Anya walked through customs into the late afternoon bustle of the international airport. Just as she thought the crowds would swallow her whole, Giles' kindly chameleon-grey eyes locked with hers. His welcoming smile blurred as her eyes filled with tears, but there was no mistaking the concern in his expression. She threw herself into his arms and clung to him as if only he could save her from drowning. Awkward hands patted at her back in an almost fatherly gesture, but then the patting hesitantly softened until he rubbed comforting circles over her spine. There was strength in his arms that made Anya wish she could remain hidden in their fortress indefinitely, but she knew that was impossible, so she blinked back the tears that were yet to fall and wiped away those that stained her cheeks and forced her bravest smile before she stepped back.

"You look-," she began, but her words clashed with Giles' own.

"Did you—"

Their eyes met again and the softness in his gaze caused a tightness in her chest that made her want to cry again. Giles reached for the suitcase that sat by her ankles, picking it up with his left hand, before he turned so that he was beside her rather than facing her. He lifted his elbow and it took a moment for Anya to recognise the gesture and grab on with both hands. She passed through the rest of the terminal without being aware of any of it. The bustle of the taxi-rank, with its constant stream of cars pulling in and out, was like a faded watercolour painting, its sounds subdued as if she were in a skyscraper far above the traffic, but Giles' arm was real and strong. The brushed cotton of his sleeve was soft against her hands. The dark green of his shirt gave his eyes the tint of shallow seas before a storm and Anya couldn't help but note the expression in them was one she couldn't remember in Xander's. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes seemed to be in sharper focus than she had ever noticed before, though she knew that even the few weeks he had been away from California had lifted some of the bone-deep weariness from his face. She found the lines comforting, formed as they were by years of experience and genial smiles.

In a faded colourless world, Giles seemed the only thing that was real.

Everything else made only the vaguest of impressions. The taxi ride. Check-in. The elevator. Her hotel room. The dinner Giles ordered from room service. It tasted like cardboard, but her growling stomach had insisted that she needed it, since she hadn't been able to face anything on the flight.

She panicked when Giles ran her a bath, balking at the thought of him leaving and wondering if he was already growing tired of her company, like D'Hoffryn had said.

His arms wrapped around her again, making everything right. "A man would have to be a damned fool to grow tired of a woman like you," he whispered in her ear, and she realised that she must have been babbling her fears. He said more, something about keeping the door open and shock and body temperature, but those were the words she remembered afterward.

The scented water took the chill from her flesh and as the bubbles slowly popped they seemed to take a fragment of the pain she carried with them. Giles' words coaxed her out of the water before it could cool. His robe was laid out ready for her, but she fumbled numbly to keep the sleeves pushed back long enough for her to tie the belt. Giles waited until she was safely swaddled in midnight blue terry cloth to come through from his room. She was staring into the bathwater as if it had secrets to tell when he scooped her into his arms, taking her back to her room. He tucked her under the covers and took a seat next to her, stretching long legs out in front of him and resting back against the ornate wooden headboard. She curled as close to him as the covers would allow, needing the solace his physical presence provided. His voice soothed her as he read. Xander would have said it was something old, stuffy and English, but she recognised Jane Austen's classic charm.