Drying off gave her plenty of time to calm down. Wesley might leave her feeling frayed and inadequate, but at least he was trying to help. He could have left her standing on the sidewalk outside the espresso stand without a backward glance. Things, as usual, could have been worse. She put her clothes back on and headed to the living room.

Wesley was sitting on the couch, head-down in a moldy-looking book. She watched him frown, lean forward and write something in a notebook, then go back to the previous page. He chewed on the end of his pen as he studied the text, the frown growing as he read.

"Any luck?"

"Not especially, no," he muttered from around the pen. "I thought you'd gone to bed."

"I slept all day."

He grunted and went back to his reading.

Well, that wasn't encouraging. She tried another opener. "I thought maybe we could talk."

The book closed with a snap and he tossed it aside. "About what, Buffy? Are you planning on taking this opportunity to remind me of my failings as a Watcher, or perhaps you'd rather second guess decisions I made when the fate of the world depended on them?"

"I was thinking something more along the line of 'how 'bout that weather we're having' or 'read any good books lately." She sat down on the far end of the couch. "Nothing deep, just... talking."

"My apologies. It's been rather frustrating trying to come up with a livable solution. Unless, of course, you're interested in spending the rest of your life in a convent, in which case it would be fairly simple."

"Can't say I've never thought of it, but the whole religion part kind of strikes it off my list of career choices. That bad?"

"Worse. It was next to impossible to find a way to remove the burden without killing you in the first place, but it looks like child's play next to what I'm trying to accomplish now."

She digested the words. It wasn't unexpected news, but it didn't make it any less unpleasant. "What do I do if you can't come up with something?"

The trace of pity in his gaze stung. "I don't know. There are a handful of stopgap measures that would allow you some limited freedoms, but nothing that would allow you to lead a normal life. For whatever it's worth, Buffy, I'm sorry."

So was she. She pasted a smile on her face and said as brightly as she could manage, "When has my life ever been normal? This is just my regularly scheduled programming."

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, softening the harsh angles of his face. "I need to get some rest, but if you need anything, you know you can wake me."

She smiled, and it felt almost real this time. "Good night, Wes. Thank you."

Very nice Plei!

So nice Plei. Deena, you are going to write more of that, aren't you? And put it together and sent it to sa for the Bitch site and to BFA?

connie, I would like you to keep writing Vamp!Giles and quickly, because I want to get to the next part - and then the part after that, with all the stuff. You know.

Plei, that bit about the sandalwood soap is lovely. One thing:

Which was kind of a lot.

Would you consider losing that? It actually takes away from the power of what you've been showing us, by inserting a statement, thereby telling us instead.

And what you're showing is is pretty damned powerful, girlie.

Fay, more Emma to come later. Ethan is about to make more than a token appearance.

Oh, sure. Right now, many things are up for cutting.

I'll probably whack it.

Plei, I love it. It's fascinating. There's so much hinted at and I love the descriptions. I was trying very hard not to compare, then I figured, if I do that I don't learn -- so I'm comparing. I'm glad you're writing this and posting it for us.

This is such lovely fiction, all of it. I love V!Giles and Ethan, and Emma. I feel so blessed to get to read all this as it happens.

I watched two Avengers episodes last night. I blame Deb.

HA! Was Emma driving her red Lotus Elan? My grandfather actually collected vintage cars, and he had a Lagonda similar to one that Steed drove.

Off to buy shooooooooz....

They were in a hay cart, at the end. We're working our way through the whole Mrs. Peel run, and we're almost to the end of 1965.

So I'm writing blatantly self-serving Weslay'N'Gun4Evah!!!!1! porn.

I have no shame. In fact, my shame is off happily giving a blowjob to a man in a skirt.