Truck Stop
by KindKit

They've never dared go to a restaurant together. But they're a hundred miles from Sunnydale, heading for the mountains. They're free, mostly. And the restaurant's sign says "Homemade Apple Pie."

BLT, pie, and coffee for Giles; grilled cheese, pie, and milk for Oz. The waitress flirts with Giles and calls Oz "your son."

"Sorry," Giles says when she's gone.

"'S okay." Oz smiles over the rim of his glass, swallows down milk. Giles swallows too, watching him.

Reaching for forks, their fingers brush. Concealed behind the ketchup and mustard, they hold hands.

When they leave, they haven't eaten a bite.