Title: The First Time (5/9)
Author: Liz

(notes and disclaimer with part one)

Buffy balanced her packages on her hip and fumbled for the key to Giles' front door. She cursed as she nearly dropped one of the bags, but the fact that his door was locked for a change was actually good sign. Clearly, he wasn't home yet. She spotted his sporty red mistress in the parking lot and took a moment to miss Giles' ex. No new car would ever take the place of his rusty, noisy Citroën. The Gilesmobile. Buffy smiled at the memory and surmised that he must have been walking today, which would give her a few extra minutes. Late as she was running, she'd need them.

Key finally found, she turned it in the lock and let herself in, and a quick look around the place eased her fears of a Hellmouthy ambush. Living in the capital city of rotten timing, she'd half-expected to arrive to find the place reeking of carnage and mayhem, but everything appeared to be in order. Of course, the prospect of another demon or two was a lot less frightening than what she was about to do.

Come on, Buffy, she told herself. You bashed The Master's bones to bits. You kicked Dracula's ass. Freaking Dracula! You can do this.

And note to self: ask Giles why the hell The Master had bones.

She moved to the kitchen, not at all convinced that she wouldn't feel safer facing down a pack of demons, but Giles was worth it. So two bags went into the oven to stay warm, a box and bottle went into the fridge, and then she and the last bag went upstairs to change.

Giles' spirits were low as he walked home; sadly, that wasn't unusual these days. This afternoon had been typically disheartening - he'd gone downstairs for only a few minutes, but when he returned, he saw that Buffy had left without so much as a "See ya later." Not that he should have expected otherwise, but it still would have been nice. He'd asked Willow where Buffy had gone, but if the redhead's stammer and blush were any indication, he decided he'd just as soon not know.

He sighed heavily as he reached his apartment and prepared himself for yet another night of hoping and dreading that she would come to him. But as he slid his key into the door, he found it was already unlocked. That meant one of two things: either Xander had come over to plunder his pantry again, or there was an intruder in the house. And pleasant as the boy's company might be, Rupert surprised himself by briefly hoping for an intruder.

He could use a good fight.

The sound of glass shattering answered the question well enough. He charged inside and grabbed a bat from beside the door, prepared to knock the daylights out of whatever demon or burglar had picked tonight to step up for a good thrashing. The intruder in question dropped the bits of glass in her hand and assumed a defensive posture. They faced off, adrenaline surging until recognition finally brought them back to their senses. Or at least, somewhere nearer to them.

He slowly lowered the weapon, not entirely certain that he hadn't gone from the frying pan to the fire. As opposed to a snarling burglar demon, he was instead faced with Buffy, looking lovely as he'd ever seen her and clearly about to go out on a date. He felt a rush of jealous anger and tried to prepare himself for the news that she would no longer require his services. Just as well, as far as he was concerned. Each day, it got harder and harder not to betray his feelings for her. It would hurt like hell to see her with another man, but at least this torture would end.

"I, um…" she began hesitantly, "I… need to get a broom." With that, she dashed into the kitchen, heart pounding as she cursed herself for being such a coward. She had just seen him earlier that day – and true, she had been enjoying the view – but this was her first glimpse of him since Willow had outlined her whole "He's in love with you, dummy" theory. Truth be told, she'd always found Giles kind of handsome. But the sight of him standing before her, eyes blazing as he prepared to defend his home, had practically turned her knees to jelly. Then the way those green eyes had swept over her, pausing only as long as gentlemanly possible to appreciate the curves she'd hoped he would notice… Buffy didn't know how many times he'd looked at her that way, but for the first time she caught it - the brief look of hunger and longing before his carefully schooled mask of Watcherly concern slipped into place. He wanted her. And the question she'd been turning over in her head since this afternoon finally had an answer: she wanted him too.

The revelation had been startling enough to send her scurrying for the kitchen, but if she wanted to do anything with this new information, she knew she'd eventually have to be in the same room with the object of her desire. Which was Giles. Weird. But not weird. At least, nowhere near as weird as she would have expected it to be – which was the part, she guessed, that made it weird. She wanted him, and he… he was standing in the other room, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her. So she swallowed dryly, grabbed a broom and dustpan, and gathered what was left of her courage before returning to the living room. Giles hadn't moved, and he was giving her an inscrutable look that made her shiver down to her toes.

"I'm sorry I broke your glass," she offered weakly. Wonderful, she thought. This was going so very well.

"It's alright," he countered just as awkwardly, then stopped short as he finally noticed the two places set at his desk. Dishes, silverware, even two crisp linen napkins. Everything but the glass she'd dropped when she heard his key in the door.

"Buffy?" He turned a questioning gaze back to her, silently begging her to make some sense of the scene before him. Giles had long felt that there was nothing in the world he wouldn't grant her, but he'd be damned if he would agree to make himself scarce while she entertained a date in his home.

"I bought us some take-out. I, um, I thought we could serve it on some nice plates and pretend I cooked us dinner."

"Us? Y-you mean… you and me?"

God, he was not going to make this easy for her. The butterflies in her stomach suddenly acquired a few baseball bats of their own, and they bashed her insides gleefully as she struggled to answer. "Yeah, you and me. That is, if you want." She nearly choked on her next words. "But I can go if you want me to. I just thought…" She ducked her head and started sweeping up the broken glass on the floor. Maybe she'd been wrong after all. Maybe he didn’t really…

"Buffy, this isn't necessary. If there's something you need… if you're feeling… you know you can just ask. You don't have to do all this." Her shoulders slumped to hear him confirm what she'd feared. That he would assume any overtures she might make would naturally be motivated by her own self-interest. Well damnit, it was self-interest. She wanted to eat dinner with a handsome and charming man who loved her, and she wanted to show him how much she cared. Maybe she wasn't doing it right, but she wasn't ready to give up. She had been sassing the undead on a nightly basis for years now. She was heir to a long line of mythic warriors, chosen to save the human race from annihilation. She survived three years at Sunnydale High! Somehow, she could manage to find that extra bit of courage required to spend the evening with Rupert Giles.

Buffy swept the last bits of glass into the dustpan and turned to face him. "Look," she said. "I brought some dinner, and I'd really like to share. Specifically with you. I know it's unprecedented and all, but let a girl try, okay?"

"Um… okay," Giles countered, clearly on edge and waiting for the trap to spring.

"And you can stop looking at me like I'm about to eat your liver, Clarice. I already told you I brought dinner, which is currently getting colder by the minute, so go grab a shower while I dish up, okay? And maybe aim for a little less tweed on the other side of the water. Too many layers," she smiled. "Not enough Giles."

Something akin to hope flickered in her Watcher's eyes, but Buffy sighed as she saw him stamp it out, unwilling to believe what he thought he was hearing. So she screwed up all her courage and threw down the gauntlet:

"You. Me. Dinner date. Interested?"

Rupert Giles didn't often find himself speechless, but on those rare occasions, the woman standing before him was usually the cause. He could see her waiting for his answer, but he still couldn't wrap his brain around the question. Unless he was dreaming – unlikely, as his dreams were no longer this kind to him – the woman he loved more than his own life had just asked him if he'd like to have dinner with her. He tried to answer, but the words just wouldn't come out. Still, Buffy could see that cautious hope creeping back into his eyes as he studied her, and she knew he was searching for signs of her recent unrest.

"Our favourite grey and furry pain-in-the-ass had three toes, not four, and is currently and permanently deceased," she informed him. "Haven't felt this good in months. Still waiting for an answer."

"The demon is dead?"

"Yep."

"Then this isn't…"

"Slayerly frustration? Nope."

"A-and you still…?"

"Want to spend the evening with a great guy who makes me kinda tingly inside? Yes. Yes, I do. Now are you gonna put down the bat and go get comfortable, or am I gonna go home and try to pretend I didn't just make a complete fool out of myself?"

Slowly, he made his way back to the front door and deposited the bat in the umbrella stand. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face Buffy, and his voice cracked as he spoke. "Buffy, please don't toy with me." She opened her mouth to insist she wasn't but fell silent at a glance that told her he needed to get this out.

"If you truly intend this as a romantic evening, then I will confess that nothing on this earth could possibly please me more. But if this is a merely a whim, or some sort of misplaced gratitude…" He trailed off, unable to articulate just how little a favour she'd do him by pretending to feel for him the way he hoped she might.

"I'm going to go take that shower now. If you're still here when I come back down, I look forward to a wonderful evening together. And if you aren't…" his breath caught in his throat as he forced himself to say it. "And if you aren't here, I shall continue to stand at your side. A little sadder perhaps but no less devoted to you than I have always been. I ask for no promises or declarations, only that you be honest with me and with yourself."

With that, he turned to head upstairs, not wanting to look back and see her gathering herself to go. When he reached the top and hadn't heard her move, however, he chanced a glance over the railing. She was in the exact same spot, still holding the dustpan full of broken glass and grinning as if she'd been waiting for him to turn around. He felt somehow foolish at being caught peeking, but the smile on her face did wonders to ease the lump in his throat.

"Giles, please don't go shower all sad and weirded out. I'll be here. And I'd very much like to be your date. In fact, I'd be very happy if you managed to kiss me at some point during dinner." A broad smile spread across his features, and Buffy barely heard his whispered answer:

"I think that can be arranged."

Buffy wasn't sure whether she wanted to giggle or swoon at that. "Okay, well, it's settled then. You go get comfy, and I'll see if I can't part with this dustpan full of broken wineglass, which I'm really sorry about and fully intend to replace. Just, um, take your time. And hurry back."