A/N: Wow, can I just say sorry? I forgot I had this one already written until I settled down to write the next chapter. I'm so sorry. The good news it that there is only one more chapter in this story of the series, but the bad news is that it isn't written yet and I don't know when I'll get the chance to since I have to work on Dark Lines Crossed right now. Stick around though. It will get finished. And hey, I might get inspired by the reviews that you give (hint hint).

Thanks to all who reviewed.

xoxox

England, December 2014.

She didn't want to be here.

God, she didn't want to be here.

She wanted to be at home curled in the large overstuffed couch in front of the fire that warmed up her whole cottage. She wanted Snickers, to be curled up at her side. She wanted to listen to Hagrid tell her about his new lesson plan while she tried to choke down some rock cakes and doge the drool of Fang. She wanted to be drinking tea with Dumbledore, because wasn't that what they always did, and worry about the prophecy that he still hadn't told her.

She wanted to be anywhere but here.

She had been standing at the door for several minutes and still hadn't found the courage to actually knock. Knocking would mean returning to her past. And it was still too painful for her. Years had passed but she felt the same on the inside.

Raw.

Bleeding.

But this was her last chance. While she had all the time in the world she had forgotten that her friends didn't. The people she had once called family.

Giles.

She reached for the knocker on the door for the fifth time and it registered in the back of her mind that her hand was shaking even more than it had on her previous attempts. Maybe it was because this time she was determined to go through with it.

And then it was over.

Footsteps sounded and she took a step back hoping to find some sort of balance before entering. Locks were thrown back and the knob twisted. The point of no return. And with that thought something settled in her chest and calm washed over her.

The door was answered by a cheerful looking young man with glasses in a tweed jacket. The spitting image of Giles in his younger watcher days. Looking at him she felt a small tug on her heartstrings for the simpler days when her biggest worry was that the Master might rise.

Simple.

The thought made her smile.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled her back from the memories she was lost in. The young man smiled, "Are you Buffy?"

"I'm here to see Giles."

The boy sighed in relief at the statement, "I was worried you would not make it in time."

"How is he?"

The man moved to the side to allow her access into the house, "This is not the sort of conversation we should have without some fortification."

She nodded and entered the house, silently acknowledging the fact that he never invited her in. Old habits and all that.

He ushered to a seat in a side sitting room before leaving to get a pot of tea. She took the time to look around. The room was sparsely decorated with an old style Victorian feel. She didn't see any of his old books that were so common at his place in Sunnydale, and it was just one more reminder that things had changed. As if she needed any extra hints.

Overall it reminded it of his more stuffier Watcher days. Feelings of nostalgia swept over her and she looked down at her tightly clasped hands in her lap. The man, who was really more of a boy she realized as she got a closer look, carried a tea tray with all the essentials on it.

He asked her how she took her tea and as he prepared their drinks she looked closer at his features. He really did look strikingly like Giles. If she had to guess, she would place him at about 17 years old. Dark brown, short very groomed hair. His hands were not calloused, and he didn't carry himself like a fighter. There was no readiness in him that was so typical of those who lived on the battlefield. But she had no doubt that he knew about the things that went bump in the night. He lived with Giles, there was no way any charge of his would go untrained.

She was handed a cup and she waited for him to take a seat before taking a sip. The aroma of peppermint drifted up to her and she gave a small contented sigh. But then she remembered the reason she was there and what little tension she lost with that small comfort came back twofold.

She quietly sat the tea on a side table next to her chair before turning to the boy, "How is he? Really."

The boy's shoulders slumped in defeat at not being able to hold off the questions any longer. "Not good," was the simple answer.

"How much longer?"

"A day, maybe two. Possibly less."

She sucked in a sharp breath at the news. It was finally hitting her that the man she had looked up to for most of her life was not going to be there much longer. Despite the fact that they rarely communicated she had always taken comfort in the fact that he was somewhere in the world looking after it.

She blinked back the tears in her eyes and watched as the boy in front of her yanked off his glasses and cursed under his breath, clearly not liking being the messenger of bad news. She watched in awe as he cleaned his glasses and everything fell in place.

"You're Giles' son," she whispered. But in this room where silence was absolute, her comment rang like a gong.

He looked up startled, "You did not know."

It wasn't a question but she shook her head anyways, "We rarely talked. He was busy with the slayers and I was…" she looked down guiltily at her clasped hands, "I had other things I needed to do."

"I'm sorry, I did not realize—" he stopped himself and took a deep breath before holding out his hand, "William Giles at your service."

She carefully took his hand and shook it, ignoring the surreal quality the meeting had, "I should really go see Giles now."

"Of course," he said releasing her hand, "He is sleeping at the moment, but feel free to wait in his room." He gave her a concerned look, "I have to warn you," he said carefully, "he is a changed man. His illness- well, it has changed him."

He gave her a small, sad smile before leading her to a room in the back of the house where he left her in front of a closed door before walking away. She looked at it in trepidation before gently easing it open as quietly as possible.

The room was dark, but not too dark for the Slayer. Heavy curtains were drawn across the window blocking out most of the light but she could tell from the faint breeze she felt that one of the windows was open.

This room was completely different from the rest of the house. In fact, it would have fit in well with her cottage. The large four poster bed was the focal point of the room. But she barely registered its presence before her eyes moved past it to examine the rest of the room. It had its own fire place that was cold and barren. She couldn't help the fleeting thought that it reflected the occupant of the bed.

The mantle was covered in pictures. Pictures he had saved from Sunnydale. Pictures of Willow and her daughters. Of Xander holding his wife. There was even one of Faith and Wood. There were many of William, his son, and wasn't that a staggering thought. The mantle chronicled their lives. It was everything she had missed for the past fourteen years. They had all aged so beautifully. She wished she could have been there.

It had never hit her until that moment what she had been missing by cutting herself off. Exchanging letters was not the same as real life face-to-face meetings. She had missed the human contact that came with friendship. She had missed their lives.

She couldn't help but wonder if they ever thought about her.

While she was sequestered in her own little universe they had moved on with life. She envied them that luxury, but at the same time she was so happy they were able to.

One of the pictures caught her eye and she picked it up before moving to sit in the overstuffed chair next to the bed. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the contours of her friends' faces. It was the picture that Soldier-Xander had thrust at her when she was Duchess-Buffy. They had all been so happy.

She gave a soft sigh and sat the picture to the side. She knew what she was doing. She was avoiding accepting Giles' mortality. She hated the thought that this brave man who she loved could die. He couldn't die. She was the Slayer. He was the watcher. She was supposed to die before him. That was the way it was.

Just ignore the fact that her first watcher, Merrick, died before her, and that other little fact that she had already died twice.

This was Giles.

He couldn't die.

She wiped at damp eyes and finally looked at the occupant of the bed. It shook her deeply at what she saw. He was only a shadow of himself. The years had caught up to him. What little hair he had left was completely grey. His skin was stretched tight across his boney frame. He looked… weak. Something he had never before looked.

He had withered away.

Silent sobs shook her body as she reached a hand out to tenderly take his. She would do anything to have the bright young watcher she slowly coaxed out of his shell when they first met in the Sunnydale library.

She scooted her chair to the edge of the bed and pulled his hand closer to her. Tears were falling unnoticed on the bedspread but she was solely concentrating on the frail hand held in-between her own. She felt like praying, but she knew that it was impossible to keep him from his time.

And suddenly she knew how Willow felt when they made the decision to bring her back. If she was feeling this strongly after fourteen years of separation how bad must it have been for them when they were still close.

She could sympathize.

It was in that moment when she was lost in a maelstrom of grief that he woke. The confusion that accompanies waking faded slower than it once had. And even after some of the uncertainty had faded there was still a haze in his mind.

He came to awareness slowly. The first thing he was conscious of was the feeling of safety. His hand was being held like it was the most precious thing in the world. Like it would break at any moment. Eyes that had once been able to make out figures even without the aid of glasses failed him and he was unable to identify the golden creature kneeling over his hand, head bowed.

The figure shuddered silently and it almost broke his heart. It was all golden and light, even in the darkness of the room. It reminded him of a fallen angel praying over him for his soul. It gave his poor heart hope.

He wanted to reach out and touch it, give it some form of comfort, but his body once again failed him and he was unable to make even the slightest movement. His frustration at his failings brought forth a slight groan and the figure looked up.

She was shocked out of her misery by the almost unheard noise coming from his lips. He was awake. And for a moment she panicked, her hands involuntarily tightening on his. He was looking at her with the strangest expression on is face and she felt fear as her doubts assailed her. What if he didn't want her there? What if he never wanted to see her again?

But he said nothing, merely gazed on her face, eyes slightly unfocused. She kept the silence as she found it comforting. She didn't know how long they sat there quietly but she knew that she would have to be the one to end it. She was forcibly reminded of his mortality as racking coughs shook his fragile frame. She rose from her seat, wanting to help but not knowing what to do.

It took him some time, but he calmed and his breathing evened out.

"Do you need me to bring you something?" the offer was softly made but any peace she would have found had been shattered as she watched him helplessly trying to simply breathe. And he just lay there, looking up at her. She glanced to the side table, reluctant to tear her gaze away, and saw a glass of water sitting next to a prescription pill bottle. And his glasses. She shook her head for the fool that she was, of course he was having trouble seeing her, because he couldn't, and picked them up and offered them to him, but he made no movement. She gave a small shrug and gently placed them on his face.

He stared at her the entire time.

That voice, so familiar, but recognition flittered through his mind before fading once again to the background. A name, nothing more. But the feelings that it aroused in him were so deeply ingrained that he wondered that he didn't automatically recognize her for what she was.

An angel.

Come to take him home.

A small grin lit his face and it was even worth the small pain it caused just to see her smile back at him.

"I'm… ready," the words were barely breathed but the implications echoed throughout the room.

She couldn't deal with this. Give her apocalypses over this any day. She would have gladly jumped into a raging inferno to avoid what was happening now. She would have done anything. Anything but this.

It was pain like she couldn't believe.

She didn't have the strength to see him die.

Sobs choked her and one hand rose to her mouth in a weak attempt to keep them from spilling out of her mouth. She wasn't strong, she was weak. She hadn't seen him in years and now she decided it was the right time to see him? What kind of person was she, trying to beg for and give forgiveness in the last moments of an old man's life? She had once had years to make peace with him. And now?

It was too late.

He looked forlornly at her hands. She had released him when she stood, and he found himself missing the warmth she offered. "Are you- are you here to take me?"

A whimper escaped her and she had to force herself to remain standing. The situation was so wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this way. "Giles-"

The look of wonder that crossed his face halted her words, "That's me. And you're Buffy." The statement held so much warmth and (was it) love.

She collapsed to her knees like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The flood of tears that had been held back by a thread broke and she clasped his hand and sobbed into the coverlet. Words caught in her throat and her grief overwhelmed her. She was helpless to do anything but release the emotions she had felt since hearing of his condition. Since she had received the letter telling her that he wasn't long in this world.

She was… she was crying. Why was she crying? Did angels cry? What had he done in this life that was so horrible that it brought an angel to tears? The thoughts rolled through his head without aim. Memories that were disjointed swamped him and he was flailing without anchor in the deep recesses of his own mind.

But the entire time he watched her. He instinctively knew that she could be his anchor.

And she was.

Memories of anger, and pain, and betrayal rushed through him. Torrents of suffering and misery swamped him. But through it all… there was love. Deep love.

An older woman who was always baking loved and protected him from his fears. There was the love of a friend in a person he associated with a two faced figure. He remembered being loved as a man by a woman with sad eyes and roses. A boy with a passion for the world and a desire to see it safe loved him with a pure untainted light. And her… the angel. She loved him. She looked to him to guide her.

What was that word he was looking for? Oh yes, duty. She had a great duty, and not just to him but to the world. And his duty was to her. But that word… duty, it was colored with a greater meaning. She had changed the meaning.

It sounded more like… love?

And then something clicked.

Everything fell into place, and for the first time in many months he remembered. The haze dissipated from his mind and he saw clearly what was going on. And even as the realizations were taking place, he looked to her quivering form and wished that he could change so many things. Regrets were not something he thought he could handle so late in life.

Long unused muscled strained to reach her and give her a small measure of comfort.

She didn't register the hand that was slowly stroking her hair at first. She was simply trying to keep breathing. She needed to be strong. It had been a good long while since she had last broken down like this and it shamed her that she was wasting the few moments they had left by bawling like a baby.

It took her a long time but she finally managed to pull herself back from her pain. And there he was, a sad look on his face. His hand drifted down to touch her cheek.

They so rarely showed affection, him with his stiff British upper-lip, and her with her own insecurities, that the few moments they did were held as precious. And she couldn't help but treasure it for what it was. One of the last moments they had.

"I'm so sorry Giles."

A soft smile graced his features and he lowered is hand, all strength gone, "I know. It has- it has been some time now, has it not?"

She nodded her head, unable to express herself, "And yet… you look—"

"I know," she gently cut him off, "It's why I couldn't—"

"I understand."

She gripped his hand all the tighter at hearing the finality in his voice, unwilling to just let him go. "And I too need to apologize."

"Giles, no—"

But he wouldn't let her finish, "Yes. I treated you… abominably that last year. And I left you… my duty."

She looked down, shamed at the anger that was still there because of his actions. She had no right to still feel that way, especially since he was on his deathbed.

"Tell me—" coughs shook him again and he was forced to pause and catch his breath, "tell me what you are thinking."

"Alone," mournful eyes looked at him, "I was all alone and I didn't understand what I did wrong that was making you leave. And then you came back, and you doubted me."

The words needed to be said, but it didn't make hearing them any easier, "I'm so sorry Buffy. If I had done a better job—"

"No. Giles, you were exactly what I needed. Without you I don't even want to think about what would have happened to me. You did wonderful."

"Not all the time."

"No. Not all the time."

His voice was pained when he continued, "I do not want you to… remember me in anger."

"Oh Giles," tears rolled down her face, and she forced a broken smile, "what am I gonna do without you?"

His breathing was labored, but he forced the words out, "I know… that you will— you will be fine. You are the strongest person I have ever had the honor of knowing. You have a good life… do not ever waste a moment of it."

"I'm so sorry I let this stay between us for so long," she said quickly, frantic to get the words out before it was too late, "I should have been here years ago—"

He shook is head to stop her, "No. You needed time, and I knew that." The smile that flitted across his features took way any bite his words might have had, "I just never thought you would need this long."

"Giles—"

"No Buffy. Let me finish." He took a deep breath to steady himself, "I know… that there are things, we have both done, that we regret. I know that you feel guilt and anger. And I know how deeply remorseful I am. But you need to know… no matter what happens in your life, I have never regretted being your Watcher."

A sob broke free and she pressed her lips to the hand she still clasped in between her hands in a brief kiss, "You were never just my Watcher Giles. You were my father."

A joy like she had never seen shone in his eyes at her words. Although she had not yet voiced it, he took them for what they were. Forgiveness.

"There is one more thing, before I go," he managed between labored gasps for air, "You need to know that— that I believe it to be unnecessary but… I know you need to hear it."

She held on tighter, feeling him slip through her grasp. "What?" she whispered.

His eyes locked on hers for the last time and he took a breath, determined to say this final thing before he was finished… before he could be finished. And as his eyes drifted closed, with his last expelled breath, he uttered the phrase she had so longed to hear from him for so many years.

"I forgive you."

Tbc…