Eliza waited in the dark, clutching a stake and a vial of holy water. She heard a car pull into the drive and brisk steps to her door. A peek out the window assured her that it was Giles. She put down the implements of vampiric destruction and opened the door as he was raising his hand to knock. He stepped quickly in and past her, divesting himself of his coat and scarf as she re-set the lock and the alarm. Finished, Eliza turned and walked to him, hugging him close. He put his arms around her and held her tightly, felt her body tremble against his. Giles stroked her hair, calming, soothing, for a long moment.
"Come, sit down and tell me what happened," he whispered and led her to the couch. He took care to keep physical contact with her, and an arm around her shoulders did well. Eliza needed him now, needed his strength and calm. Taking one of her cold hands in his, he bade her tell him what happened at dinner. As Eliza repeated the story, her trembling began anew, evidence of just how much the evening had unsettled her.
"Giles, I don't know what to do." She stopped, and her free hand shot up to cover her mouth. "Oh, my God. I’ve put you in danger too, just by telling you about this. I never wanted that to happen. Oh, Lord, Giles, what if something happens to you. . . ."
"Hush, Eliza, hush," he said quietly but firmly. "Now, listen to me. I will not let anything happen, to you, or to-to me either. Not if I can help it." He looked into her eyes, wide and grey in the darkness, and shimmering with unshed tears. One began to trace a jagged path down her cheek. Giles brushed it gently away with his fingertips, then cupped her cheek with his hand, tenderly caressing it with his thumb.
"Dear Eliza," he whispered and leaned forward to touch his lips to hers, once, twice. Their eyes caught and held for an instant that seemed frozen in time. In that moment, Eliza realized that the dreams that had slowly grown since she met this man were within reach at last; Giles found that his heart was now free of his guilt and grief. Eliza's breath halted as he claimed her lips again, this time with more surety and purpose. He leaned her back into the sofa cushions as the kiss deepened. Eliza’s hands, slowly, by degrees, slid up his arms to grip his shoulders. His tweed jacket was rough beneath her palms, reassuring and subtly strong like the man who wore it. After a few more minutes of losing himself in newfound feelings, Giles sat back.
"Eliza," he began but got no further when Eliza rose gracefully, fluidly from the sofa, taking his hand in hers. The invitation was wordlessly tendered and accepted. Together they made their way up the dark staircase to her bedroom.
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