Half an hour later, they had all gathered in Giles' living room. Eliza had taken the time to shower and change. She wore a high-necked white satin nightgown and a deep blue velvet robe with white lace adorning the cuffs and collar. A cup of steaming Earl Grey sat on the end table at her side. Buffy, Willow, and Xander, dressed in t-shirts and sweat pants, lounged around the coffee table with cups of cocoa. Cordelia rather primly occupied the other end of the sofa, silk pajamas and robe whispering about her. Giles, still in tweed jacket, knit vest, and slacks, sat in his arm chair. The five of them took turns explaining the situation and what had happened during the past two years.
"Wow. That's quite something. Anne Rice would have a field day with this place," Eliza remarked. "So would Steven King."
"I would say they already have," remarked Giles. "“But that's another discussion for another time."
Eliza cocked an eyebrow at him before continuing. "I think it's going to take a bit of getting used to. Living fiction, I mean. Life imitating art. Or is it the other way 'round? Anyway, I'm still not sure I understand why I was attacked tonight. I've worked late time and time again with no problem."
"Hm. Yes, we must determine whether this was merely an isolated attack or one with greater purpose. I think that we need to all get some sleep. I'm sure you'll all feel much more the thing in the morning." Giles smiled encouragingly at the group before him.
"Yeah, I'm beat. C'mon guys, let's clean up so we can get some shut-eye." Buffy remarked and cast a meaningful glance at Willow and Xander. They stood up and began clearing the cups and saucers. As they passed the couch, Xander grabbed Cordelia's hand and pulled her along with them, ignoring her outraged, "hey!" as she stumbled along behind. All disappeared into the kitchen and let the door swing shut behind them. Water started running from the tap.
"The, um, sofa folds out into a bed. It's the only other one I have. The kids can rack out on the floor. They’ve done so before."
Eliza helped her host remove cushions and throw-pillows and unfold the bed. Giles disappeared down a hallway and returned soon after raiding the linen closet. He dropped an armful of blankets, pillows, and bedding onto the armchair. They made up the bed and then stood in awkward silence.
"Giles, thank you again for having me over tonight."
"Oh, think nothing of it. Glad to-to, um, help."
"No, really. I appreciate this." Eliza reached out and gently took his hand. He looked into her clear blue eyes. She returned his gaze openly, honestly. Giles tore his eyes from her face, feeling a stab of guilt. He gently disengaged his hand.
"Eliza, I can't," he said softly. "I haven't known you very long, and I-I do like you very much. We've much in common, actually. But, I simply. . . can't. Please understand, and please forgive me."
"I understand, Rupert. I have an idea how much Jenny Calendar meant to you. And I'm very sorry. But it's not my forgiveness you need. It's your own." Eliza gave him a soft smile.
"How did you . . . .?"
"I was an English major, Giles. I spent years analyzing literature. And those details you did omit were as telling as those you didn't," she concluded. Eliza paused for a moment. "You must have loved her very much," she said, almost to herself.
"I, I — yes. I did. A-and you're right. I haven't forgiven myself. Perhaps someday." He wrenched his gaze from hers and again stared at the floor.
"Rupert, I enjoy your company, and we have the beginnings of a nice friendship. I won't jeopardize that. I mean . . . ." She left the thoughts in her heart unsaid. Better that way.
"Of course, I. . . ." Eliza silenced him with a finger laid softly against his lips.
"Hush. Now, go upstairs so our friends can come out of the kitchen." Eliza said with an impish sparkle in her eyes. Giles looked toward his kitchen in time to see the door swing shut ever so slightly. He chuckled quietly. Eliza raised her eyebrows at him in a silent command to get going. With a last look, he mounted the stairs to his bedroom.
"Okay, guys, you can come out now." Eliza tried very hard to keep the laughter out of her voice. The water stopped running. The four teens came into the living room, guilty looks on their faces. "Relax. I appreciate the thought and the privacy. Really. But, one word of advice. Let Giles take this one at his own pace. Now, pick your spots and douse the lights."
"See, I told you," Cordelia muttered to the room at large.
"And you're the expert on guys? The one who wasted her time with those big handsome jocks who eventually turned into fish-monsters, right?" Xander needled.
"And exactly how would you describe the time I spend with you?" she retorted.
"What, you mean here with our friends or in the broom closet at school?" he smirked.
"Ooooh!" Cordelia squealed and flung a pillow at Xander's head, which he deftly caught and returned to her, grinning.
"Okay, kids. Enough. Now, go to sleep," Eliza remonstrated.
"G'night Ms. Wells."
"And one other thing. As long as we're not in school, it's Eliza."
"Good night, Eliza," came the dutiful chorus.
"Good night, gang," Eliza smiled and closed her eyes.
* * *
Two weeks later, the phone rang, startling Snyder badly. He knew who was calling.
"Snyder here."
"She's still teaching."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Your new recruit was something less than effective. Worse yet, she's befriended our problem child and is spending a lot of time with that crowd."
"Silence her. I don't care how you do it. Just do it. Convince her that it would be . . . unsafe for her class to go beyond the winter break. I cannot afford to waste any more time or use any more resources on this little distraction. Think of it as your second chance. And hers. And if you can't convince her, kill her yourself." The line went dead.
Snyder laid the phone down and rested his head on his hands. Time for some strategy. Strategy. The word echoed through his mind long after the last student had passed beyond the doors that night. He didn't want her dead, not really. Not like the coach or the school nurse. The nuisance of explaining away teachers' deaths was beginning to wear on him. She was far too attractive for that. Just like Ms. Calendar had been. If only she'd stay away from Buffy and her friends. If only she'd stop teaching that damned class. If I could just lure her away, or at least convince her that Buffy and company were bad news.
Snyder lifted his head and stared at the window. That's it. Poison her mind against them. And perhaps gain an ally. . . or more. . . for himself. A smile worked its way, Grinch-like, across his face. Tomorrow he would set his plan into motion.
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