I don't know…really I was reading over the first chapter of this story and all of the sudden the hallelujah choruses sang and inspiration struck so I did a "his" point of view. So R&R and I'll do the same for you…even if you write Spuffy and I hate that stuff!

I pace back and forth in front of the building, scanning the crowd for my little golden goddess. I stop and look at my watch. It's 4:15, she's not coming. Oh god, what am I going to do now, she doesn't love me anymore I start to think, then I stop and take a deep breath- an action which before this time would've been useless but now is one of the little things I relish in. This is Buffy we're talking about…who's name is considered synonymous with being late. That thought alone makes me remember our first date, or at least our attempt at a first date. I sit down and reconsider my decision to meet her here. I mean, it's a museum for crying out loud, something I'm not sure she'd appreciate. I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't even hear the old man come up next to me.
"Cé atá ann" he says and it startles me. Not only because he appeared out of nowhere, but also because I know that most people who still speak the language don't live in the metropolis area. "Gabh mo leithscéal?" I ask, coming out of my reverie

"Cé atá ann?" he repeated, then added "si riachtanas speisialta rud" "Tá si," I told him, before amending my phrase, "Tá si mo ionuin" The old man gently grabbed my hand and looked down at my clauddagh ring, the one I never could bring myself to take off after everything that has happened between us because…lets face it, she had my heart from the first time I ever saw her.
"Tá cheile?" He looked up and smiled at me. I smiled back and nodded. It was strange, but the simple, unbidden conversation with the man calmed me. As I turned to introduce myself, he was gone. I started looking around for him, then I felt it. That special feeling that no matter where I am, I know it's her. I look up and see her coming, looking distressed, and a smile breaks out across my face. She smiles at me and I wondered what ever convinced me to let her go.
"Ionùin" I say as I grab her hand, and then impulsively lead her away from the museum. It's too nice of a day to stay in and contrary to what she's told me, she looks absolutely gorgeous in the sunlight.

TRANSLATIONS….in order….who is it?…excuse me?….who is it? She must me something special….she is, she's my beloved….your wife.