A glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table told him that it was almost three in the morning. His body insisted that it was only an hour short of noon. Either way it mattered little to him. He had no intention of moving from the bed at any point in the near future, no intention of doing anything that might awaken him from the dream.

With every breath he took, he inhaled the scent of the green tea cosmetics he had bought in Paris, reminders of the shared shower that had encompassed their last bout of love making. Anya's hair, where her head rested on his chest, was almost dry now. Her breath was warm on his skin, her arm was wrapped around his waist in a territorial gesture and her leg was draped over his with a casual familiarity. Not since Jenny's death had he felt the sense of belonging that he did now. Even then, he had been surprised when someone so young and vital had been interested in a confirmed bachelor like him. To find himself now, greyer and more careworn, getting another chance at love was surely just wishful thinking.

Perhaps, this time when she awoke, instead of sleepy kisses and more orgasms, there would be doubt or regret. She would realise that she had made a mistake and decide to take Xander back.

No. His mind rebelled at that possibility. Whatever drawbacks there might be to dating a man who was approaching fifty, they couldn't come close to matching the down side of dating Xander Harris.

She loved the idiot, and though the feelings might fade with time, they would probably never quite leave her. He accepted that. However, the time he had shared with her in Paris had brought him new hope. Tonight had allowed that hope to grow. The part of him that had once been so confident when it came to the opposite sex told him that this was about more than physical gratification, more than offering comfort.

She had stolen her way into his heart some time ago. Somewhere between high school and this last year or so, the idiosyncrasies that had at first seemed irritating had become endearing, in retrospect if not always when they were in mid-squabble. Then, Willow's spell had allowed the proverbial genie to escape its bottle. One day where the blonde had not been mentally categorised as out of bounds had changed how he looked at her forever. More than that, it had been obvious that the attraction was by no means one sided. It hadn't taken much to transform that blend of affection and attraction. Sad eyed smiles, determination to be happy, trust... all the things that were simply the woman in his arms doing her best to get by...

He couldn't understand how he had managed to spend so much time with this woman without really seeing her, without being entranced by the contradictions that made her unique, her strength and her vulnerability, her charm and her forthright manner, her vitality and her maturity. What he did know was that even if he hadn't already fallen the whole way, he was certainly in the throes of falling for the woman who shared his bed and that terrified him in a way he hadn't been afraid in a very long time.

"If we ever wish to procreate," she had said. Giles felt again the guilty rush of pleasure those words had caused. She was still too close to this whole mess with Xander for him to take a remark like that seriously. It was simply transferring those things she had wanted with Xander to her new relationship. It wouldn't be fair to hold her to a remark like that or even to press her too far on what she might have meant. That didn't stop him from picturing little girls, with their mother's brown eyes and elfin features. He tilted his head slightly, trying to make out a hint of root that might indicate just what her natural hair colour was, so that he could ascribe it to the children. The image was closely followed by another of Anya in a flowing summer shift that accommodated her burgeoning stomach. She walked slowly and complained about feeling huge, but her eyes glittered with laughter and she held his hand as they watched a slightly amorphous, largish, long-haired dog run around the park as if it were the most joyous thing in the world. He hadn't quite worked out whether it would be a pedigree or a mongrel.

He certainly as a rule didn't find himself attracted to women in the later stages of pregnancy, but for some reason this little scenario was reviving parts that should have been exhausted long ago. Anya's leg shifted slightly, and then her head lifted to look him in the eye with a tired smile.

There was no doubt in those eyes. There was no regret, nor, in her sleepy state, was desire yet a factor. There was a look in those eyes that told him everything he needed to know. Fallen... he had fallen.