Author: Sandra Pascoe

Rating: FRAO

Disclaimer: You, of course belong to you ... Giles belongs to Joss, UPN, Fox etc, etc.

Archive: If you've had permission from me in the past then go for it.

Notes: Well - its the sequel to "When in Rome".

Dedication: For Donna for being such a wonderful beta and, of course, to the Tweedys - who have made this whole fandom thing so much damned fun!

You are at the Sunnydale Museum, cataloguing a new consignment of artifacts … a job that would normally only take you a few hours but, so far, you have spent most of the day on it. The problem is that your thoughts are not on the task in hand … they keep drifting to something or rather "someone" else. It’s now been 10 days since your "encounter" with that enigma called Rupert Giles and, although you subsequently met for three lunch appointments, you had the niggling feeling that something was not quite right. Things he didn’t say … and things he did say that sounded … wrong. When you met him for lunch a couple of days ago, he was tired and distracted and all your attempts to draw him out were met with a resounding silence. So, you gave him an ultimatum – tell you what was going on or simply forget that you’d ever met. You can still remember the shocked and concerned look he’d given you before he had sighed and reached for you with a shaking hand.

"I’m sorry, love," he had whispered. "I wanted to … protect you from it. Not get you involved."

"I am involved, Rupert," you had replied softly. "Anything that concerns you, that upsets you like this, involves me."

He had smiled at that and you couldn’t help a sigh of relief. He had asked you to meet him at his place tomorrow night – where he would explain everything. The trouble is that, as the time draws ever nearer, the more nervous you are getting. To hell with it, you think, throwing your pen down, I’m going home. Glancing outside, you realise with concern that it is now quite dark. You’ve lived in Sunnydale long enough to avoid going out at night – too many strange occurrences … too many disappearances. You look at your watch and sigh. You hadn’t realised it was that late. Gathering your belongings together, you quickly and efficiently negotiate your way past the Museum’s new hi-tech security system. You find yourself longing for the days of friendly Security Guards and not this impersonal machinery. At least the guards used to keep an eye on you when you worked late, you think as you walk quickly towards your car, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the silence of the night. You fumble in your bag for your keys, sighing with relief as your hand closes around them. A slight sound causes you to swing around and you freeze in horror at the sight before you. A … "man" is standing in front of you … yellow eyes … strange ridges on his face. You can’t move, can’t make a sound as he walks slowly towards you. He grins, baring his teeth … fangs glinting in the moonlight. The rational part of your brain gleefully whispers "vampire" and you shudder, trying to force yourself backwards. His eyes are locked with yours, the power of his stare fixing you firmly to the spot. With one quick movement, he thrusts your head to one side and sinks his fangs into your neck. The pain causes you to suck in a breath but then … the pain ceases. His arms go around you, holding you upright as you sag slightly. You can feel the blood being drawn from you and it’s strangely … erotic … arousing …intense. A sense of euphoria envelops you and you moan aloud, not wanting this to end. You feel yourself being lowered to the ground, his intensely cold body on yours as he increases his efforts, drawing more blood and causing you to writhe against him. You are vaguely aware of a voice … and then he suddenly pushes himself away from you with a snarl. You look up, raising your head slightly to see a young blonde woman throw your attacker against your car, before she rams a piece of wood into his chest. Your eyes widen as he literally disintegrates before your eyes. Too much, you think, this is too much. Your head drops back down onto the concrete as you raise a tentative hand to your neck, aware of the pain, the blood flowing from you no longer such a pleasurable experience.

"You okay?" The young woman kneels beside you, gently prising your fingers from your neck as she examines your wound. "It’s not too bad," she continues. "Come on, I’ll take you to a friend… he’ll patch you up."

Pressing your hand back down onto your wound, she helps you to your feet … and you’re grateful she does as you feel as weak as a kitten. You clutch onto your car as the world seems to spin around you, nausea building up. You’re trying to make sense of what’s happening but your brain seems to have deserted you for the time being … the only real, solid thing is the concerned young woman standing alongside you.

"Keys …," you whisper, "in my bag."

Minutes later, you are sitting in the passenger seat of your car as it races through Sunnydale at what seems to you to be breakneck speed. You swallow against the sickness you feel and turn slightly to look at the grinning woman whose eyes shine with delight as she grips the steering wheel.

"Who …. Who are you?" You ask softly and she glances quickly at you before turning her attention to the road.

"Buffy," she replies with a smile, "Buffy Summers."

You feel too tired to ask any more questions and you slump back, your hand still pressing against your neck. You’re loathe to take it away … worried that it may still be bleeding profusely. You frown as you think back, trying to sort earlier events into some rational order in your head, trying to accept what had happened. Vampires … it was a vampire, you think, but they don’t exist … do they? Is that what’s been going on? Are they the cause of the disappearances?

"We’re here," Buffy’s voice cuts into your thoughts and you look around … seeing nothing more than an ordinary street.

"Where?" You ask and she merely grins at you, springing out of the car and running around, opening your door and helping you out. Her show of energy and strength only causes you to feel even more tired and you lean heavily on her as she helps you down some steps and across a small courtyard. She opens an ornate looking door and you both step into a rather darkly-lit apartment.

"Giles!" She calls out and you frown slightly. Giles? No.. she can’t mean … your thoughts trail off as Rupert steps out of what appears to be the kitchen, stopping dead as he sees you. He utters your name, the worry and concern evident in his voice as he hurries towards you.

"Rupert …" you whisper before your mind finally rebels and you feel yourself pitching forward as the blackness consumes you.

You awake slowly, awareness gradually returning … you’re in a bed …there are arms around you … recent events suddenly fill your mind and you struggle and scream, desperately trying to break free. A familiar voice gradually penetrates the panic and fear in your mind and, suddenly, you see Rupert above you. His gentle, concern-filled eyes gazing down into yours, soothing and relaxing you. You pull him to you, hugging him as tightly as you can, burying your face into his chest as the sobs rip through you. He rolls to his side, not letting you go, whispering softly to you and stroking your hair. You’ve no idea how long it takes for you to calm down, to relax against him, but you don’t want to raise your head, you feel too … safe, too warm where you are. Your hand moves up, tentatively touching the dressing on your neck. Rupert’s hand covers yours gently.

"It’s okay," he says softly, shifting slightly and almost forcing you to look up at him. The sadness and concern in his eyes almost takes your breath away, but there’s something else there as well, something almost intangible. You frown as a thought occurs to you.

"Did what happened to me have something to do with what you wanted to talk to me about?" You ask, seeing the answer in Rupert’s eyes before he opens his mouth to speak.

"Yes," he almost sighs. "There’s a lot I have to tell you … but first, I want you to tell me what happened to you last night."

"I thought you knew," you frown at him. "Didn’t that woman … um … Buffy tell you?"

"Yes," he replies, "she did. I want to hear it from you."

You smile slightly as you realise the unspoken question behind his words.

"You want to know if I accept what happened, don’t you? You want me to actually say the words." You sigh as Rupert nods. "Okay, well, basically … I was bitten by a vampire … happy now?"

"Yes and no," he replies, kissing you softly. "I’m happy that you know and accept what it was … but, no, I’m not happy that it happened … not happy that I could have lost you."

"So, what now? Are you going to tell me what on earth is going on?" You smile as you trail a hand across Rupert’s chest, gently teasing a nipple and causing Rupert to gasp aloud. He grasps your hand, stopping its movement.

"I’m certainly not telling you here," he remarks primly, smiling slightly. "There appear to be too many distractions." He looks you in the eyes, suddenly serious. "You need to eat, need to regain your strength. Once you’re showered, dressed, fed and watered, then I’ll tell you. You’ll need a clear head to … to … process what I have to say."

Three hours later, having a "clear head" seems an eternity away. You’re sitting on the sofa in Rupert’s lounge … alone. Having calmly told you a story that belonged in a "Fantastic Tales" magazine, Rupert placed a number of books on the table and then retreated into the kitchen. You can hear him pottering about … the clank of dishes a welcome taste of normality to counteract the extraordinary events that Rupert has related to you. All these things that have happened … all the people that have died … whilst you carried on with your life, completely oblivious to what was going on all around you. You don’t doubt Rupert’s story for a second – it makes too much sense, joins together the variety of questioning dots you had in your mind – the real evidence however was in his eyes. Those green depths had shone with the light of simple truth … you saw the pain and anguish behind them, the anger that threatened to spill out, but most of all, you saw worry, concern, pride and dignity. Worry and concern for "his slayer", pride at what they had achieved … and dignity in the acceptance that one day it may all be too much for them … that the darkness would overwhelm them.

You tentatively reach towards the "Watcher Diaries", picking one entirely at random. Right, you think, let’s see what a usual day is like for Rupert and the others. A few minutes later, you are beginning to wish you hadn’t looked. It’s not the events in the diary that you find disturbing as much as the cold, emotionless way that Rupert has recorded them. Maybe that’s how he copes, you think, flicking back through the pages, occasional entries catching your eye. How long has he been alone? Oh yes, you think, he has the others … but it sounds like they’re all the same age as Buffy. Who does Rupert have to confide in? Who does he have to vent to, to listen, to understand? You gently place the book back on the table and sigh, leaning back into the sofa. If you accept this life … accept Rupert’s terms … then everything will change. It’ll get a whole lot more dangerous for a start … and you risk losing everything. On the other hand, if you walk away now, then what have you lost? Rupert, you think, I’ll have lost Rupert … and I’d rather face a shedload of vampires than do that.

Your decision made, you rise to your feet. Who am I fooling, you think … the decision was made long before any of this happened. As you reach the kitchen, you stop, not really knowing what to say. Rupert has his back to you but, from the tenseness of his posture, you know that he’s aware of your presence. Suddenly you realise that words will never be enough, you can’t possibly convey to Rupert just what he means to you … not with words anyway. You move forward, wrapping your arms around Rupert and leaning your head against his back with a sigh. He’s still tense but he drops the cloth he’s holding and turns in your embrace. He gently cups your head in his hands, gazing wordlessly down at you, an unspoken question in his eyes. You smile and reach up, gently touching his cheek. He leans into your caress and sighs, his eyes closing and a smile crossing his face. As his hands move down to your shoulders, you reach around, tangling your hand in his hair and dragging his head down, capturing his lips in a hard, demanding kiss. He responds instantly, his arms snaking around you and pulling you hard against him. The kiss is deep, intense and quite unlike anything you've ever experienced before. You lose yourself in it ... lose yourself in him ... aware only of his hands that seem to be caressing every part of your body ... his tongue sweeping around your mouth. You feel the wall against your back and realise that Rupert has slowly moved you backwards. He trails hot kisses down your neck before ripping your blouse open, his hands immediately going to your breasts. You push him back slightly, quickly shrugging off your blouse and removing your bra. Rupert throws off his sweater before he pulls you to him once again, kissing and caressing every inch of your bare flesh. With his hands around your waist, he lifts you slightly and you take the hint, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him as close as you can. You both groan as you squirm against his hard bulge and then his lips descend on yours, his tongue thrusting and probing. God, you want him so badly it hurts. You reach down and deftly unzip him, snaking your hand inside his boxers and encircling him. He tears his lips from yours and groans loudly. With one arm firmly wrapped around you, he uses the other to ease his jeans and boxers down slightly, freeing himself. His hand then runs up your thigh, under your skirt, until his fingers are teasing, touching and tormenting you through your panties. You wriggle and press yourself against him, wanting more ... needing more.

"Rupert," your urgent appeal has the desired effect and, in one quick movement, he eases your panties to one side and enters you, hard, fast and deep. His mouth covers yours, swallowing your scream and he immediately starts pounding into you. There's no gentleness, no finesse ... this is all about wanting, needing. It's an affirmation of survival ... of life ... of love. You both need this intensity, this desire ... you're taking him as much as he's taking you. You're clinging to him, holding onto him as though your life depends on it. It doesn't take long before you feel it building within you and your legs tighten around Rupert, your fingernails digging into his flesh. He breaks the kiss and shifts slightly, pounding into you faster and faster. There's an urgency in his movements ... a desperation born of the possibility of loss ... and the passion born of relief, celebration and love. It doesn't take long ... you feel it getting closer and closer and you writhe against him, desperate for Rupert to give you the release you're so frantically longing for. Suddenly, it floods through you and you scream his name, clutching and shuddering against him. Seconds later, your name echoes around the kitchen as Rupert comes hard ... with an intensity that was missing from your previous gentle yet passionate encounter. Breathing heavily, you lean on one another for support. You don't know how long you're there before Rupert kisses the dressing on your neck and raises his head to look you in the eyes. He smiles, kissing you softly before pulling back to look at you once more.

"I take it you've made your decision then?" He grins at you, looking so boyishly adorable that you can't help grinning back.

"There was never any decision to make," you reply softly, snuggling into him. It doesn't seem to matter anymore, this whole destiny and duty thing. Vampires? Bring them on. With Rupert you feel safe, protected ... for these few moments nothing else matters. The future will inevitably have its ups and downs, its joy and despair but you know that you hold happiness in your arms and it'll be a cold day in hell before you let this go. Rupert Giles, you think, looks like you're stuck with me.