She brushed her arms, trying not to think about why Giles was being so silent. Why hadn't she hugged him before? Was she that much of Xander Harris' lapdog that she couldn't show affection to another man, a very attractive man. Looking over at Giles who sat next to her, she gave him a smile and poked the campfire with a stick.
Giles sighed. The Slayers-in-Training had finally made their beds. He heard them gossiping from their tents. It left only him and Anya around the fire as Xander and the others had gone home.
Anya turned toward him. "I'm sorry."
Blinking his eyes, Giles looked taken back. "Sorry?"
"Yes, sorry." She exhaled loudly. "Sorry that I didn't hug you. Sorry that I thought you were the First." Her eyes met his. "Sorry that I haven't done this." She leaned over and kissed him, her hand on his chin.
He pulled back. "Anya, I don't…"
"Don't think. We might die. We'll probably die. Just kiss me, Rupert."
Giles' arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. His mouth crushed against hers, hand kneading the plush angora of her sweater.
She moaned under the pressure of his lips. Apparently, he thought it too, missing those soft kisses ever since their memories returned.