She simply stood, watching him, her eyes larger and darker than he remembered. A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. Her dress-- green velvet so dark as to be almost black-- was low-cut and quite form-fitting, leaving little to the imagination.

"Eh-ah," he managed. "I, uh-- he-hello."

She stepped forward, until they were almost touching; she smelled of lavender and honey. "Hello, Rupert," she murmured huskily, and kissed the hollow of his throat. Her tongue darted out, licked him tentatively; he found himself unable to breathe. She cocked her head up at him. "Cat got your tongue?" she teased.

For answer, he cupped her chin with one hand, brought his other hand behind her head, and kissed her on the mouth, hard. She gasped involuntarily, then responded with equal passion, opening her mouth to him. He tasted her, fiercely, as if it were the last night of the world.

They broke off reluctantly. He looked down at her, lightheaded, half- disbelieving what was happening. She reached up and touched his cheek gently. "You're crying."

He pulled her against his chest, cheek against the top of her head, feeling hot tears spill out of his eyes and onto her hair. "Oh God, Jenny, I thought I'd lost you."

She pulled away enough to look somberly up at him. "You won't lose me," she said. "Not ever."

He bent his head and kissed her-- forehead, lips, eyelid, cheek, anywhere his mouth could reach. She tilted her head to allow him better access, purring deep in her throat. Her breath felt hot against his skin.

"Rupert?"

"Hmmm?"

"As much as I like seeing you in a tux"-- she kissed the side of his jaw, and he moaned softly-- "you squirm better without." Her hands stroked his chest, slipped under the jacket, tugged it off his shoulders. He released his grip on her in order to pull the jacket all the way off, and she fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, eagerness making her fingers clumsy. He distracted her with a well-timed kiss; she returned the favor, hands resting on his chest. For a moment they looked into each other's eyes. There was so much that he wanted to say-- but that could wait, surely. He smiled gently, and touched her cheek.

She pushed.

He windmilled backwards, lost his balance, and landed in a rather undignified sprawl on the floor. His shirt flared open, leaving his chest bare. Immediately she was on him, kneeling, straddling his stomach, rubbing his chest with hands that seemed too cold. She leaned down and kissed him with a painful, animalistic hunger-- and when she raised her head again, her face had changed, shifted.

"I've been waiting a long time for this," she growled mockingly in Eyghon's harsh voice.

He struggled, trying desperately to get away, but her grip was too strong. She bent again and kissed him on the throat-- a kiss that left little room for passion. She came up for air once, and then attacked again, using her teeth to tear his throat--

Rupert Giles awoke, panicked, trapped, blinded. It took him a moment to remember where he was-- to remember that the room was dark because it was night, which was a normal thing, and that he was safely in bed, his bed, and alone.

He tried to force his heartrate to settle down, as he took bearings on his situation. For the first time in years he was actually relieved to be alone. Well-- not the first time. He had often escaped Cordelia and her ilk by seeking refuge in the library, and in those cases the silent solitude was refreshing.

But then he'd found Jenny Calendar, and-- once he'd gotten past her smugly stubborn insistence on the virtues of modern technology-- somehow he'd gotten to the point where he needed her, where just the sight of her could send him into a fit of stammering incoherence that felt better, righter, than his isolation. And she seemed to feel the same way about him; it was a good pairing, especially for the Hellmouth.

And then his past had raced to collide with his future, and taunted him with the hell he was trying to avoid. He stared up at the ceiling, miserable, remembering-- remembering Jenny unconscious on the cold unforgiving floor of the library, remembering the look in her eyes as she dared him to take advantage of her. Remembering Angel, his face a strange mask of rage, throttling her in an attempt to drive the demon out.

Remembering her pulling away from him.

"Yeah...sometime."

He couldn't feel any rage against her, not really. It wasn't her fault-- and it was more than reasonable that anyone possessed by a demon as harshly unforgiving as Eyghon would need some time to sort out feelings and memories. And he was responsible for the whole thing-- triply responsible, first for conjuring the demon, then for not killing it properly, then for putting her in danger by virtue of proximity. And-- much as he would have liked to-- he didn't come charging to her rescue.

I didn't know how to stop it, a mental voice protested-- but he stilled it. That wasn't really an excuse. Buffy had been right. "Don't be sorry, be Giles. C'mon, we fight monsters, this is what we do. They show up, they scare us, I beat them up, and they go away. This isn't any different!" Just because he didn't know what to do back in London, didn't mean he couldn't find a way now.

Truth was, he'd been scared. Scared of harming Jenny as he'd killed Randall. Scared they would lose control again. No. Scared I would lose control again. I couldn't fail...I was too afraid of failure to try for success.

And I almost lost her because of it.

No-- he did lose her. She wasn't dead, or possessed any more, but--

"I don't think she'll ever really forgive me. Maybe she shouldn't."

"I didn't want her to see me like this," he murmured aloud, hoping his voice would comfort himself against the darkness. It didn't help much. He wanted to cry-- yet somehow, he'd forgotten how. He'd faced so much in the past year-- demons, vampires, giant insects, hyenas, crazed zookeepers-- but he knew how to handle those. How could he handle this? She wasn't a demon, wasn't a vampire, wasn't an invisible psycho. She was just-

Upset.

Rightfully so.

Giles sighed heavily. It had been a week, and he'd had nightmares every night. Practically every single day, too. I need to talk to her, and soon...this can't go on.

The question was, would she listen...?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jenny Calendar stared at the computer screen, ostensibly reading her latest batch of email, but in reality brooding over the events of the last week. Possession was not an easy thing to deal with.

Neither was Rupert Giles.

"Nothing's safe in this world, Rupert. Don't you know that by now?"

Nothing safe, indeed. Jenny rested her head in her hands, trying to hide from the throbbing headache that seemed to follow her everywhere. It all seemed so unreal. Sure, she'd seem some strange things in her time. Moloch had been bizarre, and prom night was, well, more than bizarre. But there had always been someone there who knew what to do.

Not just someone-- Rupert. He was always there, always with the right knowledge at the right time, always willing to protect others. To protect Buffy and her friends-- and to protect Jenny. He might be an infuriatingly repressed Brit, she thought, a little wryly, but he is so-- sweet. So caring. So adorable.

So maddening...

He was a good kisser, too. She smiled slightly at the memory. There had been something between them-- she knew it, and suspected he did too.

So what went wrong?

Eyghon went wrong, she answered herself. It wasn't a pleasant memory, being possessed by something that evil. Not pleasant? I'm inheriting Rupert's tendency towards understatement. Except for the times she was asleep, she'd spent all day Sunday in the shower, scrubbing at herself until her skin reddened and-- in a few places-- split. It didn't help. The feeling of ick was on the inside, where the soap couldn't get. It was a bad taste in her mouth. A feeling of violation.

She couldn't remember all of what happened that night; the end was a blur of tattoos and hate and purely instinctual hunger. But the beginning-- she almost hadn't noticed the presence of Eyghon at first. She'd felt weird, wrong, but had passed that off as aftereffects of being knocked out. But then-

Then, Eyghon took control. She could feel it, slimy and cold, taking over her brain. She could have-- should have-- fought. Or tried to tell Giles something was wrong. But she didn't.

Truth be told, she enjoyed it too much.

She hated to admit it. She'd forced herself on Rupert-- a drunk, uncertain Rupert, at that. He was vulnerable, and she'd taken advantage of that. And she'd had fun.

No doubt Rupert, with his sweet British gallantry, would insist that it wasn't her, that it was all Eyghon's fault. But the part of her that had thrilled at pinning him beneath her body, taunting him, kissing him with a passion that the moments stolen between classes didn't allow-- that part of her was her alone. It hadn't died with the demon, hadn't been forced on her against her will.

It was her, and she'd taken pleasure.

I had a different vision for the evening, she thought, a little ruefully. Soft music-- candlelight-- a nice dinner-- and then a nice tame evening in bed. Well, maybe not-so-tame...but enjoyable, for both of them. Not forcing Giles to choose between his need for her and his sense of what was proper.

"God, you just don't change, do you? 'Not right'. 'It wouldn't be proper'."

She found out more than she wanted to know, about herself and about him-- and she had to admit that not all of it was bad. If she'd ever doubted that he cared for her-- well, when they kissed, she could feel his body responding in a way that pleased her, even if it wasn't the "right time". And it was slightly relieving to know that even in his wild days, Rupert had been-- responsible. Human.

" 'People might get hurt.' You're like a woman, Ripper. You cry at every funeral. You never had the strength for me-- you don't deserve me."

But-- was there such a thing as being too good? He always treated her properly. Politely. Like a lady. She had dim, pain-hazed memories of his holding her, stroking her hair, crying her name in a voice filled with anguish. He'd been nothing but kind to her-- even afterwards, after Eyghon, he was so eager to make up. To prove himself. To make sure she was all right.

Jenny could feel herself starting to cry, and angrily wiped the tears away. I don't deserve him any more, she thought. Not now. Not after what I did.

Certainly not after enjoying it.

He wanted to talk-- but she couldn't, not yet. Not to him. What could she say? Please forgive me for attacking you like that? For trying to kill you? I love you, now let me rip your stomach out?

Someone knocked, hesitantly, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up to see a rather rumpled-- and extremely worried-looking-- Rupert Giles. Speak of the devil...

"Oh. Hi, Rupert. Sorry, I have a, um, meeting to get to..." She slipped past him, trying not to touch him, afraid of spreading-- something. Ick-germs. Cooties. He has enough to worry about right now-- I can't let him have a part of my pain.

"Jenny-" he said, a little helplessly, but she ducked into the women's restroom and leaned shakily against one of the stall partitions.

"It's not...I'm not a very safe person to be around at the moment."

"Guess what, Rupert," she whispered, running her hands through her hair. "Neither am I."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rupert Giles stared after her, not quite sure what to do. She was still upset with him, that was clear. And quite frankly, he wasn't surprised.

"You know, I will understand if you decide to start avoiding me."

She'd just smiled and slipped her arm through his: a silent gesture of faith that meant more to him than verbal protests would have. I can handle it, she seemed to be saying. I will handle it, because I like you, because it's not worth losing you just because we live on the Hellmouth.

Granted, that was just his interpretation. But there was something there-- a smile, a promise. Hope. She'd followed through on that promise, too: a look here, a touch there, well-meant (if amusingly wrong) dates.

And then came Saturday. Eyghon. Failure. His failure.

Awkwardly, feeling like his limbs were only barely under his control, he stumbled into the computer lab and sat down. Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, I never wanted you to get hurt. Never wanted you to get involved...

"So I got involved. That's what happens when two people... get involved."

Had that been Jenny speaking, or Eyghon? It was all so confusing, even for him. She was the first time he'd seen an unwilling victim. Randall, Philip, Deirdre-- they'd all taken Eyghon into themselves willingly. Knew what they were dealing with. And it was easy to tell when they were Eyghon and when they were themselves, because the line was so abrupt-- they slept, Eyghon woke, and at some point they sent Eyghon back to whatever demonic plane he came from, and became themselves again. Jenny was different. Because she hadn't chosen, hadn't known. Hadn't had a hope of control.

And it was all his fault.

It all came back to that, didn't it? This wasn't just your average demon who came wandering around the Hellmouth. It was his demon. He had found it-- conjured it-- failed to kill it. Assumed it was gone permanently just because it vanished. And it was him Eyghon had been after. If he hadn't been around Jenny, hadn't cared for her so much, she wouldn't have been in the line of fire. Wouldn't have had to go through this. Wouldn't have to hurt.

Rupert buried his head in his arms; the tweed of his jacket felt rough against his face. The last week had been no better than a nightmare; when would he wake up and discover it had never happened?

"Rupert," she said, touching his shoulder, and he jerked his head up. She was wearing a normal, casual outfit-- beige cardigan, black slacks, silver celtic-knot necklace-- but somehow she looked beautiful still. Magical. He tried to speak-- tried to apologise, to explain, to comfort-- but no sound came out. She smiled gently and sat next to him.

"Did I ever thank you?"

"I-- for what?"

"For being there for me." Her smile seemed wrong, too bright, too-- false. He tried not to flinch back. It wasn't anything, surely, couldn't be-- just that it had been too long since she'd smiled at him.

He put his arm around her, drawing her closer until her head rested on his chest. "I couldn't do enough," he whispered. "I did what I could, but it nearly got you killed."

"That's okay." She tilted her head up to smile at him. "I won't die any more. You, on the other hand..."

Giles blinked and pulled away from her grasp, suddenly cold. She smirked at him, eyes demon-gold, forehead distorted into an animal grimace.

"Fagsth," he managed, staring. Jenny-- a vampire? But-- how? When?

"Nice comeback," she said, her voice slightly slurred from the fangs. "I always love our witty repartee."

Instinct forced him to grab the stake he always carried with him. Instinct brought his arm up in a defensive position, the point of the stake aimed at her heart. Instinct screamed at him to kill.

He couldn't. Not Jenny.

"Eyghon was right," she taunted, half in contempt, half disgust. "You are weak. C'mon, can't you take me? You did this. You made me what I am. Can't you face it? Can't you live up to responsibility?"

Hating himself, he gave in to instinct and pushed the stake home, and she collapsed into a pile of dust. Like the Cheshire cat, her smile seemed to linger longer than anything else, mocking him. Revulsed, he looked down at his chest, at the fine layer of dust on his jacket. Grey dust. Jenny's dust. Jenny.

"I didn't want to..." he whispered-- but apologies were too late, as usual.

"Giles?" Buffy said from the doorway, awed, frightened.

"...Giles? You okay?"

His head snapped up painfully. "I didn't-" he blurted, then stopped. Buffy-- with Willow peeking over her shoulder-- looked more puzzled than horrified. He looked down at himself-- no dust. His hands started to shake, and he clenched them together violently. "Of course I'm okay," he said, but it sounded unconvincing even to him.

"C'mon, Giles. It's not like you to fall asleep at school."

"Especially in the computer lab," Willow added.

"I--" He looked down again, trying to shake the images from his dream. I failed, he thought miserably. Again.

"Giles?" Buffy was closer now, looking at him with a very worried expression. "You don't look like you've been eating. Or sleeping."

He smiled, wryly, humorlessly. "I've been sleeping, all right. Just-- nightmares."

"I know that one." Buffy sat in the chair next to him. Her face conveyed so much-- sympathy, understanding, concern. Giles looked away. It's different, he wanted to say. You've never failed.

"Can I give you some advice?" She paused a beat, and when he said nothing, continued: "Punishing yourself like this is pointless. What are you going to do, crawl inside a cave for the rest of your life?"

He smiled faintly, remembering when he had said that to her. "Would it have books?"

Buffy echoed the smile, then bit her lip. "Giles, please, stop-- stop dying inside. You aren't doing yourself any favors, and you aren't helping any of us."

"I've already-" His voice sounded rough, and he stopped and sighed.

"We need you," Willow said softly. "Ms Calendar needs you."

Giles winced at that. "No she doesn't. I've already ruined her life enough..."

"Giles, listen to me." Buffy gripped his arm and looked intensely into his eyes. "She needs you. She's hurt, frightened, unsure. She doesn't need someone who locks himself in a closet bashing himself over the head with a big mallet. She needs someone to be there for her, to listen to her, to help her. And you're the only one that can do that."

He looked away, shrugging off her touch. "She doesn't trust me any more."

"I think it's you that doesn't trust yourself any more."

Giles looked at them for a moment, then frowned and left. Maybe Buffy was right-- maybe Jenny needed someone. Needed him? He wanted to think so, but there was a part of him that still insisted he was too dangerous for her.

I'll speak to her tonight, he resolved.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jenny sighed and ran her hands through her hair. Out of habit more than anything else, she'd fixed herself dinner-- just some soup, nothing special, she didn't seem to have the energy for big meal productions any more. But she still didn't feel like eating, and the soup sat untouched on the stove.

The doorbell rang; Jenny sighed. "If you're selling something," she muttered as she unlocked and opened the door, "I'm not inter-- oh. Hi."

"Um, hi." Rupert Giles blinked at her, obviously unsure what to say. "I, uh...I needed to, to see how you were doing."

Needed, not wanted. She felt her anger rise slightly, if a little irrationally, and without a word she backed away. He followed, tentatively. His eyes looked at her, pleading, begging for acknowledgment. It was the same look he'd used when stammering out his offer for a date, except more hesitant, more resigned.

"Um," she said, trying to think of something to say. "Could I get you some-- uh, coffee?"

"I...guess."

Brilliant conversation, she scolded herself-- but she had no idea what to say. She busied herself with pouring two cups of coffee, and avoided his eyes as she handed him his. He sipped, grimaced. "What is this stuff?"

"Um, my usual. Instant."

"Not very...I don't generally...drink instant coffee." He set the cup down and sat on the edge of the couch.

"Oh, and I'm sure you grow your own coffee plant and grind the beans by hand," she teased, almost like old times. Almost. She could see his eyes, haunted by the same pain and fear that her own were, and fell silent.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Me too, she wanted to say, but what came out was "Why didn't you tell me?"

He flinched at that, but then tried to regain his composure. "I didn't think it necessary to inform you of something I was hiding from," he said stiffly. "There was no reason to. Eyghon was dead."

Tears stung her eyes; she blinked them back. She wouldn't let herself cry, not in front of him. Her speech came out harsher than she intended.

"Except then he came back, so he wasn't really dead after all."

"I tried to protect you..." His voice quivered, insecurely. "God, I'm sorry, I would have done anything to stop it..."

"Anything, like getting drunk so you'd make a good target?" She hated herself for saying these things, but for once it felt good to take anger out on someone other than herself.

"I was trying to protect you," he repeated, and then looked at her. "Jenny, I am sorry-- I can't say that enough, can I?"

"Can't you say anything else?" she snapped. "Being sorry isn't enough-- it's time you took responsibility for what you did." He flinched again, and seemed to pull back into himself, but she was darkly glad to pour her anger and frustration out on him. "You, of all people, summoning a demon, especially one as powerful as Eyghon! You, who knew that the 'ghoulies and ghaesties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night' are real, not just imagined fancies!" She stood up and began to pace, hoping he wouldn't see the tears which filled her eyes. "And then when Eyghon starts hunting you down, what do you do? Fight? Use your prior knowledge to find a weakness? Nooo, of course not. You crawl away, get so drunk you can hardly stand, and sit back and watch as Eyghon nearly kills me!"

He sat very still, head bowed, looking like a kicked puppy. He offered no defense, not even an explanation, just sat and accepted her verbal punishment. Paradoxically, this just angered her further.

"Damn you!" Her voice was getting hysterical, trembling beyond her control. "Damn you, why did you have to do this to us, to me? I thought I could tr-trust you. I thought you'd always be there, always know what to do and where to go and how to stop it, and..."

Abruptly, as swiftly as it had come, her anger against him vanished, leaving only fear and despair and bitter self-loathing. She could no longer hold back the tears, but started to sob hysterically, gasping for breath. Dimly she was aware of him coming to stand in front of her, pulling her into a hug, stroking her hair. Her thoughts spiraled, danced incoherently.

...oh god oh god I hate myself hate myself why do I do these things? I'm so weak, so horrible, so-- such a hypocrite, how can I say these things when I did worse, I don't want to hurt him, I just-- he doesn't want me, can't want me, not after what I did, not after I failed like this-- I hate myself, why can't he hate me too? He should hate me...

She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud, but his embrace tightened. "Jenny," he whispered, pleadingly, "I could never hate you. Never. Don't-- how can you blame yourself like this? It's not your fault, not at all."

"Yes it is," she insisted, but her tear-storm was subsiding. "I could have stopped it, could have fought harder-- could have told you something was wrong, could have warned you. Not just could-- should have. And didn't." He touched her chin gently, raising her face, so that her eyes met his. "Oh, Jenny," he said again, giving a small sad smile. "It isn't your fault. It's Eyghon's. And he's dead now, won't be coming back to haunt you-- us."

Jenny bit her lip and smiled shakily. "I'm getting your shirt wet."

"Perfectly all right," he murmured. "It'll dry. I'm just glad... I...I was afraid you wouldn't ever talk to me again."

"That's funny. Not funny ha-ha, but you see, I didn't think you'd want...well..." She fell silent. Could she honestly admit to him how much she'd failed? How much she'd enjoyed it?

"It was my fault. All of it, and I couldn't-- didn't-- do anything to stop it."

"As you said, it was Eyghon's fault." And mine. "Not yours."

He shook his head slightly, as if determined to cast blame on himself. "I called the demon. I failed to kill it. Or stop it."

"Rupert." She smiled slightly. "So you made a mistake. You're human. We all are. And-- if you need me to say it-- I forgive you for it."

It would be an exaggeration to say that he smiled, but there was some relief in his eyes. Hesitantly he bent his head in a tentative offer to kiss. Reacting purely on instinct, she responded in kind. Their lips brushed-

Jenny pulled away abruptly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. I'm not ready for this... "I...I should go to bed."

"Right." He looked awkwardly at her. "I'll, uh...I'll see you on Monday, then, I guess?"

There was silence in the room, broken only by the ticking of a clock. Jenny looked at him, then looked away. There was a part of her that wanted to beg him to stay, that wanted him to be the knight in shining armour again, who would slay any dragons that passed this way. Even though she'd seen that even he wasn't perfect, there was still that belief.

"I'll, um, go, then," he said, glancing back at her, and started for the door.

What the hell. She didn't have much to lose by asking, anyway. "Rupert?" Jenny asked in a small voice. "Stay with me-- please?"

He blinked rapidly. "I-- if you, um, that is-- sure."

Jenny smiled, but she didn't feel as happy as she thought she should. A few weeks ago, getting him to stay the night would have been a matter of celebration. Now, she just felt...relieved. "I've spent too many nights alone," she explained. "I need someone with me. Human. That isn't looking to possess me. The night just scares me too much, now."

From the look on his face, he understood. Perfectly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rupert felt like he was drowning in exhaustion. Between stress and nightmares, he hadn't had a good sleep in ages. But a tickle on his arm brought him, half-protesting, out of sleep. He swatted at the source of annoyance, but when his hand closed around another hand, smaller and a little cooler, his eyes pulled open blearily.

"Jenny?" he murmured.

"So," she said, gently, teasingly, "you're awake, huh?"

"Barely." He blinked his eyes a couple of times to clear them, and looked at her properly for the first time. She'd obviously been up for a while, since she was dressed-- light jeans and a loose-fitting sweater. Her side of the bed was loosely made, and she lay on top of the spread, one hand propping her head up, the other trapped in Rupert's grasp.

"Mmm." She wriggled her fingers free, and brushed his hair away from his eyes. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," he lied. For once he hadn't had any nightmares, but he'd been up half the night anyway, watching her. "You?" It was an automatic question, even though he knew the answer. She'd slept restlessly, trembling and crying out against unseen horrors-- and the worst bit was, he knew no way to comfort her.

Her smile faded slightly. "I...it was better than it's been lately."

Better. Giles tried not to wince, tried not to think of what she was going through-- what he had put her through. "I'm sorry..."

"You've said that before." Her smile was back, maybe a little darker than it would have been a month before, more bittersweet, but still a smile. "What's done is done, Rupert. You can't go back and change anything, now."

"But I could have-"

She touched her finger to his lips, silencing him. "Maybe you could have, but does it really matter any more? Eyghon is dead, and we're all alive. Isn't that enough?"

He met her gaze, trying-- for her sake, at the least-- not to show fear. It isn't enough, he almost said. It wasn't enough before, and nothing I can do now will ever be enough.

But her expression silenced him. Lie to me, it seemed to say. Tell me that the world's a happy place, that if I pull the covers over my head and shut my eyes, the night won't exist any more. Tell me that there aren't any monsters, or demons, or vampires.

"I wish I could," he whispered, half to himself.

"Hmmm?" She'd gone back to tickling his arm; it took him a moment to realize that she was lightly tracing the Eyghon tattoo.

"Nothing." What could he say, when she already knew there was no happily ever after, no princes who came riding in on white horses to slay dragons and marry damsels in distress? There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do, that would erase what had happened. Eyghon's shadow would be with them forever.

The tracing stopped. "Rupert?"

"...yes?"

"Thanks," she said, simply, unsarcastically.

Rupert looked over at her. "I love you," his heart said, and "I'm sorry," and Can you ever forgive me? But words could wait.

For now, a smile was enough