Willow walked about her garden inspecting first one plant then another. Finally, she finally set down her trug before an ailing Rose tree. Her brows knitted together in a tiny frown. Tutting, she gently soothed its tattered diseased leaves.

"Oh, my! You’ve been in the wars haven’t you?" Her fleeting smile played on her lips as her husband’s phraseology spilled from her lips. That’s what thirty years of marriage did for one’s vocabulary. She giggled suddenly and then sighed. "Dear Rupert…send this poor tree some scrummy love for me."

She pruned and examined the leaves of the bush, wondering if it could be saved. Willow was so deeply engrossed in her task that she didn’t hear the man approach her from behind. The man grabbed her waist. She let out a girlish squeal, her smile lighting up her age-kissed face. Willow’s would be attacker tickled her ribs softly with an impish grin on his face.

Rupert had crept up on his wife, well, as quietly as one could creep using a walking stick. He leaned his face into the hollow of her neck and kissed her. "Children and grandchildren are here, darling. Mmm, you smell scrummy…" Rupert smiled, his eyes lost in deep creases of merriment, the twinkle in his eyes had not faded with the years. The evidence of that twinkle trooped into the garden. Their children, four girls and two boys and grandchildren, ten in all, all ranging in size like Russian dolls.

Willow turned in her husband’s grasp and clasped her hands round his neck. "Have I told you I love you today?"

Rupert smiled and kissed her sweet lips, then murmured… "You’re asking me?"

Willow’s small frame shook with mirth. The instances of memory loss were getting more pronounced for both of them. It was good to grow old together.

"Mum!" Their eldest yelled. "Poppy’s fallen in the pond …again!"

Willow and Rupert made their way quickly to the side of the dripping toddler, held waist high by her uncle. All the family were trying their best not to laugh at the duckweed dangling from Poppy’s blonde curls.

Her uncle gave her a little shake to get the worst of the duckweed off and set her on the ground. She tore hell-for-leather straight for Nanny Willow.

Willow readied herself for the sopping grandchild to bring her to her knees. She hugged Poppy close and noticed how hot her face was, she glanced down to see tears of humiliation on her face. She looked at Rupert and he took Poppy from her in a fireman’s lift to the house. Willow picked up Poppy’s shoes and followed her husband.

Rupert sat down with Poppy on the bathroom floor and wrapped a towel round her. He peered round the door to check on Willow’s whereabouts and then reached into his pocket for his toffees. He offered them to Poppy and she took a small lump and sucked thoughtfully on the buttery sweet.

"I wanted to see how deep it was." Her clear blue eyes met his own and reminded him of Buffy and …Rose, her long dead Aunt.

"It’s deep enough, Poppy. Your mum and dad don’t know you’re special yet and that you won’t get hurt… But you can still drown, and that is a yucky thing to happen." He smiled and picked a piece of duckweed from her hair. "Plus… green just isn’t your colour, darling."

Poppy giggled and snuggled against her Granddad.

Willow made an exaggerated coughing noise at the bathroom door.

Rupert hid his toffees and then looked up expectantly.

Willow arched her eyebrow. "Toffee treatment successful?"

Damn! She knows about the toffees… "Yes, quite, thank you."

Willow smiled, "It’s time for Poppy’s nap. C’mon, you can snuggle with Mr. Gordo." The small child left Rupert’s side and took her Nanny’s hand.

Rupert sat with his legs outstretched and thought back to the birth of their daughter Rose. He knew why his thoughts strayed in that direction, because Rose’s destiny was to be a Slayer just like Poppy.

"I can’t feel her kicking Rupert!" Willow’s urgent voice roused him from his light sleep. His hand drifted over his wife’s swollen belly and felt nothing but tense skin. He was fully awake in seconds and dressed moments after.

"You’re having contractions… That’s not right Willow, you’re five months…" He thought frantically, he had to do something; she needed him to do something. "Hospital. Come on." He heaved her out of the bed and guided her down the stairs, their progress was painfully slow.

"Rupert. Something’s wrong!" Willow growled.

He rang a number and the Watcher medical team arrived in ten minutes. They carried Willow upstairs again as she muttered something about being on a bungee…

Giles stayed by Willow’s side and watched as their daughter made her silent way into the world. The amniotic sac had shrunk to enfold the infant like a shroud. The doctor handed the tiny bundle to Giles and he held it in numb fingers as Willow wept.

He wiped the hot tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, they didn’t reveal Rose’s fate and buried her in the Slayers’ graveyard in Council grounds. All that was twenty years ago. Why think of it now? He grabbed the side of the bath and eased himself up.

He came downstairs to the relative quiet of his sitting room; the middle grandchildren were playing on the computers. Giles peeped in and grimaced. They all looked round at him as one and sighed dramatically. He closed the door and smiled at himself, "must keep up appearances" he muttered and made his way to the kitchen.

He didn’t think there was anyone in the room so he tried for the waist-grabbing tactic again with his wife, or someone whom he thought was his wife.

"What say we go upstairs and play…" He lowered his voice and nuzzled her ear. He noticed something wrong with her perfume. He opened his eyes when he heard a throat clearing sound behind him and the lack of girlish squeal and squirm in his embrace.

He leapt back in alarm. "Good Lord! I’m so dreadfully sorry. I…I thought you were my wife."

End of part 0ne

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