He was standing looking out of the kitchen door when she came back, a dark silhouette against an oddly bright night. "Ready?"
Buffy nodded, feeling a little overdressed for the weather in her fur lined suede and leather hip coat. Her first impulse had been to grab the nearest jacket, but some instinct had stayed her hand and carried her eyes to the heavier coat. The coat she could have sworn she’d never seen before. But there it had been, hanging in her wardrobe and whispering to her to take it out, to put it on. It was made of the softest, velvety-ess coloured suede, all smoke red and swirled with darker leather inlay. The fur lining was pure white and peeked out at the collar and cuffs. There were even a pair of matching gloves tucked into one pocket – and some dark, polished wooden stakes in the other.
"After you," he gestured, and she stepped out of the house, onto the back porch – and stopped in amazement.
Somewhere between the moment that she’d slid in through the back door and now, it had snowed.
Really snowed.
It was nothing like that brief smattering of flakes, the Christmas miracle she’d shared with Angel. This was – this was snow, lying deep and crisp and even all around the house. Moonlight glinted off icicles parading along the gutters. Frost painted the fence posts and glittered along the limbs of the trees. The air was cold and laced with sharpness; each breath in tingled deep in the lungs and each breath out sent clouds whispering into the night. Above them the sky was ink dark and diamond hard; stars were hammered into it like jewel headed nails and the moon hung among them, full and furious in the coldness of the night.
Astonishment held her for a moment; delight held her for much, much longer. She stood there staring for what felt like an eternity – until someone looped a length of warmth around her throat and tucked it into her collar with a firm but gentle hand.
"No need for you to catch your death."
She turned in time to catch the smile lurking in his eyes as well his voice; looked down to register the fluffy drape of the scarf – red and white to match her coat – and then back up to reabsorb the sparkling blanket of snow, the cleansing weight of winter laid over the grimy shadows that marred her world.
"Giles," she breathed, a tremor of tears in her voice. "It’s … beautiful."
"Come on," he offered, holding out his hand. She hesitated for a moment, a sudden panic clutching at her heart. This, all this, the snow and the moonlight and the cold clear air, had to be his grandmother’s legacy at work – and if it were that powerful, would he know? Would she slide her hand into his and hand him her heart, all in a single moment? Would he see round her and through her and into her? Would he see what she had seen, the need for him written deep into her soul?
Or did he already know?
But he was standing there with his hand held out and his eyes sparkling at the pleasure she’d expressed, and something told her this wasn’t the time, and it wasn’t the place. She’d barely begun to understand where her heart had taken her, and had no idea if he could – or would even want to – feel the same.
"Gloves," she gulped, snatching at a sudden lifeline, anchoring that sense of panic in simple practicalities. There would be no danger in a touch if there were layers of leather between skin and skin. She could hold his hand in safety, hold it without wanting to hold him and never, ever let go …
Her hands were trembling as she fumbled her way into her gloves, but a moment later she was curling her fingers into his, feeling the strength in his hand – and the sense of panic shivered away, leaving her more certain than ever. She was giddy with excitement, with comprehension, with anticipation – and the cold had climbed into her, not in a numbing, threatening way, but lifting her to life with bright and brilliant invigoration.
He tugged and she followed, the two of them walking down the steps and onto the crispness of snow. Their steps crunched as they walked, the sound shivering out across the soft silences to echo back like distant thunder. The air was still, the night enchanted – and after a moment or two Buffy forgot all her anxiety and her doubt, letting the sense of magic sink into her with unexpected contentment.
After all, it was Christmas Eve, the moon was full, the snow was deep – and she was walking side by side with the man she’d just realised she was in love with.
What more could she possibly wish for?
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She had her answer only a few minutes later. She hadn’t been taking much note of where they were going, so it would be hard to say if they had really walked all the way to the park, or if the park had simply moved nearer to them for the night – but there they were, strolling along a snow covered path, with the moon striking down from over head – and there was the lake, a shimmer of ice stretching out almost as far as the eye could see.
"Pretty," she said, smiling at the view, then frowned, realising there were figures moving on the ice. Slender, ethereal figures, shifting in and out of view as they swept through the reflections of the moonlight. They were, she realised with sudden longing, skating …
"Good evening, Ferdy." Giles had led them down to the lakeside where a rather small, but quite remarkable man was tending to a burning brazier. He had a sharp, pointy face, long lanky ginger hair and bright, button black eyes; he was wearing the most enormous fur coat, beneath which he appeared to be dressed in trainers, jeans, a tie-dyed tee-shirt, and a much patched long jacket that might have started its life as red. He also had a huge hoop earring in one ear.
"Ev’ning, Mr Giles. Miss," Ferdy nodded to Buffy with a happy smile. He had an odd accent that she didn’t immediately recognise. "Nice night for a walk. Bit nippy, though. Want some tea?"
"Lovely idea," Giles declared, loosing Buffy’s hand to take the mug he was being offered. Ferdy lifted a battered kettle off the coals and poured a generous serving of hot water into the chipped china. Steam rose in impressive quantities and was still rising as Giles turned to offer the mug to his Slayer. She looked at it a little doubtfully, but took it anyway; the warmth seeped through the leather of her gloves and the most delicious smell spiralled upwards to tease her frost kissed nose.
"This isn’t tea," she said, staring down in surprise. "It’s hot chocolate."
"That’s because it’s for you," Giles noted with no surprise at all. "This is tea." He hefted the second mug the strange man had handed to him, and took a cautious sip. Cautious because it was hot, not because he was wary of its content; the look of quiet pleasure that chased across his face told Buffy that it was very good tea indeed.
She took an equally cautious sip from her own mug; the chocolate was sweet and smooth and utterly delicious. Another sip and swallow warmed her all the way down, and she heaved a happy sigh.
"Good?" Ferdy grinned at her and she nodded. She’d realised almost immediately that he wasn’t human, and she wondered what sort of demon he might be. A good kind, she pondered, since it was unlikely that Giles would be accepting hot drinks from anything inherently evil.
Unless it was Spike perhaps, but he was one of those exceptions that proved the rule.
"Who are they?" she asked, pointing at the drifting, twisting figures on the ice. "I’ve never seen anyone – anything like them before."
Several of them had moved closer to the lakeside, sliding across the ice in languid, elegant poses; they were as translucent as the surface that supported them, long limbed, slender creatures wearing crystalline headdresses – or hairstyles, it was hard to tell. Their faces and their limbs were equally angular, and they were draped in fluttering ribbons of transparent cloth that spun and swirled and danced around them as if moving in an unseen wind.
"They’re just the undines." Giles handed Ferdy back his now empty mug and the man took it and hung it under his coat somewhere. "The water sprites. You won’t have seen them before. They live in the water and they’re made of it, so … they’re very hard to spot as a rule."
"Are they evil?" Buffy didn’t think they were. They didn’t feel evil. But it was always good to check. Just in case. "Did you bring me here to slay them?"
She heard Ferdy chuckle, a deep, throaty sound. She thought Giles probably glared at him, but there was no sign of annoyance in his voice as he answered her question. If anything, there was a hint of a smile lurking in it. "No, I didn’t. The undines are neither good nor evil. They are simply elemental spirits. I thought … I thought you might like to meet them."
"Meet them?" She tore her eyes away from the effortless dance and turned to look at him instead. He was smiling. One of those quiet, half smiles of his; she felt the rhythm of her heart shift and caught back a breath. He’d never done that to her before. But then she’d never looked at him the way she was looking at him this evening.
Or was it that he’d never looked at her that way before …
She pulled her attention back to the undines with hasty effort, glad that the nip of the frost had already lifted colour to her cheeks. Difficult choice; should she take the chance to meet these beautiful, delicate creatures, or succumb to that sudden desire to kiss her Watcher?
Except the chance for that had been lost, and it was probably just as well; he’d taken a few steps down to the lakeside and called out something in a bubbled, liquid language she’d never heard him use before.
A moment later almost every undine on the ice had converged in front of him, undulating slowly as they dipped down and up in a polite and fluid greeting.
"Now there’s a man with a real gift." Ferdy had moved to join her, reaching to take the now empty chocolate mug from her hands. "For languages, I mean."
"Oh." Buffy hadn’t expected that qualification. "Yes. I didn’t know he spoke undine, though."
"Not many do." He stuck out his hand, looked at it, pulled it back to scrub it down his jeans and then stuck it out again. "How d’ya do. I’m Ferdinand Delaware Alvin Mahoney Reynard F.F.G.D."
"Buffy Summers." She took the hand and shook it, a little gingerly. "F.F.G.D?"
"Finder, Fixer and General Dogsbody. You ever want anything, I’m the one to find it."
"Really?" Buffy was suddenly suspicious. "You’re not looking for a …key, for anyone, are you?"
Ferdy grinned. "Not anymore. Relax. I’m on your side. On his side, if you want to be strict about it, but … you’re his Slayer, so you got my vote. Besides," he added cheerfully, "this kind of thing is much more fun than my old line of work. You’ll need these."
He’d reached under his coat again and produced a pair of skates. Ice skates. In her size.
"Oh," she said again, not entirely sure what to make of this strange little man. It didn’t look as if he were hiding anything under his coat, but then … there never seemed to be anything in Giles’ carpet bag either … "Thank you."
"You’re welcome. Have fun." And he winked and went back to poke the brazier, leaving her standing there with the skates dangling from her hand.