chicken breast and a small mound of scalloped mashed potatoes.

Giles was now pacing back and forth in the upstairs hallway, having been banned from the makeshift labour room for excessive fidgeting. As he paced, he mumbled the incantation over and over under his breath. Wesley came up behind him, catching him mid-pace.

“Rupert?” he asked, laying his hand gently on Giles’ shoulder. Giles jumped and spun around at the unexpected touch.

Wesley gave him an understanding look. “Try not to worry yourself,” he said soothingly. “Willow’s got everything under control.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he said.

“Then what?” asked Wesley. “The spell? Rupert, love, I know you think I’m not up to the task, but I assure you I am more than capable of keeping you grounded during your moment of glory.”

Giles looked at him with renewed fear. It had never occurred to him that Wesley’s skills might not be up to par—he had, after all, proved himself on more than one occasion out in Los Angeles. At least that was the word from Cordelia. Perhaps things were different in this dimension. Perhaps, here, Wesley was still a wet-behind-the-ears prat. Giles quickly dismissed the idea—the man before him was definitely no prat.

“Rupert! That’s where you’re supposed to say, ‘don’t be a silly old fool, Wesley; of course you’re up to it’,” Wesley said with a nervous little laugh. “You do think I’m up to it…don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he answered, although he was less certain now than he had been before their discussion. To hide his doubt from Wesley, he pulled the apprehensive younger man into a hug, complete with reassuring back pats.

The day had come and gone with no news from Anya. And as the sun set, Buffy headed out on patrol, dragging a protesting Spike along with her. Rupert was pretty sure the only reason she’d taken Spike with her was to keep the two of them apart. Their displays of affection seemed to disturb her, especially when Dawn would giggle or make a comment.

Rupert resigned himself to the possibility that he might have to spend the night alone. He couldn’t say he cared much for the idea.

As midnight reared its head, and the group was slowly disbanding to head off to their own beds, Anya showed up at the door. Xander, who was the last one left in the living room with Rupert, perked up the instant she arrived. Again, Rupert couldn’t help feeling that it was the prospect of being left alone with him that made Xander so happy to see Anya. Even though he’d been careful not to offend the young man, he was clearly not over the kiss they’d shared. Rupert sighed as Xander made a show of lavishing Anya with hugs and kisses in an attempt to prove his manliness.

“Xander…not here,” said Anya. “You’re always telling me we should wait ‘til we get home…unless you want Rupert to join in?” she asked hopefully.

The death rays issuing from his eyes was a good indication of what Xander thought of a three-way with Rupert.

“Calm down, Xander, I was only kidding…sort of,” she added.

“Were you successful in locating your friend Bob?” asked Rupert, wisely steering the conversation in a new direction.

“No,” said Anya, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Marcy said he took off on a side trip. He wasn’t in Florida—not in any of the good dimensions, at least. Will you tell Buffy for me?” she pleaded, her lower lip jutting out in a sweet little pout.

“Certainly,” said Rupert. “I’ll tell her in the morning.”

“Thanks,” said Anya, suddenly her cheerful self again. She turned to Xander: “Let’s go home. You can pick up where you left off.”

Anya yanked a grinning Xander out the door, and Rupert found himself alone.

With Spike’s return looking doubtful and the chances of going home any time soon remote, his mood took a nosedive. As he set up his blankets and pillow on the sofa, brooding thoughts overwhelmed him. He felt like he was being punished somehow—stuck in this loveless dimension and being forced to miss two of the most important moments in his young family’s life together. He couldn’t help thinking bitterly that the Giles from this dimension didn’t deserve the great honour of being part of his family. If what his so-called friends had said of him was true, then he’d probably run screaming from them the moment they laid lips on him. Which meant that all their careful preparations for the joining ceremony were for nought—all because his doppelganger was a sexually repressed stick in the mud. He didn’t even want to think what might happen if he didn’t make it home in time for the birth of Tara’s baby. His role in the birthing process was crucial, and he feared Wesley would have to perform the spell solo…a grim thought indeed.

Rupert grumbled miserably as he slid under the blankets and clicked off the light. He stared up at the moon-greyed ceiling, thoughts churning so violently in his head that he knew any attempt at sleep would be futile. Still, he snuggled up against the back of the couch on the off chance that pressing into the cushions might be enough to fool him into thinking he wasn’t alone.

It was hopeless.

He was about to click on the light and give up on sleep altogether, when the front door opened and Buffy tiptoed in. Without Spike.

Rupert feigned sleep, keeping his breathing low and even. He heard Buffy moving around in the front hall, shucking off her shoes and jacket. Then he heard the soft creaking of the floorboards as she snuck into the living room and stopped right in front of the couch. For a moment he thought she was on to him, but he kept up the pretence of sleep anyway, in case he was wrong.

The last thing he expected was to feel her soft lips press gently against his forehead. Rupert fought the urge to open his eyes—it wouldn’t do to scare her off. He lay still, waiting for her to leave.

“Nice try, Rupert,” she said softly in his ear, and she turned on the lamp. “I know you’re awake.”

Rupert opened his eyes cautiously, unsure what to expect from her. She seemed so hot and cold towards him that it was impossible to guess what she was thinking. But she was smiling, and that was enough encouragement for him to sit up and make room for her on the couch next to him.

“Is it true?” she asked.

“Is what true?”

“Spike said you’ve never slept alone before. Is that true, or did you just tell him that to get him into bed with you?”

“It’s true,” said Rupert. “I’ve never spent the night alone before—it just isn’t done where I come from. Family, friends, co-workers…there’s always someone willing to take you in and make you feel welcome. Actually, this is the first time in my life I’ve ever truly been alone.”

Buffy could hear the bitter emotion brewing in Rupert’s voice, and she suddenly felt very guilty for ordering Spike to stay away.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Rupert, his green eyes softening at the humble request.

“It’s just…I could never tell Giles this—he’d freak! But telling you is kind of like telling him, only without the fallout. Know what I mean?”

Rupert nodded and waited for her to continue.

“I kissed Spike!” she declared boldly, and quickly covered her mouth with her hands as if she’d uttered an obscenity at a priest.

Rupert tried his best to act surprised, even though he’d witnessed the event from the sidelines in the cemetery.

“And not just once,” she added quietly. “I’ve kissed hem a few times.” Her huge eyes peered up at him like a puppy being scolded by its master. He had no idea why she was so worried what he would think, but his reaction was obviously very important to her.

“Do any of the others know?” he asked.

“No. And they never will,” she said adamantly. “I was weak, and it was stupid, and it will never happen again. Not ever.

“You may not know this, but I haven’t had the best track record when it comes to dating vampires. The whole soulless, undead thing tends to make life messy…especially for my friends. If Giles knew that I’d kissed Spike, despite everything he went through with Angelus, he’d never look at me the same way again. And I don’t think I could handle that. If I told him, it might ruin our friendship.”

“No,” said Rupert sadly. “It’s keeping secrets like this from him and cutting him off from your feelings that will do the damage in the long run. If you truly value your friendship, you’ll tell him what you’ve told me. Have a little faith in the strength of his love for you—he won’t let you down.”

Buffy’s eyes welled up with tears and he gathered her against him to let her cry it out. A short while later, feeling drained and dishevelled, Buffy wiped the tears off her face and looked up at Rupert gratefully.

“Skootch over,” she ordered.

“Pardon?”

“If I’m gonna sleep here on the couch with you, I’m gonna need a lot more room than this,” she answered.

Rupert gladly ‘skootched’ over to let her lie down next to him. She quickly hogged a good portion of the blankets and pounded the pillow until it was puffed just the way she liked it.

“Are you quite settled?” he asked, amused.

“Almost,” she said and pulled his arm around her. “There…perfect.”

END PART 11