Till Time Shall Cease

by sahiya

Summary:

Post-"Flooded" AU: An angry, exhausted watcher, a glowery, ensouled vampire, and a suicidally depressed slayer find themselves in the flat-share from hell in London. And, oh yes, did I mention that something's haunting Highgate Cemetery?

Notes:

This was written for my day at summer_of_giles. A million thanks are owed to antennapedia, fuzzyboo03, and kivrin for hand-holding, brainstorming, picking the nits that had to be picked, helping me see the forest for the trees, and, in the case of Antenna, dragging my ass to Highgate in the first place back in January, without which this story wouldn't exist at all.

Chapter 1

Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.
                                - Christina Rossetti, "Dream Land"

Giles was dozing on the sofa, his paperback open face-down on his chest, when he heard the faint scrape of tires turning into the driveway. He opened his eyes and dragged himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his face. He prayed it was Buffy; she'd not come home that evening, nor called to tell them she was spending the night in LA or that ambiguous place she'd gone to meet Angel.

He could only hope she had sense enough not to spend the night with him. Or at the very least, not in any way that would endanger herself or others. Normally he'd have thought better of her, but just now - well, she wasn't herself, to put it mildly. He didn't know exactly what was wrong; post-traumatic stress seemed likely, not to mention entirely understandable considering where she'd spent the last two months. But there was something else. There was a reason that when he reached out to her, she pulled away.

She was lying to him about something.

Someone fumbled with the doorknob. Giles twitched back the curtains to see out, but the porch light wasn't working, along with everything else in the house. He stood as the door swung open, and then a familiar voice swore colorfully.

Giles stiffened instantly. "Angel," he said, stepping into view. "What are you - good lord." He broke off, staring at Buffy in Angel's arms, curled limply against his chest. Her eyes were closed, her face smoothed out. "What did you do to her?"

"Do?" Angel said, glowering in his turn. "I didn't do anything. She's sleeping, Giles. Now invite me in so I can put her to bed."

"Give her to me," Giles answered, stepping forward and holding out his arms.

Angel stepped back. "No. Invite me in."

"I hardly think -"

"Invite. Me. In."

Angel's tone made Giles raise his eyebrows, startled. It had been years since they'd been true allies, of course; on the few occasions they'd worked together out of necessity, it had been an uneasy, tenuous dance. Giles had been comforted, in a rather petty way, that no matter what happened, he had the moral high ground when it came to Angel. But now - underlying Angel's even tone was pure fury. It made Giles's heart pound in fight or flight instinct, but he controlled it. He braced himself on either side of the threshold and said, "Give me one reason I should."

"Because I have information you don't. If you love Buffy, you'll invite me in and listen to what I have to say."

Giles frowned. In Angel's arms, Buffy sighed, turning her face in towards his chest. Giles gritted his teeth. "Come in."

"Thank you." Angel stepped inside. Giles shut the door behind him and turned, watching as he carried Buffy up the stairs. He could just see the top of her blond head. Her hair was darker than it had been in years. Darker, somehow, than it had been when she'd died.

He followed Angel up the stairs, pulled back the covers on Buffy's bed, and glanced away while Angel tugged her jeans off, leaving her in her tank top and knickers. Then Giles tucked the covers back over her, up to her chin. He stroked his hand over her head and closed his eyes, feeling his throat close up at the sheer and utter relief of having her here.

The relief masked terror, of course. Terror that this was far too great a gift for him to be allowed to keep it. And not a little terror at what she might be hiding from him.

She moved under his hand. "Giles?" she mumbled.

"Hush. Angel brought you home. Go back to sleep."

"Mmm." She subsided, sinking into the covers. He turned and realized Angel was gone. He let out a silent, relieved breath, glad the vampire hadn't been witness to that moment.

Unfortunately, Angel was waiting for him in the entryway. His heavy brows were lowered; he glowered as Giles trudged down the stairs and nodded toward the front door. "When did my standing invitation get revoked?"

"I believe they did a general cleansing last year. Spike," Giles added with a vague gesture as he moved past him - carefully, he was always careful in Angel's presence. He glanced at the sofa and elected to stay standing.

"Ah. Yes. Spike." Angel grimaced.

For once Giles could only agree. He removed his glasses to polish them. "Much as I enjoy chatting with you, it's two in the morning and I invited you in for a reason. You have information that will help Buffy?"

"Yeah." To Giles's annoyance, Angel came into the living room and sat in one of the armchairs left somehow unscathed from the fight the night before. Giles now felt as though he were looming. He gritted his teeth and sat as well, in a corner of the sofa. Angel leaned forward, elbows on his knees."Did Buffy tell you where she was when she was dead?"

Giles frowned. "No. Willow said she was in a hell dimension. And the way she's been acting -"

"And how did Willow know that?" Angel asked, a very hard edge to his voice.

"I -" Giles shook his head. "Angel, I'm in no mood for games. Will you kindly come to the point?"

"The point is that I came back from hell." Angel stood abruptly - Giles controlled a flinch - and began pacing. "I came back, and I know how I felt and I know how I was, and Buffy -" He paused. "She wasn't in hell, Giles. I started asking questions and she finally told me the truth."

He paused. Giles tried to summon a glower of his own, but he was suddenly too afraid of where this was going. "Angel -"

"She was in heaven. And Willow - Willow tore her out of it." Angel ran a hand through his hair and resumed pacing. "She tore her out of it and Buffy woke up in her coffin, and now everyone wonders why she won't - why she isn't how she used to be, ready to deal with bills and slaying and - and life again!"

Giles stared at him, stunned. Good Christ, was all he could think. He'd known she was lying about something. "There must be some mistake. She never told me - she never told any of us -"

"She told Spike," Angel said flatly, meeting Giles's eyes.

Giles sank back into the sofa. "My God. I - I didn't know." She hadn't told him.

Why hadn't she told him? Or had she tried to tell him, tried to make him see it yesterday? She'd been in such pain, he could hardly bear to look at her. Had she hoped he would somehow know? That he would somehow look at her and sense the truth?

If she had, he'd failed her. As he had in so many other ways. He shook his head. "I didn't know," he repeated.

"Obviously," Angel said, glaring. Giles opened his mouth to defend himself - though what he could possibly say when he'd been thinking the very same thing, he had no idea - but Angel held his hand up. Something in his eyes made Giles think twice before interrupting. "Heaven or hell, you know, coming back from it isn't that different. I needed peace, and rest, and quiet. Someone to take care of me until I could take care of myself. And time. A lot of time. Buffy gave me that. You . . ." He shook his head and gave a quiet, humorless laugh. "I could kill Willow with my bare hands right now, and I honestly don't think I'd waste much time brooding over it, but, Giles, I really expected better from you."

Giles flushed. "I -"

"Shut up. Let me guess. You have some bizarre idea about what's best for her, don't you?"

Giles felt his temper snap. He stood, folded his arms over his chest, and glared at Angel. "And if I do, I certainly wouldn't be the first, now, would I?"

To Giles's petty satisfaction, this seemed to give Angel pause. He shook his head and let both his arms drop to his sides. "This is not what she needs, Giles. To be here, in this house. Facing Willow every day over the breakfast table. She wants Buffy to thank her for bringing her back, did you know that? Everyone needs something from her. And you, the one person who should know better, you're having conversations within earshot of her about how you think she came back damaged."

Giles took an involuntary step backward. The backs of his knees hit the sofa. "I never meant -"

"I don't care what you meant. I care that I spent three hours tonight listening to her cry." Angel turned his back briefly. Giles saw his shoulders move, once, twice, and when he spoke he kept his face half-turned away. "I want to help her, Giles. And I know you do, too. You have to see that she can't be here right now."

Giles looked away, rubbing a hand over his face. She'd told Spike. Of all the people she could have told, she'd told Spike. For some reason that gave him the same horrible, gut-wrenching sense of inevitable tragedy that he'd had all last spring, like watching a trainwreck because he couldn't bear not to. He'd watched Buffy fall to her death once before. He'd be damned before he'd watch her do it again, in slow motion this time. He couldn't. It would kill him.

Angel was right - he had to get her out of here. This place was poisonous.

"I'll take her to England," he said at last. "There's a coven there. They might be able to do something for her."

"Great," Angel said. "I'm coming with you."

Giles stared. "When hell freezes over."

"You know what, Giles? If it weren't for me, you'd still be in the dark. I'm really sorry you got hurt when I lost my soul, but don't you think it's time you -"

"If you finish that sentence with get over it," Giles said, narrowing his eyes, "I will laugh in your face, and then I will stake you." He stepped away, toward the door. "You can't come with us because the coven would never allow you onto their grounds. Thank you for the information. I'm sure Buffy will call you when we get back." He opened it and stood aside, refusing to look the vampire in the eye.

Angel didn't move. "It'll take me a few days to take care of things in LA. Take her to the coven, and I'll meet you someplace else."

"No," Giles said flatly.

"Damn it, Giles -"

"She doesn't need you," Giles said, raising his head. "She has me."

Angel crossed his arms over his chest. "You've been to hell, then, have you? Or heaven? She was honest with you about where she'd been? You knew enough to ask?" He paused; Giles gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the doorknob until his knuckles turned white. "No? Then I think she does need me. And I am asking you to get over that."

Goddamn him for being right. Giles looked away. "We'll meet someplace else then. Buffy can decide where."

"When?"

"I can't say yet. It'll take me a few days to make the travel arrangements, and I don't want to rush things at the coven."

"Fine. Tell Buffy I'll be in touch."

He left without a backward glance. Giles shut the door behind him and shot the bolt. He leaned against it, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then he replaced them and climbed the stairs, slowly.

Giles had left her bedside lamp on in case she woke. She was curled up on her side, facing the light. She hadn't been sleeping, she'd told him. She had nightmares. He'd assumed that they were of the place she'd been, but the truth was so much more complicated than that. This was the nightmare; being here, with them, must feel like hell to her. No wonder she hadn't told any of them the truth. They were all so unspeakably happy she was back, how could she possibly tell them she wasn't?

She should have, though. She should have told him. He hadn't been involved with the spell. Willow had made damn sure he knew nothing about it. But she hadn't told him. She'd told Spike, who, Giles guessed, was sitting on the information, using it to get closer to her. She'd told the person least able or willing to help her, the one most likely to follow her straight down into the abyss. He could see her teetering on it - had seen it yesterday, too, and not known why. Thank God Angel had dragged the truth out of her. At least he had her well-being at heart, and the good sense to tell Giles.

There had been a moment, he thought, in the Magic Box the day before, when she'd almost told him. And then she'd decided not to. And then he'd left. Left her alone to wrap her hands and beat up on the punching bag. Back to business as usual. He should have known. She should have told him. Was she afraid of what he'd do? To Willow, perhaps? If so, she should have been. He understood all too well what Angel had meant when he'd said he could cheerfully kill Willow with his bare hands. Rank, arrogant amateur didn't even cover it.

He couldn't sleep at all after everything. He didn't even try. He read distractedly for the next four hours, but the paperback - something cheap he'd picked up in Heathrow when he realized he'd been in such a hurry he hadn't even packed a book - couldn't hold his interest. He was relieved to put it aside when he heard the others stirring upstairs.

He shuffled into the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, and located bread, eggs, and cinnamon for French toast. By the time Dawn and Tara found their way into the kitchen, the first batch was sizzling on the stove. He dredged up a smile at their enthusiasm. He was so tired he just felt numb, though not numb enough to avoid fretting. What to do about Dawn? Was she safe here with Tara looking after her? Were any of them safe so close to Willow? Buffy needed to be away from this place, but perhaps Giles needed to be here.

Which would leave Buffy alone with Angel. That was simply out of the question, if only for the sake of Giles's sanity.

Willow came down a few minutes later, made the same enthusiastic noises as everyone else, and polished off a stack of French toast, just as though she hadn't threatened him in this very kitchen not two days ago. He couldn't bring himself to return her smile, and after a few minutes her own faltered, turning first hurt, then angry. She left without thanking him for breakfast and slammed out the door without a good-bye.

There was terrible trouble brewing there. One thing at a time, he told himself as he saw Dawn off at the door. Buffy had to take priority. The others would manage in the meantime. Or so he must fervently hope.

By nine-thirty the house was empty save for himself and Buffy. He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, listening, but there was no movement to indicate she might be up. He found a tray in a cupboard and fixed a plate for her with buttery French toast and fresh orange juice. He set a little pitcher of syrup to the side of the plate on the tray, along with a cup of coffee for himself. He wanted a prop, something to do with his hands during this conversation. And he was in desperate need of caffeine.

He knocked lightly. "Yeah," she said.

He nudged the door open with his knee. "Good morning."

She hadn't yet got out of bed, but she sat up, eyebrows rising. "Whoa. What'd I do to rate this?"

He settled the tray on her lap and himself on the edge of her bed, retrieving his coffee cup and saucer. "I thought you might like a treat."

"I don't object," she said, but she seemed reluctant to actually eat anything. She cut the French toast into tiny bits, drizzled syrup all over it, and proceeded to pick. Giles hid his worry behind his cup and tried to think of a way into the conversation they had to have.

"Angel said to tell you he'd be in touch," he said at last.

She raised her head. "You talked to Angel?"

"We spoke last night when he brought you home."

Buffy studied his face, then looked down at her breakfast. "He told you," she said to the tray.

"Yes."

"Dammit, I -" Buffy let her fork fall to the plate with a clatter and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. "I told him not to."

"I know. He did it because he cares about you. Truly cares about you," he added, managing not to grimace. "He knew I needed to know so I can help you."

"Help me how?" she asked, meeting his eyes. Her mouth was a hard line. "You can't help me. No one can. I got yanked out of heaven. It sucked. And you can't help me, Giles, because all I want to do -" She gulped, squeezing her eyes shut. "All I want to do is to go back. Are you going to help me do that?"

Giles shook his head, speechless. It occurred to him suddenly that the coven might. He felt his heart almost stutter to a halt at the idea. He'd not thought of it before, but they might well think of it as restoring the balance. The way things should be. Good Christ. He hoped she hadn't noticed that all the blood had just drained out of his face.

It seemed she hadn't. "Then you can't help me," she repeated, her voice very hard.

It took him a few seconds to collect himself enough to answer. "I can," he managed at last. "If you let me, I can help you. I don't . . ." He took a deep breath. "What I said last night to Willow - I know you overheard, and I'm deeply sorry. I was trying to impress upon her the gravity of what she'd done. She has no conception -" He broke off. He wouldn't burden her with that now. "I didn't mean it, though I do think we should take steps to make sure that you're entirely healthy."

She shrugged, pushing away the tray. "I feel fine." He raised her eyebrows at her. "Well, no," she amended, "actually I feel lousy, but I'm not sick."

"I didn't mean physically, though if you don't eat -" He stopped himself again, almost bit his tongue. "Angel told me that what he needed when he came back was rest, and peace, and quiet."

"He came back from hell."

"He seemed to think that coming back from heaven wasn't much different."

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'm never gonna get any of that on the hellmouth."

"No," he agreed, "which is why I think we should go to England." She looked up at last, clearly startled. He hesitated. Perhaps the coven was not the place for them after all. Perhaps he should keep Buffy well away from them and their well-meaning but ruthless devotion to the balance. He looked away, momentarily unable to meet her eyes, then forced himself to look back. What he saw there - the exhaustion, the indifference, the flat-out despair - made him want to weep, and he knew he could not deny her anything, even if it took her away from him again. "There's a coven in Westbury," he managed, through lips that felt numb. "I thought we'd go there first, spend a few days. It's lovely country, very quiet. They might be able to - to help you."

"What about the money, Giles? The bills and the - the -"

"I'll take care of it. For the time being." She blinked at him. He cleared his throat, vaguely embarrassed, and drew a deep breath. "And after Westbury . . . well, we can go anywhere you like, really. I think you might enjoy London." He paused, wondering if it would be best to avoid mentioning Angel for now. They could talk about the details later - and it might make her rush things at the coven. On the other hand - no. He couldn't ask her to trust him with one breath and lie to her in the next. "Angel said he would meet us wherever we ended up."

Her lips parted in surprise. "Really?" Giles nodded. "And you said that was okay?"

"Under some duress," he admitted. "Of course, if you'd rather he didn't, I'm sure - that is, he'll understand if you'd rather not have the, er, confusion."

She shrugged. "Not really confusing." She picked up her fork and poked at her French toast listlessly. "Well. Okay."

"Okay?"

She shrugged. "Anywhere that isn't here is okay by me." She leaned back, closing her eyes, and when she spoke her voice trembled. "I'm tired, Giles. Really tired, and it hurts, being here. Everything is so loud and - and all I want to do is sleep, but then I do sleep and I dream about being back in that box." She swallowed. "The only thing that doesn't hurt is lying in bed with my eyes closed. It's hard. It's too hard."

He shifted closer to her on the bed, reached out, and pulled her close. She laid her head in the crook of his neck. "Buffy, I - I can't be sorry that you're here. I missed you more than I can say. But I am so, so sorry you have to give more than you already have, and I'm sorry I didn't do the right thing yesterday."

She shook her head. "S'okay. You're in good company. No one else knows what to do either. Least of all me."

"Well, that's something we can figure out together." He pulled away to look at her. "I have some things I should do, if we're leaving in the next couple of days. But if you get dressed and come downstairs I'll make you whatever you'd like for breakfast. Well," he paused, glancing at his watch, "closer to lunch now."

She gave him a weak smile. "The French toast is fine. I'm just not hungry."

"You'll come downstairs, though? Please?"

She glanced at him and, after a moment, nodded. He decided that was the best he'd get for now and stood, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then, embarrassed, he stepped away, gathering up the tray and the coffee cup. At the door he paused, looking back at her. She had her knees drawn up to her chest; her bed wasn't large but she looked lost in it all the same. "Buffy," he said softly, "please trust me."

She raised her eyes to meet his. She looked hollowed out. He sighed and shut the door quietly behind him.

***

It felt like a decade since he'd last come this way, Giles reflected as he turned off the motorway in Westbury, but it had really only been about week since he'd received Willow's call and gone pelting out, barely taking the time to pack a bag. Despite the fear that rode along in the pit of his stomach, flaring whenever he thought about the what if's of this visit, he was glad to be back. The coven felt more like home than anywhere else in England since his mother had died, and it was the one place in the world where no one expected more of him than he was prepared to give. Everything here was soft and muted, from the rolling, verdant hills to the perpetually overcast sky and the silvery gleam of the Irish Sea.

This last came into view as they crested a rise. Buffy, silent since they'd left Heathrow, sat up. "Pretty."

"Yes," he said, not bothering to conceal his own pleasure. Southern California's landscape was harsh, dry, dead. It had its own beauty, he supposed, but it was nothing like this. "We're almost there - just about twenty minutes or so."

She sank back into her seat, looking more alert, watching out the window at the pastures rolling by. "So," she said after a few minutes, "you haven't said what they're gonna do to me."

The way she phrased it made him glance at her sideways. Her face was turned away, revealing nothing. "They're going to - to check you, for lack of a better term. Make sure that when Willow brought you back, she didn't - the, the magic she used was very dark, and -"

"My soul. You want to make sure I still have it, don't you."

He wished he could pull over to have this conversation properly, but out on these hedge-lined, back-country roads, there simply wasn't room. "No, Buffy, that isn't it. If you didn't have your soul - well, suffice to say that we would know. But I want to - to -" He sighed. "This has been so very difficult for you already. If there's something wrong that the coven can fix, I want to find out."

"Oh." She fell briefly silent. "Is it going to hurt?"

He shook his head. "I don't know what they're going to do, exactly, but I doubt it. It might even feel good."

"Hmm," she said, as though she were skeptical. He couldn't blame her, really, nor could he think of anything that would assuage her fears, and so they were both quiet as the last few miles to the coven rolled by in a series of increasingly narrow roads. At last they rounded a bend, crested a hill, and the coven's main building came into view.

It was an impressive old building made of the gray glacial rock common to the whole region: three stories, three dozen rooms, and an enormous kitchen and attic. Giles had often thought it looked as though it had always been there, not at all out of place amidst the hills and pastures. It wasn't visible from the road, but they kept an extensive garden and orchard in back, including four greenhouses, and beyond that they owned a dozen acres of land that they simply let do as it pleased. They kept horses - Giles had boarded his own horse here ever since he'd left for Sunnydale - and chickens and half a dozen slinky, sleepy cats.

Giles would have happily brought Buffy here to stay as long as she wished, but they would never allow a vampire - not even one with a soul - onto their grounds. Buffy hadn't said a word about Angel since Sunnydale, but once she started feeling better, he was certain she'd want to see him. Through his friend Robson Giles had arranged for a flat in London, big enough for the three of them, to be ready whenever she was. Giles was trying very hard not to think about any of that, trying not to imagine what it would be like sharing space with Angel. It had been years, after all, and he'd certainly been doing his best in LA to fight the good fight. Perhaps it was time for Giles to put it behind them. Let it go.

The fingers on his left hand twinged at the idea. He lifted his hand from the steering wheel to stretch them, hoping Buffy wouldn't notice. Not that she'd know what it meant if she did.

For now, he decided, he'd push all that out of his mind. Buffy was here with him, in this moment, in his favorite place in the world. It was the very opposite of the hellmouth in every way, positively brimming with energy, beautiful and bright. Like Buffy had been, once.

She perked up as he pulled into the gravel drive leading up to the house and parked the car. The doors swung open just as she'd grabbed both their bags out of the boot, and Jane Harkness swept out to meet them in a jangle of bracelets and a swish of soft skirts. She hugged Buffy first, forcing her to drop the bags, and then Giles. "I'm glad to see you back so soon," she said in his ear.

"Me, too," he said, and released her.

"And you, Buffy." Jane turned back to Buffy and took both of her hands in her own, squeezing them. "I'm Jane Harkness. I've heard so much about you from Rupert."

"Really?" Buffy said, glancing at him uncertainly.

"These were the, er, old friends," he explained as the three of them headed inside. "I was here when I got Willow's call."

"Oh," she said, in a more subdued tone.

Jane said they'd left his room more or less as it had been and prepared the one next to it for Buffy. She invited them for tea in her study after they'd settled in and left them to themselves. Giles led Buffy up the creaky old staircase, carpeted in faded green, to the second floor. "None of the doors lock," he said, showing her to her room. "No need. Come find me when you're ready?"

She nodded. He let himself into his own room, dropped his bag on the floor by the door, and sank onto the bed. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, attempting to center himself. He longed for a nice, simple, meditation session with Jane, but for the moment he settled for looking out the window and letting his mind wipe itself blank. He couldn't see the ocean from here, obscured as it was by the hills, but he knew it was there, just beyond.

At last he rose and began unpacking. The room was small but not spartan, the furniture eclectic but comfortable. There were beautiful watercolors on the walls, and a door next to the wardrobe that opened into the bathroom he'd share with Buffy. He breathed deeply: home.

He was just putting away his socks when Buffy knocked lightly. She was quiet as they made their way through the house, down to the ground floor and into the west wing where Jane kept a room and her study. Giles judged it to be nerves about what the coven had in mind for her and decided it would be best to let her see for herself that they meant no harm.

He and Jane chatted easily as she poured tea for the three of them about the likelihood of a difficult winter damaging the fruit trees. Buffy said little, but Giles could see her working herself into a state over something. His worry increased steadily until at last he said, "Jane, perhaps we'd best come to the point."

She nodded subtly to him; she'd seen it as well, then. "Yes, I think you're right." She stood and came around to sit beside Buffy. Only because he was watching did Giles see Buffy control a flinch. "Buffy, Rupert's told me a little about what happened to you, but I'd like you to tell me more, if you can."

She shrugged. "Not much to tell. I was in heaven. Then I was six feet under."

"Mmm," Jane said. Giles saw the lines around her mouth deepen and knew he'd be having a serious conversation with her about Willow before long. "I was hoping you might be able to tell me a bit more about heaven. There are some dimensions that are quite lovely, but they're not heaven as we think of it."

Buffy shook her head. "I know from dimensions and it wasn't like that. I just . . ." She squeezed her eyes shut. Jane cast Giles a worried glance, which he returned with interest. "It was like being cupped in somebody's palm," she said at last. "I was safe and I knew everyone I loved was safe, too. I didn't have to worry anymore about anything. I was done." She opened her eyes but kept them downcast, trained on her hands. "My mom was there."

Jane let out a breath. "Well, then. That certainly sounds like the real thing."

Buffy shrugged. "Accept no substitutes," she murmured.

"Indeed," Jane said, smiling softly. "I'd like to speak to you alone for a little while, Buffy. Do you mind, Rupert? I promise I'll send her up to you when we're done here."

Giles thought he did mind, actually. He searched Jane's face anxiously until she laid a hand on his arm and squeezed. "Fine," he said, rising. "Buffy?"

"Sure," she said. "Oh, um." She glanced at her watch. "We should call Dawn, I guess, before she leaves for school. One of us should, anyway."

"I'll do it," Giles said, glad for something with which to distract himself. He'd not been brave enough over the phone to ask what Jane's professional views were, so to speak, about Buffy's resurrection. But he supposed that one way or another, nothing would be decided tonight, and Jane would never be cruel about it - certainly not to Buffy, but also not to him.

He was also glad beyond measure that Buffy had thought to call Dawn in the first place. Perhaps she wasn't as far gone as he worried she was. She had to want to be better, though; if there was one thing he'd learned over the years, it was that one had to want to be well again, even if it meant dealing with the mess being sick allowed one to avoid.

He called Dawn, assured her that all was well and that he was doing everything he could for Buffy, then tried to tease out information from her on the situation in Sunnydale. Everything was fine, she said, especially since the basement was no longer flooded. Giles wondered if he'd get the same status update if he asked Tara. Which, come to think of it, was something he should do. Not today, but soon.

He was attempting to read by the failing light when Buffy crept in. Crept was indeed the right word; she eased the door open without knocking and stole across like a cat looking for a place to hide. Except instead of darting under the bed she crawled across it, towards him. He sat up, startled, and she stopped, kneeling back. He searched her face, looking for clues about what Jane might have said to her, but there weren't any. She looked the same - tired, wan, too thin by half. And yet still his Buffy. More his Buffy, perhaps, than she had been since her return. "All right?" he whispered.

She nodded. Then she shook her head. Then she put her face in her hands. Giles stood and shut the door. It was dinnertime, but Jane would undoubtedly know to send a tray up. He turned on the bedside lamp and took Buffy by the shoulders, easing her down beside him until her head lay on his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Good lord." He lifted his head to peer at her in the yellow light. "Whatever for?"

She shook her head. "You were done, too. And you were here, in this beautiful place. Jane said you were, were - she said you needed to be here. And then I came back and yanked you right back to the -" her voice trembled "- to the hellmouth -"

"God, Buffy," he said, pulling her closer. "Don't - don't apologize for that. Ever. I -" He shook his head. "I was so happy to have you back. You've no idea."

"Not so happy to go back to Sunnydale," she muttered.

"Well, no," he admitted, "but neither were you." She made a noise that might have been a laugh, might have been a sob. Either way, he pulled her closer. "What did you talk about with Jane?" he asked, carefully.

She shrugged. "Didn't talk much. She checked my aura. Did a cleansing."

"What did she say?"

"She said . . . she said I'm sad. Depressed. I said I knew that already."

"Did the cleansing help?"

Buffy rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. "I don't know. I think maybe. This afternoon, all my feelings just sort of ran together until I couldn't feel any of them. I knew I was upset, but I couldn't tell if it was anger or grief or - or what. It was all just bad. And once she did it, I knew what I felt. And it still felt bad, but it was like someone had - had washed a window and let me see inside myself again. That's how I knew I had to apologize to you."

"You didn't," he said, brushing his lips against her temple. "Truly, Buffy. It was none of it your doing to begin with." Except the fall, a voice in the back of his head whispered. Giles flinched from the thought, but it was true. Coming back hadn't been her choice; dying in the first place had been.

That sort of thinking wouldn't do her a damn bit of good. Giles quashed it firmly.

"Believe me, that I know." She opened her eyes. "I'm pissed at Will."

"Ah."

"Really, really pissed at her. Like, she's lucky she's on a different continent sort of pissed. She had no right to do this to me."

"No," Giles said heavily, "she didn't."

"She thought she was doing the right thing. I'm still so mad, though."

Giles said nothing. He had to hope that Willow had thought she was doing the right thing. If not - if she'd done it for any other reason - then the problems he thought were six months or a year away were in fact much more immediate.

Whatever the case, those problems seemed very remote just then. Buffy snuggled closer and Giles wrapped his arms around her. He felt a difference in the air around her from when he had held her before, in her room in Sunnydale. Whatever Jane had done had worked. She was better already. Unfortunately, Giles suspected the easy part was over.

Dinner was such quintessential comfort food that Giles thought it must have been deliberate: tomato soup and crusty bread, both obviously homemade, most likely from ingredients grown on the grounds. They ate at the desk in his room. Buffy didn't finish her bread, but she ate without complaint and didn't leave any soup in the bottom of her bowl. Once she'd finished, she went and knelt on the bed, staring out the window. Giles left off eating and went to sit beside her. She leaned into him and asked, "How long can we stay?"

"As long as you like."

She knelt back. "And Angel? Could he come here?"

Giles shook his head. "No. Because of what he is."

"Oh."

"I've arranged for a flat in London, when you're ready. Or we could go elsewhere - the council has a few holdings -"

She shuddered. "I don't want anything to do with them yet. I think London'll be okay. But not - not right now. In a couple of days, maybe. A week."

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at her. "Just tell me when."

She went to bed early. He sat with her while she fell asleep, his hand stroking lightly over her hair. Her head just barely touched his hip where he sat beside her. He wanted to convey to her through the brush of his fingertips that there was good in this world, too, and pleasure, and joy. She'd told Dawn that the hardest thing in the world was to live in it - and then she had chosen to jump. He didn't know what Jane had said to her earlier or what Buffy was thinking, and he hadn't the courage to ask.

Once Buffy was asleep he rose and slipped out of the room. He went down to the kitchen, which was thankfully empty, and made a pot of rose hip tea. He placed it on a tray with two cups, a dish of raw sugar, and a handful of ginger-nut biscuits. Then he carried it down the hall and knocked at Jane's door.

"Come in!" she called. He did so. "Ah, Rupert, I was hoping it was you. And you come bearing tea."

"And biccies," he said with a smile. She cleared her desk and he laid out the tea things. She poured for them both and handed him his cup.

"How's Buffy?" she asked before taking her first sip.

"Resting. She's better. Thank you."

Jane nodded. "Her aura was clean. And normal, for someone suffering from fairly crippling depression. There might still be some unforeseen ramifications - in fact I'm sure there will be - but I think she's healthy."

Giles hid his relief and anxiety behind his tea cup. Then he realized his hand was shaking and put the cup back on its saucer, pushing them both back from the edge of the desk. "Then, then -" he began, and had to stop. She watched him carefully, without speaking. "Jane," he said at last, "it occurred to me that - that Buffy being back is, well, it upsets the balance in some way, doesn't it? She shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be . . . alive. But she is, and, and -" He passed a hand over his face. To hell with it. "God, Jane, are you going to take her away from me again?"

He hadn't intended such raw honesty, but Jane seemed not the least bit surprised. She tilted her head and looked at him with quiet, unrelenting compassion. "No," she said softly, and he let out a breath. "If her aura hadn't been clean, if I thought she was unwell mystically, a threat in some way - then yes, I would have broached that with her. But that isn't an issue. And except in extraordinary circumstances, we don't take life."

He allowed himself to slump in his seat. "I know. But these are extraordinary circumstances, and I thought - I was afraid -"

She reached for his hand. "I know." She squeezed it and withdrew, picking at a biscuit. "If I had given her the option," she said at last, "do you think she would have taken it?"

He stared down at his hands, clasped together in his lap. "I don't know. She did last time. In May, I mean. It was suicide, there isn't any other word for it. There were . . . other solutions. Not good ones, perhaps, but she - she didn't want to hear any of them. She'd given up days before, I think. She wanted her death."

"What you have to do, then, is make her not want it."

He laughed shortly. "Easier said than done, when she knows what heaven is. It's pure selfishness, I know, but . . . I want her here, with me, for years to come."

She sighed. "It is selfish, but it's also human. And I think it can be done. Deep down, she wants to live."

"You saw that in her aura?"

"Mmm." She turned her teacup in her hands. "Not quite in her aura. She's a fighter. Eventually she'll get sick of trying to lie down and die."

"I can only hope so." And hope, too, that he had the strength to keep pulling her up until she did. At least here at the coven he would have help in that. He supposed that once they left he would have Angel, but somehow that was less of a comfort.

Jane was watching him, he realized when he finally raised his head from his contemplation of his cooling tea. "I actually wanted to speak to you about something else," she said.

He straightened. "Willow?"

"No. Well, yes, eventually, but that can wait." She paused, biting her lower lip. Her brow furrowed. "How are you, Rupert? You're so busy trying to take care of Buffy, when not two weeks ago you were . . ." She paused delicately. "Not particularly well yourself."

"I was grieving. I'm not anymore."

"It was more than that, surely."

He rubbed a hand over his face. "All right, yes. It was. But I can't think about it now."

"Can you afford not to?"

Jane always did have the ability to cut straight to the heart of the matter. The truth was that she was probably right. Buffy's window analogy had been apt; he'd only just been able to see inside himself again when Willow had called, and then the flood of relief had wiped out everything else. But it was more complicated than that - so complicated that he couldn't even begin to explain it.

He sighed. "I think we both just need some time to get ourselves sorted."

She nodded, apparently satisfied for the moment. "Time, we can give you. And a bit more besides - I've asked Buffy to come see me tomorrow at ten. I want to lead her in some meditation. Will you join us?"

He smiled. "Gladly, thank you."