A/N: written for wisdomeagle for the Buffy round at hetfic_minis. Post-Chosen, ignoring the comics.
(Also, the request inspired a longer, plotty, story, that is taking permanent residence in my brain at the moment. So, expect more of B/G sometimes soon)
“Yep, just like the old times,” Buffy announced mock-cheerfully as the heap of bones burned brightly. “It wouldn’t be a proper visit if it didn’t end at a cemetery, now would it?”
Giles rolled his eyes at her, conveying both his exasperation and his fondness. “You didn’t have to come.”
“You kidding? And miss the jolly campfire and the badly dressed demony Scorpion-King-the-movie reject? Never.”
The flames were dying off. She kicked the pile of dust, then grimaced as some of it stuck to her shoe. “Ugh. Note to self: remember the slayage requires sensible and disposable footwear. Maybe I could get those plastic thingies they make you wear at hospitals? Not overly attractive though, a certain downside...” she looked up thoughtfully, just to catch Giles’ smile. “What now?”
He shrugged. “I might have missed you a little.”
She grinned back, and started to walk towards the cemetery gates, expecting him to follow, which he did. “You missed me ranting about shoes? You should have said so, Giles, and I would have flown over much sooner, and you could have taken me shoe-shopping and put that council credit card to a good use,” she pretended to sigh heavily. “Oh, well. We’ll go tomorrow, and for now, I’ll tell you all about the new Jimmy Choos.”
“Ah, yes. I believe I had been sadly mistaken about missing you. You may go away now,” he told her dryly and she laughed, linking her arm with his.
“I don’t think so,” she said cheerfully. “Because someone promised me coffee and Jaffa cakes after we dispose of the ancient guardian spirit guy, and guess what, we did, and I have a really dirty shoe to prove it, so pay-up time.”
“Oh, fine. Although you’ll be lucky if there are any sweets left at all, after Xander’s last visit,” he offered, even though he had carefully stocked up in all her favourites the moment she called she was coming. She pouted, predictably, and he smiles. “There might be something left.”
“There better be. A hungry Slayer is not a pretty sight.”
“So, how’s Italy?” he asked after his third cup of tea and her second box of Jaffa cakes, which was just around the time the sky started to turn pink and blue at dawn.
She sighed, then shrugged. “Took you long enough to ask. It was fun, for a while. Dawn loves it, and even Andrew is somehow less annoying when you can always loose him at some ruins or others.” She waited for him to smirk at that, then continued. “I’m through with olives for life, though. And grapes. Raisins were nice, though, new, and fun, but I’ve figured, if I feel comfortable with raisins, this must mean the dough is almost done, right? All baked and done, just add icing, but then I thought, icing is too much, too sweet, and maybe it’s not cookies, but biscuits, the ones that go with tea, you know?” she finished with a wide hand gesture, looking at him expectantly.
He stared at her for a very long moment. “I can say with utmost certainty, I have no idea what on earth you’re talking about,” he offered wryly, then gave her a small smile. “And I think you had enough of coffee for tonight. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
She grinned. “Yeah. That would be great.”