Oxo

It's not the Carlton Club, or one of the other fossilised relics of Empire that Travers and co prefer to hold court in, plot in. He's doing the same as them, doing what he has to, what someone has to, to keep this sorry world turning for others, meeting with old friends that cross the lines between the mundane and the supernatural. But a table overlooking the river at The Oxo Tower suits Giles far, far better.

He can't help looking out at the river, at the Thames glittering sliver dark in sunshine and shade, reflecting and swallowing buildings old and new. Reflecting home in a way that isn't quite that anymore. He left home in a Magic Box he won't let himself open, and he can't help wanting it, almost desperately in fact.

But she's not something he can afford to think of right now, no matter how much he's called by ever-changing hair and honest, brown eyes. He's a job to do, and the mission always comes first. Keeping Rambaldi artefacts out of rogue hands has to be more important than attending a wedding that promises to tear his heart out. He cares for his charge's friend too much to threaten his happy ending with a declaration of love and need for the bride. The bride who was everything his family has stood against for centuries. The bride that brightened his life and whose lips he can still taste. Forbidden lips. Lips he can't allow himself to want. A warm body and warmer heart that he could all too easily break if he does the hardest thing of all and go with his heart. But his sense of honour won't let him, and his mind tells him he's needed here, now, and that all he'd do back in Sunnydale is bring the lives of those he loves and cares about to ruin. Love, want, duty and sense churn through him like the Thames on a stormy day. He's so tired of thinking it through, rationalising. He's so tired.

Far, far simpler to snuggle into memories of oxo - the warmth of nursery food, find the comfort in happy childhood memories before the shadows of Calling darkened and twisted them, and marvel how they've been remade into a tower of brick and steel. All accompanying a damned good wine list and food so much better than the horrors of Sunndydale.

And discreet waiters who bring over a very old friend to share it with. "Jack."

"Rupert. Good choice." Jack Bristow's as impassive as ever, but one who knows him the way Giles does, can hear the warmth in his voice and see the slightest crinkle around his eyes.

"Better food than the diner." Living the double life in Sunnydale was hard enough, pulling the triple one as Council contact to the CIA nearly killed him. But he's missed Jack since he came home.

"God, yes."

"I've taken the liberty of ordering." The waiter nods and leaves them to the mission. "Pellegrino, Jack?"

Jack nods, and his glance at the Margaux in Giles' glass is fleeting, hungry but fleeting. And he buries the need into, "You have the Intel?"

"The Royal Collection were most co-operative. The copies of the bills of sale should give you a lead on the horological spinet." Ok, they weren't helpful, but the Council has its methods of getting results and MI5 and MI6 are suitably grateful for the results not to make problems.

"Thank you. This should be most helpful."

"A burden shared, an all that. We provide leads, you lot chase Rambaldi and we share the resulting Intel." And they're so overloaded with supernatural forest fires and the indications of an upcoming conflagration, that he can't help being glad about the CIA's strange fixations.

"Of course." Jack doesn't need to say that he knows they're only helping to clear up old Watcher Mess; understanding's written in those pragmatic eyes.

"You'll get on it straight away, of course?" He's not the only one that understands.

And it's so good to talk to grown-ups again. "You heard Laura... Irina's back?"

"We have our ways. I can imagine it's... difficult." Giles can't help wanting to help.

"Yes." Jack's gaze is resolutely at him, not the glass in his hand, never that, and the pain's all the more telling.

Though he knows he can never help. Some wounds are too deep for talking, but he can't help trying. "For Sydney too, I imagine."

"Yes. It has been... difficult for all of us."

"How is she?" It's been years since Giles has seen the girl.

"A pearl beyond price." Pride and love drips from every pore of Jack's face.

"I can imagine." And he can't help knowing that feeling.

Or giving Jack the opening to learn intel on him. "You never regretted not having a child?"

But the only women he'd want one with are lost to him. "Sometimes, but in our line of work."

"I know. It's been... hard, for Sydney."

"Quite -"

But Jack's not finished. "And seeing her mother again, it's complicated."

Giles can't help asking. "But worth it?"

Jack's, "Yes," doesn't surprise Giles, but God how it tempts him to get on that plane to that wedding.

It's Jack's, "But the mission comes first," that keeps him in his seat.

And raising a glass of blood-red wine to a sad, "Absolutely."