The key turned in the lock loosely, the tiny clicking sounds welcoming Giles home. He turned the knob and opened the door, stepping into his flat with a sigh. He closed the door softly behind him, unwilling to break the warm silence of the abode. He shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the rack in the foyer, and moved farther into his home. He stopped at the makeshift bar, pulling down a decanter of single malt, and poured himself two fingers of the amber liquid. He took a small sip and smiled at the slight burn as he swallowed. Now that is what I call scotch, he thought to himself.

Moving into the living room, he turned on a small table lamp, and eased into the worn but still comfortable leather chair next to it. He waited for the creaking of his bones and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t hear them. The exhaustion he was used to, as well as the ache that always accompanied him, was gone now. He felt almost youthful again. Of course, not living on the Hellmouth had a lot to do with that particular change. He smiled, then flexed the fingers of his right hand. Oddly, even the broken fingers, courtesy of Angelus, had ceased to vex him. He curled those fingers into a loose fist, lowering his arm again to the armrest of the chair.

The day had gone so well, he thought. Screening the new Watcher applicants had been a great deal simpler than he had imagined, as well as organizing the new library and setting up the training and magic rooms. Xander, Andrew, Willow and Kennedy had taken to their new roles as Council members like ducks to water. It helped that each had an expertise and were more than willing to bend their elbows to the tasks. Of course, having a handful of Slayers made the hard labor that much less hard. So, a good day, a cool night, a tumbler of excellent single malt - if he did say so himself - and some peace and quiet were enough to make Giles settle comfortably into his easy chair and smile. Something that he had done little of in the last year.

His reverie was disturbed by the ringing of the doorbell. “Just a minute.” he called as he rose from his chair. He crossed over to the door, opening it to reveal four gamine faces. “Oh bloody hell, what do you want?” he asked in mock seriousness.

Xander spoke up first. “Well, Giles, the new Council is well on its way to operational status - ”

“The library is set up, or is ready to be set up, because we don’t have all the books we need -” Andrew interrupted him, only to be interrupted himself by Willow saying “The magic room is warded and Kennedy here - ”

“Has settled in all the young Slayerettes. Now, we want - ”

“Some hang time with the G-man. Oh, and I know I wasn’t supposed to call you that anymore, but I can’t help myself, you know?” Xander finished the explanation of their arrival on his doorstep. He continued, “We have movies of a non-violent nature. All Merchant Ivory, Tony Hopkins, Emma Thompson kind of movies.” He floundered for a minute. “Ok, I know, it sounds like chick flicks, but hey, Willow and Kennedy did it.”

Giles had listened to their explanation with a slight grin which disappeared at the mention of the movies. “Xander Harris, do you mean to tell me that you do not have one single explosion movie? Not one American blockbuster? I am sorely disappointed. However,” he motioned for them to come in, “you may bring yourselves and your ill gotten gains inside. I sincerely hope you have brought snacks and not those disgusting jelly-filled sorry excuses for donuts?”

Kennedy spoke up. “Andrew brought the snacks. Some freaky white chocolate chip and cherry cookies. Who puts cherries in cookies? Ruins perfectly good chocolate if you ask me.”

Andrew frowned over at Kennedy, then looked over at Giles. “Yeah. I baked. I think they’re good, but these chocophiles want nothing to do with them.”

“I’ll try them later, Andrew. There are drinks in the refrigerator. Soda, I think, and some juices. Feel free to help yourselves.” They all made something to drink, then Giles indicated a return to the living room, where Xander began fiddling with the television and DVD player. Andrew placed his tin of home baked cookies on the coffee table, and sank down onto the floor in front of the sofa where Willow and Kennedy had sat and were now snuggling. Giles settled back into his chair with his scotch. He looked around the room at the four youngsters gathered there. Comfortable, accepting, and, again the word crept into his consciousness, warm. This was his home, and these four people his family. Of course Buffy and Dawn were family too, but they were still in America, setting up the Slayer division and recruiting or actually finding new Slayers.

It seemed that Giles had always been surrounded by these people. But it had only been, Oh dear lord! It had been seven years. Seven short, unbelievably excruciating years that he had known these people. Sometimes he forgot that he had had a life before those seven years. Or at least it was hard to imagine that life. He had heard it said that you couldn’t choose family, that you took what you got. Not true, he learned. These Californian children had snatched him up from a life of study, dust, and old mouldy books, and plunked him right into the thick of life. He loved it. Ever since meeting them, he had felt a sense of self, of purpose and determination that had eluded him. Even his rebellious misspent youth with Ethan and the others had not prepared him for the challenge of loving and watching over these young people. He marveled at their strength. He wondered at the source of it. They were just human beings, and had no reason to fight like they did. No special calling, except as The Slayer’s friends. And that was the crux, the heart of it all. The Slayer and her friends. The reasons for his continued existence. He would have it no other way.

He took a draft of his scotch, the amber liquid hot on his tongue and throat, and he smiled. Looking around the room again at the four gathered there, he thought to himself, “No other way.” As Xander settled back against the sofa and pressed play, Giles thought of all the other times they had gathered together to watch movies. He felt at home, and knew they did too. It was good; it was right, and it was all he had ever hoped for.

The phone next to him rang, and he picked it up, four pairs of eyes on him. He smiled broadly at whoever was on the other end of the line. “Ah. Hello Buffy. I was just thinking about you.” Yes, this was all he had ever hoped for.

Let me know what you think. Please feed the chicky!