Perhaps it was that she so rarely saw him in sunlight.

Picking up her suitcase, she stopped by the side of the bed, just as the first soft rays of sunlight trickled in through the window. None of them reached high enough yet, but she knew that soon they’d be stretching themselves, expending the effort like they all did, reaching out to touch him, caress him, feel him, warm him.

A soft, tentative finger traced his forehead, pushing back the stubborn hair that always fell in his sleep. She knew him so well, had him memorized, in fact, yet it never seemed to matter. There was always someone or something else in his life that took precedence over her.

She’d known that from the beginning, of course. But, like many a disillusioned woman before her, she thought she could change it all. She thought she could break his habit of duty and honor and help him find love…all consuming, all-inclusive love. Preferably with her.

But she knew now that it wasn’t going to happen. Asking him to give up his duty would be like asking him to sever a limb or stake himself through the heart.

And expecting him to love her the same way in return would be more than foolish. It would be suicide. He’d try valiantly, wanting to please. He’d struggle and hate himself for failing, which wouldn’t be true. It would simply be that he was given a request that he couldn’t hope to honor.

She knew that loving her was mutually exclusive with what he did, who he loved. Not that he didn’t love her. Not that he didn’t reserve a look in those eyes just for her, a look that seemed to warm her soul. But how could a look hold so much when there were so many other looks.

Looks of love and concern, looks of frustration and anger, looks of hurt and betrayal. All these looks meant for children she didn’t know, adults she wasn’t friends with. They tolerated her, because he loved her. She tolerated them because asking him to give them up would be like asking him to…

Sighing, she stood up straight and took hold of the handle of her bag again. The taxi had promised to be there as soon as the sun rose and she knew she needed to hurry. Fingers of light stretched toward him, like a lover’s fingers, seeking the secret places they loved to touch.

Walking down the stairs, she listened closely for the sound of his voice, calling her back quietly, asking her to stay. The words never came and, when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she knew exactly why.

They all lay there, scattered across the floor like a pile of puppies, all of them touching in some way. Xander and Anya were cuddled up together, but Xander’s hand was entwined with Willow’s. Buffy was using her best friend’s stomach as a pillow and Xander’s legs as a footrest. They were his family, his love, his life.

Buffy was his reason for living. She was his duty, but more than that she’d managed to work her way into his heart and become the daughter he would never have. Acknowledging that would do him a world of good but, like the good Watcher he no longer was, he thought admitting it would simple be another weakness.

Willow was his past. She reminded him so much of himself when he was young. She doesn’t seem to have that reckless, destructive streak that he did, although he sees it lurking under her gentle exterior. She calms him. She helps him deal with the horrors of his life and put a civil coating on it all. She’s his chance to redeem himself for his youthful transgressions.

Xander was his strength. As much as he pretends that he knows nothing of the boy’s jokes and humor, they are what keeps him going. Xander finds the humor in anything and that makes Rupert realize that there’s another perspective. Another angle. Another hope.

The others…Anya and Spike, while new to the group, were endearing themselves to him. In time they would have their places as well, telling truths amongst a group that lived with so many things unsaid, yet still managing to endear themselves, firmly entrenched in his heart.

And while she knew that he would not admit his feelings for them – his need for them, his love for them, his… She shook her head. It wasn’t worth the time it would cost her to think about his feelings for each of them. It wouldn’t help matters to acknowledge what he himself would not. It wouldn’t…

She shook her head and adjusted her grip on the bag, offering the sleeping mass a small smile. They’d won, without ever knowing there was a battle. And while, perhaps, the wounds would sting for a while, they’d heal in time.

They’d help him heal.

Taking great care to close the door behind her, Olivia hurried down to meet the cab. The driver looked at her warily until the sun slipped out of the shadow of a cloud and moved across her dark skin. She told him where to take her, glancing back at the building, saying her silent good-byes.