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[ripher]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

USERNAME: GILES

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[begot]

[ At each pause, she stills, as if waiting for a conductor's cue to continue moving, continue breathing. It's exciting, in a strange way — getting used to an entirely new set of components within the framework of an entirely new game, the variables she'd usually consider hers to mold wrenched out of her grasp by the mere fact of this place, of knowing that he comes from a world where there are such things as vampires and Slayers even if he himself doesn't seem any stranger to her than the profession he'd first named to her, of just librarian.

But it's not as though she needs an understanding of the arcane to grasp the concept of loss. A little over a year is still a fresh wound, the kind that smarts to talk about. Playground rules, she supposes: I'll show you my hurts, if you show me yours. One heart-breaking regret for another.

First, whisper-soft: ] I'm so sorry.

[ She holds that silence for a beat, letting go of grief as a tether before diving over the next precipice. ]

I care about you, too. And I do want that — desperately. To be with you. My handsome, clever, kind, impossible you.

[ A smile steeps in the tone of her voice, nerves and joy joining as delicately as glass lace, shimmering even as she breaks into another laugh — pacing, again, glancing at her door, marveling at just how funny it all is to be happening so close to Christmass. ]

Come and kiss me, before I really start crying.

[ripher]

I -- yes. Yes, at once.

[ Heart singing a single note to the tune of to be with you, he ends the call, if only so he can get moving. It should be difficult for a man of his age to run up the stairs two at a time, but somehow Giles manages it, thanking God for his decision to keep up his Watcher-required callisthenics -- and almost runs into a maid coming down with an armful of linens, wasting valuable seconds apologising profusely as he helps her pick them up, then he's off again.

The second set of stairs has to be taken a little slower, and he pauses at the top to catch his breath and to tug his clothes straight, though he still ends up breathing a little hard and somewhat dishevelled when he eventually arrives at her door, taking another moment to try to get his hair into place before he knocks lightly. ]

[begot]

[ Amy is not, as a rule, a woman who leaves any room for indecision, yet she falters when the call ends, taking a step in one direction before recanting it, holding her phone tightly to her chest as she spins through options in what she knows, given the rather finite distance anyone can travel here (not to mention those words, at once, swooningly romantic), is a dwindling window of time. One more useless motion later — moving to put her phone down, then deciding against it, like it's the tether drawing him to her — and she shakes herself out of totally succumbing to that dizzy excitement, pulling on a simple white tee and her pajama pants (the same cornflower blue silk she'd worn during their weekend locked away together) rather than try to further dictate the mood.

She doesn't have to, is the thing. Not with him.

So when the door opens, one variety of disarray meets another: pink dusts Amy's cheeks as if by brushstroke — that specific color of almost cried that leaves dewdrops on her lashes, her gaze glimmering as she looks up at him and allows her expression to break into a smile. ]

Hi.

[ One of her hands finds his, pulling him through her door, into her room. The blush that colors her face grows a little pinker at the realization that he's rushed here — tears well, threaten to break, then hold. Without another thought, she lets her cell drop to the floor, raising her other hand to his face, tracing over each plane and line of his features as if she might be able to ease away all of his worries through the simple act of touch. The moment drags out, suspends— and she laughs. That same tremulous, sweet, disbelieving laugh he'd heard over the phone, like she's just remembered why she called him here to begin with — like he's a marvel. ]

Hi, hi, hi.

[ And she leans up, on her tiptoes, to kiss him. ]

[ripher]

[ It would be difficult for Giles not to have concerns. Worrying is ingrained in his genetics, cemented in his upbringing, practically encouraged by his choice of career. A concerned Watcher is a vigilant Watcher, after all. When Amy pulls open the door, as out of breath as he is, he can't help but notice the glitter in her eyes, the signs of tension in her own expression. She's been so calm and collected until now -- this is a surprise, though it seems to be a good one.

Under her fingers, his frown softens, turns to a smile as her touch traces down his cheek. It grows when she laughs, his delight in her pleasure breaking through his reservations -- grows wider when she leans up to him, leaning down in response to meet her mouth with his. The kiss is soft and warm; his own hand drifts up to touch her cheek, eyes sliding closed to linger in it for as long as possible.

When they eventually break for air, he doesn't go far, staying close enough to nudge his forehead against hers. ]

Hello. [ Quiet, still smiling, happiness like a bubble caught behind his ribs. Precious, fragile. ] You may resume saying nice things about me, if you like.

[ Though he dips in for another kiss first. ]

[begot]

[ He worries, and what a singular pleasure it is, to be his subject. Her lips press to his in the shape of a smile, one hand following the line of his jaw to comb through his hair and settle at the back of his neck, the other sliding down to his chest, curling in the fabric of his shirt. ] Oh, I— [ Another kiss, another laugh bubbling up in her throat. ] I would like that, very much, [ delivered a little breathlessly, with the playful lilt of repetition. ]

Where should I start? Your sense of humor? The fact that you're an excellent kisser?

[ A pause. She recalibrates, nodding slightly to account for the shift in topic. ]

This may come as a surprise, but I've never lived in the Playboy Mansion before.

[ Or rather, tried anything even close to an open relationship. She understands — because it's as plain as the nose on a person's face — that that's the typical baseline, here, but that's about as far as her understanding goes. Everything else (the reminder of how she'd discovered that Nick was cheating on her, the dull throb of a jagged thorn in the soft flesh of her heart) is entirely new territory. As she takes a breath, her nose wrinkles, both at the memory and as if to express some faint distaste at the idea of seeming needy. ]

Should we talk about—

[ About what this is, about rules, about what dating looks like in Hugh Hefner's fever dream? An echo, sort of, of what they'd started with. I wanted to ask what you like. ]

I want to make sure I'm good to you.

[ripher]

[ The compliments, as lightly given as they are, still bring a touch of heat to Giles' cheeks. He ducks his gaze from hers for a moment, smiling bashfully, his hands trailing down her shoulders and over her arms and back again, as if reassuring himself that she's still solid and real under his palms.

He glances back at her when she changes subject, revisiting the topic they've been circling around for perhaps too long -- he'd put it down to mutual nervousness, but now he knows that there were other fears for her. Things she's had to carry alone. His hands settle on her shoulders and squeeze lightly as he looks into her eyes, unable to help the faint return of his smile. ]

My darling. You are good to me. And for me. [ He lifts a hand to touch the backs of his fingers lightly to her cheek, marvelling to be offered something so precious as her trust. ]

Amy, what you've been through.. [ Feeling scared all the time, she'd said. He doesn't need to know more than that. Can, sadly, draw his own conclusions between the lines. ] I couldn't possibly.. [ He frowns a little. ]

I want you to feel in control. Whatever you'd like, however you'd like us to be, I want to do it. [ A soft laugh as his smile returns. ] Believe me. But I'd like to -- to make sure it's what you want.

[begot]

[ As far as Amy's concerned, it's a five star fucking answer. I want you to feel in control. Second only to what would amount to a statement of fact — you are in control — the kind of thing that doesn't really sound as romantic when you say it out loud. It makes her pulse jump a little, a nervy, surprised sort of laugh escaping her like it's too much freedom for her to hold onto at once. Like he surprises her — because he does. ]

I want ... for us to be honest with each other about it. Like we are right now. Just—

[ Just not right now. Now is about the two of them, not the other planets extant in their respective solar systems. Now, she doesn't want to hear anyone else's name coming out of his mouth, and doubts he wants that from her, either. Just some other time. Later, the kind of later you get when I becomes us. ]

I want you to know that I'll always have time for you. I'll always make time for you. I'll always want to be around you. But when we're not—

[ More specifics — the un-sexy stuff, unnecessary to litigate right now when the sum doesn't ultimately come out to anything too different from what would be expected of a relationship on boring, regular Earth. She leans, thoughtful, into his touch, her brow creasing slightly as if she isn't sure what she's saying makes any sense — like she still feels safer taking the lead with his hand in hers. ]

And we see if that works? And if it doesn't, we'll figure it out then.

[ She blinks once, twice, as though she's settling it with herself. Presence snaps back into her gaze in the next moment, a mischievous sort of shine to the flower petal blue pf her eyes. Her fingers flex a little as she leans up again, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before asking, half cheeky, half honestly wanting: ]

—Can I call you my boyfriend?

[ripher]

[ There are words she's not saying. Giles thinks he knows her well enough by now to be able to tell when she's holding herself back, reading the small flickers of tension crossing her expression. He wonders what it is, but he's not worried enough to press her -- not when everything else feels so important, so precious.

Instead, he watches her carefully, thumbs stroking over her shoulders through her shirt in what he hopes is a comforting way, letting her mark out the boundaries he's more than happy to abide within. It's not as though he has much experience in this area himself; Jenny had been the only one to prompt it from him, and he'd been only too happy to go along with it. As he is now.

When Amy seems to blink and come back to herself, leaning up to kiss him, he responds automatically, her lips meeting the angle of his smile. He nudes his nose over her cheek, gathering her back into an embrace, stroking her hair. The question prompts a breathy, glad laugh. ]

As long as you don't mind my being rather out of practice at being boyfriend material. [ He leans back a little, enough to look at her properly. ] But I would be very glad if you did. Does that mean I can call you my girlfriend? Or would you, ah -- would you prefer something else?

[begot]

[ She'd laugh, if she could sense the shape of his thoughts. The picture drawn, there, of her thoughts whirling at a million miles per hour. There's never been a time when she wasn't like this, when the delicate and interlocking mechanisms of her mind weren't in motion. A watch, constantly ticking, appearing guileless when the gears are covered by a pretty face. But that restlessness can be soothed — by the careful, tender touch of his hands, by the way she can feel his smile press against her lips.

And she does laugh, at the returned question, happy to be asked, happy to have and be had. ]

I like "girlfriend."

[ In the circle of his arms, she shifts, making herself a little smaller as if that might mean the distance between them might shrink even further. ]

Well — I like it, coming from you. But I'm open to suggestions, now or later.

[ripher]

[ He could probably stay there forever. Amy in his arms, tucked close in to his chest in a way that makes him feel strong and protective, base animal feelings he can't deny -- male feelings, though he might think himself above them. They can't stay, of course, but Giles lets himself enjoy it, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head as he strokes a broad hand over her shoulders.

Now or later. As if they have all the time in the world. Maybe they do. ]

I.. [ A brief pause, considering it. A voice that sounds like Jenny's in the back of his mind. Dark eyes, narrowed in fond amusement. Deep, grateful sadness. No regrets, Rupert. He studies the wallpaper over her head, thumb stroking an arc, back and forth. Working up the nerve to say what feels right, what feels necessary.

No regrets. Nothing left behind unsaid. ]

I love you, Amy.

[begot]

[ The words wash over her like the first rays of dawn, the beginning of high tide under the pink-blue light of morning.

I love you. Precious and warm and perfect, a shiny pearl in the hollow of an inky oyster. It fills her chest, raises her up onto the balls of her feet as she blinks at him, like confirmation of what he's just said is something she could find by looking for it. It doesn't always feel this way. Spoken at the wrong time, by the wrong person, in the wrong way, it's anathema, but here, now, with him— ]

Rupert.

[ The words come late, but the set of her expression gives at least the tenor of it away — her gaze liquid and soft, her lips parted, her very breath suspended in time. She wants to remember this: the feeling of his arms around her, the faint drum of his heart under her palm, the way he looks at her like— well, like he loves her. Too much for her not to feel a little drunk on as she breaks into a true smile, her hand finding his cheek. ]

I love you, too.

[ Another kiss — a seal pressed to a letter, lifting from the wax with a laugh. ]

I'm— I feel dizzy, I'm so happy. [ She pauses, a little sheepish, but not enough so not to ask: ] Say it again? Please?