Parting Ways

Rupert stared straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of him, oblivious to the safety demonstration being performed at the front of the plane, the roar of the jet engines, and even the excessive fragrance of the woman in the seat to his right.  His thoughts were firmly fixed on the red haired enigma that he fully intended to leave behind forever.  Only hours ago, he'd not even known who she was, or who he was for that matter.  Once again he, and the rest of her friends, had been on the receiving end of one of her well intentioned, yet disastrous, spells.  This time she'd been affected as well, and only by pure dumb luck had they all been cured.

He'd been beyond embarrassed at the situation the memory loss had left him in.  Mercifully, he'd had a plane to catch and could make his escape without attracting too much suspicion.  He didn't have time to be angry with Willow for her foolish behavior.  He had packing to do.

It felt strange to know he would never set foot in the Sunnydale apartment again.  As much as he still considered himself an Englishman, and always would, California had come to feel like home, as well.  When the front door opened, he had just been carrying another suitcase downstairs.  He stared in disbelief at the girl in his doorway.  If he'd expected anyone to come and demand a messy goodbye, he felt certain it would be Buffy.  Willow looked just as surprised to see him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her, not unkindly.

"Oh!  Sorry.  I actually thought you'd be gone by now."

Rupert finished descending the stairs and set the suitcase aside.  "My plane doesn't leave for a few hours.  But if you thought I was gone, then why come here?"

Willow fidgeted the way he had not seen her fidget in years.  Her time in college, her time with Tara, if he was honest with himself, had made a confident young woman out of her.  "I don't know why I'm here.

Seems like everyone's leaving, or still pretty mad about the whole memory loss thing, and I thought you were gone too, but this is the place I always felt like I could come when the rest of the world didn't make any sense, and I guess it still is."   She searched his face desperately, as if she expected mocking or anger.  "Pretty stupid, huh?"

Tears shone in her eyes, and acting on an instinct that refused to die, no matter how grown up she got, or how complex their relationship had been, he went to her and wrapped her in his warmest hug.  He meant it innocently enough.  He had excellent reasons to not worry about anything happening between them anymore.  Not only did Willow date women now, she had also firmly rebuked his advances the last time they had been put forth.

Though two years had now elapsed since Willow had found her way into his bed, an incident of quite uncomfortable misunderstanding had taken place just six months ago.  In despair of ever finding a cure for Tara when her mind had been destroyed by Glory, Willow had come to him, distraught, lonely, helpless.  Given their history, when she arrived at his door in that state, he assumed she sought the comfort of his body.  When he first embraced her, she hadn't resisted.  Though he'd had every intention of offering to make her tea and listening to her woes, the feel of her heaving sobs against his chest brought back all sorts of lascivious thoughts and feelings, and though the circumstances insisted that such feelings were misguided at best, and perverse at worst, no room was left for scruples in a mind so completely consumed by desire.

When she looked up at him, he bent and kissed her.  The kiss lasted just long enough for Willow to realize what was happening.  Almost immediately, she pulled away from him.  The look of shock on her face was all he needed to tell him that he'd read things completely wrong. But that wasn't all he got.  Willow was livid.  She berated him for several minutes, asking how he thought she would ever betray Tara, especially in her current condition, and hadn't he noticed she was gay now?

He'd stumbled through an apology, almost as shocked by his own behavior as she was.

Desperate to help Tara, she'd warily accepted his apology and asked for his assistance in finding a cure, as she originally intended to do.

In the end, working together, they had discovered what needed to be done, and Rupert's reward was to see the woman he loved happy in the arms of another.

Their happiness had lasted until that very day when Rupert found himself gathering his belongings and casting his thoughts towards a future in his home country.  The look on Tara's face when the group realized that Willow had been the cause of their amnesia was all he needed to know that it was over between the two witches.  He found himself alternately understanding of Tara's dilemma, and outraged that anyone could refuse to forgive Willow anything.  It did not occur to him to hold the slightest hope that the destruction of their relationship would give him another chance with her.  Not until their innocent, comforting embrace at his front door, surrounded by luggage, lasted that extra moment, crossing the line into something more intimate.

After several more seconds, he was no longer certain if she was refusing to let go or if it was he who prolonged the contact.  Perhaps both.  One of Willow's hands rested dangerously low on his back, scant centimeters from caressing his ass.  He firmly told himself that it was merely a coincidence of her shorter stature, her hand should naturally fall at that level.   When her hand slid lower, then back up under his tweed jacket, he gave up his self-delusions.

Even as he felt the warmth of sudden desire flood his body, Rupert's heart sank for the woman in his arms.  Only at the lowest moments of her life had she given herself to him, and he hated to think of her feeling so terribly, though he'd wanted nothing more than this very opportunity for the last two years.

Fleetingly, he wondered how she would cope the next time she go burned by love and he wasn't around to soothe her wounded pride.  Of course, he hoped it wouldn't come to that.  He wanted her to be happy, however difficult that seemed to be for anyone living on the hellmouth.

He stroked her hair, waiting for her to stop crying long enough to kiss her.  Illusions no longer served him.  Willow would catch her breath, then they would have sex.  When it was over, he'd leave to catch his plane and never see her again.  She would get what she needed from him and he'd get one more precious memory of her luscious young body before he condemned himself to choosing among the small selection of available women in his home town.

It didn't matter that he still loved her.  He could never be anything meaningful to her, even were he staying in Sunnydale.  So he would be something meaningless.  A quick shag to take her mind off her troubles.  Nothing more.

Her tears dried on her cheeks and she looked at him with a sort of longing that was not for a lover but for a home.  A place to be safe and warm and surrounded by family.  He couldn't give her that and she knew it.  So she took what she could from him.  She let him lead her upstairs where the neatly made bed stood in the center of a room still furnished for the man moving in the following week to sublet the apartment, yet coldly empty of the personal affects that had made it Rupert's place.

Standing together at the edge of the bed, they kissed, and he could taste the salt from her tears on her flushed skin.  Her hands pushed the tweed jacket off his shoulders and went to work unfastening his button down shirt.  His fingers plucked her blouse from the waist of her jeans lifted it over her head, then let it float to the floor. Before long they were naked but for the tangle of bed linens that wound around their twining limbs.

Their love making was silent, save for the harshness of their breath.

Rupert restrained himself from uttering any professions of devotion or anything else that would make it harder to leave this woman in his past, where she belonged.  For her part, Willow had never spoken during their few affairs and did not deviate from this routine now.

When it was done, she smiled at him, and it surprised him as much as finding her at his door.  He watched her walk to the bathroom, puzzled by the sudden change in her.  She looked sure of herself and faintly pleased.  Time did not permit him to dwell on this, one of many feminine mysteries, for very long.  Quickly, he took another set of sheets from the closet and reassembled the bed for the new tenant.

Willow breezed out of the bathroom as he bent to retrieve his pants.

He felt her touch on his bare bottom.  "Where ya going?" she asked, or rather, purred, in that new, pleased way of hers.

He straightened, turned to face her, and frowned.  "I've less than two hours to make the plane and it's an international flight.  I'll need to hurry, I'm sorry."  He thought she would understand the necessity of skipping a post-coital nap or snuggle.  He was wrong.

Willow's face crumpled back into a striking resemblance of the face she wore on entering his apartment.  Gone was that freshly gained look of almost smug confidence. "You're still leaving?"  Her voice rose on the last word until it was nearly a wail of despair.

More confused than ever, Rupert said, "Yes, of course.  I explained when you came in that I needed to depart shortly."  He dressed as he spoke, though Willow remained standing naked in the center of the room, her distress overcoming any natural sense of modesty that would've send her scurrying to retrieve her clothes in any other situation.

As he looked at her, she made the rapid transition from anguish to anger.  "How can you just leave me here like this?" she demanded.  "After, after�"  She gestured furiously at the bed.  Taking a deep, hiccoughing breath that foretold of another crying spell, she tried valiantly to get herself under control before continuing.  "I thought you would stay, for me, if for nothing else."

By nothing, she of course meant no one, which in turn meant Buffy.

She'd hoped that she would succeed where Buffy had failed in persuading him that he was still needed, and wanted, in Sunnydale. He saw that now and wondered how he could've been so ignorant of her intention in seducing him this one last time.  Somehow, knowing the truth made him love her all the more.  Though surely she'd desired some comfort from their tryst as in times past, this incident had a hint of selflessness in it that he'd not predicted.  When she discovered that he was still at home, she'd hoped that going to bed with him would make him stay, and not just for her, but for her friend.  If he hadn't spent so much time making up his mind to do just the opposite he knew he would have been on the phone right that minute canceling his airline reservation.  But he had to go.

"Willow," he began, though he hardly knew what would come out of his mouth next in this unexpected dilemma.  "You can't begin to know what I feel for you.  If I thought for one moment that remaining here was the best choice for you or for Buffy, I'd stay.  As it is, that's impossible.  I think you know that.  I am sorry if this hurts you, it's the last thing I'd wish."  He moved forward then, hesitantly, and gave her one last, chaste kiss with closed lips pressed momentarily to her pouting mouth.  He stepped back.  "Goodbye, my dear."

Though it took every ounce of his willpower and tore his heart till he thought he would die on the spot, he turned his back on her and went down the stairs to collect his things.  At the last moment, as the door began to close behind him, he heard her call to him, but he didn't turn, and he didn't answer.  It was done.

Most of Rupert Giles sat on a plane headed for merry old England.  But his heart sat on a floor in an apartment where it had fallen at the feet of a girl who would never give her own to fill the hole in his chest.  It could stay there, for all he cared.  Love had done nothing but hurt him, and he'd borne all the pain he could stand.

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