(that would have been my brain...)
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Novelty
Betty: Have you ever done this before?
Rita: I don't know...
Mulholland Drive
by NoveltyAct » Sun Feb 10, 2002 10:38 pm
(that would have been my brain...)
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Novelty
Betty: Have you ever done this before?
Rita: I don't know...
Mulholland Drive
by MadeinNZ » Mon Feb 11, 2002 2:45 am
I love the way you write (Laid to Rest is one of my favorites). You are so true to the characters. I can always imagine Willow and Tara saying and doing exactly what you have them saying and doing (and imagine them I do). Sometimes it seems that people will write a story and then just change the main characters names to Willow and Tara. Not you. No siree.
An inspired use of jam tarts (although a wonderful childhood memory has been shot to hell).
Nobody wears a cardigan like Willow.
[This message has been edited by MadeinNZ (edited February 11, 2002).]
by Quill » Mon Feb 11, 2002 3:30 am
by tommo » Mon Feb 11, 2002 5:07 am
quote:
Originally posted by MadeinNZ:
You are so true to the characters. I can always imagine Willow and Tara saying and doing exactly what you have them saying and doing
Heh, thanks. It's pretty hard though, you know, writing them. If I had my way, their idea of a holiday would be three weeks in bed.
quote:
An inspired use of jam tarts (although a wonderful childhood memory has been shot to hell).
Aww, I'm sorry. I like the bloody things so much though. Tasty yummy jammy goodness. And they do get your fingers sticky. Sigh. Nobody feels my pain.
quote:
Nobody wears a cardigan like Willow.
And I rather suspect nobody ever will, heh heh.
Thanks for the feedback thus far, everyone. You're sweet. However, there might be a bit of a wait for the next part; I'm afraid. I have to go away for a few days (well, I don't have to but I am) and lately, real life is just...well, real.
Sorry about the break. But hey, this is as good a place as any to leave it.
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Sweetie...I'm a fag.
by katydid » Mon Feb 11, 2002 9:55 am
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"She practically has 'genuine molded plastic' stamped on her ass.
by KittyKo » Mon Feb 11, 2002 11:07 am
quote:
Originally posted by tommo:
Heh, thanks. It's pretty hard though, you know, writing them. If I had my way, their idea of a holiday would be three weeks in bed.
I sure like your way of thinking. Hmm.
And don't worry, this update will stay in mind for a long time, so go on to reality... be brave...take a break but be sure to come back.
[This message has been edited by KittyKo (edited February 11, 2002).]
quote:by kpmuse » Mon Feb 11, 2002 2:28 pm
by MadeinNZ » Mon Feb 11, 2002 10:23 pm
A break!! That wasn't part of the deal. How can your real life interfere with our need for vicarious smoochies. I think I might need to go out and get me one of these "life" thingies.
Thanks for your feedback on my feedback (which I am now feeding back on). I was imagining you coming back and saying to me "but I didn't write Laid to Rest". The shame of it all. I will be able to sleep tonight.
[This message has been edited by MadeinNZ (edited February 12, 2002).]
by tommo » Tue Feb 12, 2002 4:29 am
quote:
Originally posted by MadeinNZ:
How can your real life interfere with our need for vicarious smoochies.
Because my real life has a really bitchy quality to it that tends to rain on my parade. Ugh, mixed metaphors stink...
quote:
Thanks for your feedback on my feedback (which I am now feeding back on).
And the award for sounding most like Willow goes to...
quote:
I was imagining you coming back and saying to me "but I didn't write Laid to Rest".
Nah, that was me. I mean, come on, who else would think of inventing a freakin' pirate ghost? Heh. Oh - not forgetting the seagulls...which I have most certainly mentioned in this fic. See, that's the beauty of writing stuff that takes place by the sea. Seagulls. Wheeling. Crying. Crapping on people's cars.
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Sweetie...I'm a fag.
[This message has been edited by tommo (edited February 12, 2002).]
quote:quote:quote:by tommo » Wed Feb 13, 2002 3:46 am
Title: Touchstone
Rating: NC17, although not all chapters are, but this covers me for those bits that couldn’t possibly be anything else. Heh.
Copyright Disclaimer: Bowing and scraping does nothing for the knees. Joss…blah blah…Mutant Enemy…etc etc…sigh…
Feedback: Sure, if you feel that way inclined. My email is: tommo27@hotmail.com
Archive: Until I get my arse in gear and sort out my own W/T website, you can have this wherever you like it. I’m only too happy if someone else wants it. Just ask first, ok? Bad manners are nobody’s friend.
Summary: This takes place in my own Buffyverse, and if you’ve read any of my other stories, then you’ll know what I mean. Basically we follow the season events, but with a few changes. In fact, who am I kidding; I make direct references to my other fic, because I’m a whore like that. And I care…not one little bit. Ha. There are also Season 6 spoilers in this if that kind of thing bothers you. Don’t take it to heart if it does; they’re not like, big honkin’ spoilers or anything.
Part 9
By three o’clock, the brightness of the day was receding somewhat, hurried along by grayish clouds that scudded through the sky, pulled by some invisible magnetic force to the hills and valleys. The wind, previously friendly and soothing, now began to nip at cheeks and hands, threatening to bite. As the trees in the forest started to raise their voices in whispers only they could understand, they waved their branches above their heads like some emphatic storyteller. It seemed as though they weren’t happy, and the sky reflected their trouble in growing shades of murky confusion.
Giles hadn’t been able to concentrate properly on his work since his conversation with Robert Merryvale. Despite his detestation of the fellow (and he knew he wasn’t alone in this train of thought), he had felt an overwhelming need to justify himself and his purpose all over again. Working for the Council, it seemed, was just one hurdle after another that he was expected to leap over with increasing agility.
Sighing, he rose from the table and shook his head. He wasn’t as young as he used to be. Leaping over hurdles, whether mental or actual, just wasn’t in his mind-frame anymore. He wandered over towards the front window and cast a vitriolic gaze outside at his car. He missed his sporty little vehicle that had served him so well in Sunnydale. A faint smile crossed his eyes, falling into well-worn lines around the edges; he still remembered the day that Buffy had seen his new car and the teasing that had ensued. Mid-life crisis, she’d called it, telling him that it was pretty stereotypical of a man his age to buy an expensive new sports car like that. But he hadn’t minded so much; in fact, he still carried that bemused look Buffy adopted with him in his head, like a familiar comfort blanket. These days, however, it only served to remind him of what he had lost.
Looking up at the darkening sky, he shrugged in a resigned manner that had become a part of him since he had returned to England. He missed the weather as well. At least summers in California were seasonably appropriate. Not just a nice day pretending to be summer, like it was here. He could sometimes hardly believe that he used to be so ingrained into the British way of things. Spending six years in California had turned his mind to other pleasures, he knew that. Pleasures that included the small group of teenagers who had invited him into their hearts; somehow it seemed that they had all grown up together, himself included. If he thought hard enough about it, he was sure that he would willingly run back there tomorrow, given half the chance. But, he shook his head to himself, that wouldn’t do any good. There was nothing there he could achieve any more. Buffy was an adult; she’d lived longer than most Slayers he’d read about. He was sure that she would cope, in the end, admirably without a Watcher. But this period, this breaking away and keeping away…he sighed, this was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
He turned away from the window, feeling the edges of depression pushing at his mind. It would be so easy to give in to the mindless, loveless occupation that had become his life’s purpose. He’d even considered moving to London in order to join the ranks of the faceless robots that worked at the Council HQ every day. Switching off the emotional side of him would protect him, inevitably, from the evil that the Council dealt with on a daily basis. He remembered that his grandmother had once commented on the darkness that evil brought with it. Only now did he realize that she wasn’t just talking about the evil things themselves, but also about the people who came into contact with them. In the end, if you allowed it to, the darkness became a part of you, whether you realized it or not. Watching the grim faces of the Council operatives and their attention to duty, he had acknowledged that he himself was only a tiny step away from losing his emotional contact with the world altogether. The only thing that had stopped him had been the first letter from Dawn, followed soon after by several others, scrawling memories across his heart that simply wouldn’t allow him to forget.
And now?
Now he had been sent to Wales in the hopes of keeping him out of the way and out of trouble. A brief harrumph of laughter escaped his throat. Everything he had done in Sunnydale was now considered ‘trouble’ by the Council directors, who, in their infinite wisdom, refused to fully disclose the story of the Slayer to anyone but those on a ‘need to know’ basis. In their considered opinion, the rest of the Council just didn’t need to know. They had simply filed everything away in their little offices and the Board of Directors had thanked him for his work with Buffy, and then offered him the placement in Wales. Something relaxing, they had said. Something that might offer him stability after all the unusual experiences he’d had in California. Of course, Buffy’s unusual situation would be taken under advisement, but she had died and been resurrected through such unorthodox methods that they felt she could no longer represent the Council in a way they could find acceptable.
Her connection with the blackness that she fought every day, and that of the people around her who clearly had powers vested in the dark arts, just didn’t fit in with their idea of what a Slayer should be. Giles had tried to explain to them in no uncertain terms that the changing nature of evil required a changing nature of the Slayer, but the Board of Directors had merely nodded away his recommendations and continued with their diatribe about how he should go to Wales. And that, of course, hadn’t really been a choice for him. His days as a Watcher were over, as far as the Council was concerned. The line of the Slayers went through Faith, and it was to her that the Council would now turn their attentions.
Good luck to them, Giles mused, a tiny flicker of amusement ticking the corner of his eye as he recalled the last time he had seen the dark Slayer. She had even less time for the Council than Buffy did, and had made that very clear when she had gone running off to Ireland after Willow and Tara. Her duty, if she felt any at all, was to the people she considered her friends, not to some faceless organization that had only tried to chain her and punish her. He had spoken to her only once before he had left Sunnydale, to warn her that the Council might be overly interested in her now. The bunch of expletives he was met with had confirmed his suspicions that the dark Slayer wasn’t about to be told what to do. Faith wasn’t the type to suffer fools gladly, he thought, almost fondly. And if the truth be known, most of the Directors at the Council were fools.
“Idiots,” he said aloud, almost before he realized he had spoken. His voice sounded terribly loud in the large living room of the cottage, whirling around him in an echo. A part of him wished that Willow and Tara would hurry home, if only for the company. For a man who had spent most of his life alone, he was finding solitude distinctly unfriendly these days. Unfriendly and, dare he admit it, rather threatening. He had faced some of the most horrific evils in this world, and several other dimensions as well, but now the thought of spending the rest of his life alone terrified him more than he cared to admit.
The sound of a vehicle outside brought him out of his reverie. The crunching gravel in front of the cottage protested loudly as tires spun and brakes lurched the car to a halt. He didn’t want to look out of the window. Didn’t want to see the young man he was sure had been sent here to replace him or, even worse, to check up on him. Auditors, he shuddered to himself. The whole world was full of bloody auditors. Everyone telling you what you should be doing rather than getting their own hands dirty and helping you do it. A tiny frown crossed his brow; that sounded like something Willow would say. Shaking his head, he allowed himself a small smile.
A heavy car door slammed shut with that expensive click indicating something large and new. Footsteps made their way towards the front door. A pause, then three sharp raps on the door echoed inside the cottage. Even from his position in the living room, Giles could hear a pair of feet scuffing gently on the huge stone doorstep outside. Pressing his lips together into a tight line, he frowned, and then sighed resignedly, moving towards the doorway. For some inexplicable reason, he almost expected to see the Grim Reaper standing on the doorstep. And he wouldn’t have much minded. He’d be willing to bet his victory over the Grim Reaper than anything the bureaucratic Council could throw at him any day of the week.
Reaching for the handle, he twisted it firmly and swung it open, the agonized scrape of the wooden door against the stone entry wincing the sound into his nerves. His grip tightened on the handle as his eyes swept over the large, shiny four wheel drive in front of the cottage. As his heart sank, partly through dread and partly through jealousy of the fine looking vehicle, he realized that the well built man he was expecting…wasn’t there. His gaze dropped down to the slightly smaller figure in the doorway who was, even now, extending its hand towards him.
“Rupert Giles?” the voice was buoyant and almost musical in tone, sweet and lilting. And very, very feminine. “I’m Cerys Salisbury, from the Council.”
Giles was stunned. No, it was more than that. He was confused beyond the ability to speak, opening and shutting his mouth rather like a fish out of water. The woman standing in front of him was the complete opposite of everything he had prepared himself for. She stood about five feet seven, or so he guessed, her height accentuated by the long fawn coat that reached below her knees. Below that, plain navy blue trousers swung gracefully over a pair of low-heeled patent shoes. As his line of vision moved upwards, Giles found his eyes met with a steady brown gaze, intelligently enquiring as to his speechlessness. Around a face that was a healthy tanned complexion; luxurious chestnut hair tumbled in barely restrained locks onto the shoulders of the coat.
“Mr. Giles?” the woman leant forward a little, amusement lifting the corners of her mouth. “You are Rupert Giles, aren’t you?”
“Ah…” Giles stepped backwards, trying to take his eyes away from the picture of loveliness that was standing on his doorstep, nodding mutely at her interrogation. Gaining some semblance of himself, he found his tongue, “I’m sorry…ever so sorry…do come in.” He gestured faintly into the expanse of the living room and caught a faint scent of flowers as she drifted past. Closing the door he turned, glad of his firm grip on the door handle, which was, at present, the only thing keeping him on his feet. He watched with interest as she removed the coat to reveal a casual yet smart purple shirt underneath it. She slung the coat over the sofa with an easy, comfortable gesture and offered him another of those impossibly bright smiles, folding her arms over her chest.
“Not what you were expecting?” she grinned, taking in his brows, knitting and un-knitting furiously over his gaze. He has nice eyes, she thought to herself; he’s not exactly the man the Council told me he’d be. Her amusement was increased by the fact that all the stories she’d heard about Rupert ‘Ripper’ Giles just didn’t fit in any way with the rather bumbling form in front of her. Strike one for the Council, she thought wryly. Don’t prepare your operatives in any way, shape or form and you’ll get them suspicious of one another before you’ve even begun. It was one way to assure complete loyalty to the Council, she supposed. Typical Merryvale strategy. A moue of disgust formed in the back of her mind and almost on her lips; she hated that lecherous old bastard with a vengeance ever since he had indicated that she’d never get very far because she was just ‘a woman in a huge network of men’. Clearly the fact that the Slayer was not of his own gender had somehow passed him by, she remembered thinking ironically at the time.
“Um…” Giles settled for folding his arms over his chest and attempting to rest casually back on his heels. “No,” he couldn’t help laughing. “Not what I was expecting.”
“You’d think that the Council of Watchers would be used to working with strong women after all these centuries now, wouldn’t you?” her eyes twinkled teasingly at him.
Giles let out a snort of laughter, “I am, it’s just that…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m afraid that Robert Merryvale didn’t exactly prepare me for you very well.”
“Or indeed, at all,” Cerys countered good-naturedly. “But then, that’s his way. Tell everyone nothing and that way you’re the only one left standing at the end.” She let out a sigh and an expressive roll of her eyes that spoke rather extensively of her own feelings on the subject of Robert Merryvale. Giles warmed to her instantly in that moment, returning her smile and relaxing his guard somewhat.
“I’m sorry he didn’t tell you I was…well, me,” she gestured up and down her body, shrugging apologetically. “I suppose I was the nearest one to you. The Council has an office only a few hours drive from here. And,” she glanced out towards the window, “I grew up around here so I know the area pretty well. I can give you a detailed list of my credentials if you’d like.” Her tone was serious now, even eager. She gestured outside again, presumably towards her car.
“No need,” Giles sprung forward and moved closer to her, rather drawn to her honest manner and open demeanor. “I’m becoming rather used to not knowing what the hell is going on. Unless,” he flashed her a self-deprecating smile, “it is actually hell that’s going on. Then you’ll find I’m rather well prepared.” Cerys let out a trickle of what he suspected would be a rather more delicious laugh if allowed to develop. He shrugged off his comment, reaching out and grabbing her coat. “I’ll just hang this up and then…tea?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” she grinned, sinking thankfully onto the threadbare sofa, pushing her hair back over one shoulder. She looked instantly comfortable and yet incongruous in the shabby surroundings, leaning into the stodgy cushions and slinging one leg over the other. Perching her elbow onto the arm of the couch, she rested her head onto her hand, fingers playing gently with strands of her hair.
Giles couldn’t resist looking at her for a few seconds more than he thought was probably appropriate, before he made his way towards the kitchen. And, if he were to ask himself why he was watching this woman, he probably wouldn’t have been able to explain it in words that anyone, let alone himself, could understand. He didn’t understand it himself, at that moment. But then again, it wasn’t what he was expecting at all.
***
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Sweetie...I'm a fag.
by mollyig » Wed Feb 13, 2002 5:44 am
Interesting that you mentioned Faith. Is she gonna make an appearance in the valleys of Wales?
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"It took a long time to become the thing i am to you,
and you won't tear it apart without a fight, without a heart"
Become You - Indigo Girls
by KittyKo » Wed Feb 13, 2002 6:39 am
by tommo » Wed Feb 13, 2002 7:23 am
quote:
Originally posted by mollyig:
Interesting that you mentioned Faith. Is she gonna make an appearance in the valleys of Wales?
Oh I wish. Heh. But alas, no. No more Faith in the Willow and Tara stories. I think Faith has her hands rather more than full back in LA with the lovely Cordelia, heh, if you get my meaning.
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Sweetie...I'm a fag.
by Pixie » Wed Feb 13, 2002 9:37 am
by katydid » Wed Feb 13, 2002 1:41 pm
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"She practically has 'genuine molded plastic' stamped on her ass.
by Lonewolf » Wed Feb 13, 2002 1:41 pm
Lonewolf
by AutumnT » Wed Feb 13, 2002 4:02 pm
Ha. I beg to differ. This girl needs her regular dose of landscape, Willow, Tara, Giles, and now the occasional jam.
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Autumn
I have the sudden urge to dedicate my productive cooperation.
by Charlie » Wed Feb 13, 2002 4:19 pm
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"Je dois partir maintenant parce que ma grandmere est flambé..."
- Eddie 'covered in beeeees!' Izzard
by Scout » Wed Feb 13, 2002 8:15 pm
quote:
Originally posted by tommo:
My lips are sealed. I'm saying nothing. Please just bear in mind that Giles doesn't exactly have any luck with the "laydeez". So what would be the point?
Ruth, are you putting out your own fake spoilers now?
Very enjoyable update. Looking forward to more!
quote:by emily 'first' » Wed Feb 13, 2002 10:17 pm
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vive,valeque.
by MadeinNZ » Wed Feb 13, 2002 11:07 pm
Nice opening paragraph. Its wet and windy here at the moment so I could relate. Oh - the rest of the story had the usual greatness as well.
by tommo » Thu Feb 14, 2002 3:28 am
quote:
Originally posted by Scout:
Ruth, are you putting out your own fake spoilers now?
Heh, yeah. I'm taking a tip from the master, you know, Joss, by trying to divert people. It's not working. I guess you all knew the visitor would be a woman eh? And that Giles is going to make the smoochies with her? So really...I don't need to post the rest of the fic, mwahahahahaaaa.
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Sweetie...I'm a fag.
by Pixie » Thu Feb 14, 2002 8:54 am
quote:
Originally posted by tommo:
And that Giles is going to make the smoochies with her?
Will there be jam involved?
So really...I don't need to post the rest of the fic, mwahahahahaaaa.
[/QUOTE]
Oh, come on Ruth, you know you want to!
quote:by Charlie » Thu Feb 14, 2002 2:28 pm
quote:
Originally posted by tommo:
So really...I don't need to post the rest of the fic, mwahahahahaaaa.
Evil cow.
*remembers she's s'posed to be being nice to the lovely fic-writin' lady*
Ruthie, you know how we all love and adore and worship you...? And you also know how we're also good little kiddies who eat our jam nicely and admire the landscape when told to...? You don't wanna punish us in return for being well-behaved, do you? Do you?
*grins cheesily and offers Ruth an apple*
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"Je dois partir maintenant parce que ma grandmere est flambé..."
- Eddie 'covered in beeeees!' Izzard
by Rosenberg » Thu Feb 14, 2002 7:33 pm
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I'm very seldom naughty
by tommo » Mon Feb 18, 2002 6:21 am
Anyway, here's Part 10. Enjoy.
Title: Touchstone
Rating: NC17, although not all chapters are, but this covers me for those bits that couldn’t possibly be anything else. Heh.
Copyright Disclaimer: Bowing and scraping does nothing for the knees. Joss…blah blah…Mutant Enemy…etc etc…sigh…
Feedback: Sure, if you feel that way inclined. My email is: tommo27@hotmail.com
Archive: Until I get my arse in gear and sort out my own W/T website, you can have this wherever you like it. I’m only too happy if someone else wants it. Just ask first, ok? Bad manners are nobody’s friend.
Summary: This takes place in my own Buffyverse, and if you’ve read any of my other stories, then you’ll know what I mean. Basically we follow the season events, but with a few changes. In fact, who am I kidding; I make direct references to my other fic, because I’m a whore like that. And I care…not one little bit. Ha. There are also Season 6 spoilers in this if that kind of thing bothers you. Don’t take it to heart if it does; they’re not like, big honkin’ spoilers or anything.
Part 10
“I think I like jam tarts the best,” Willow said, nodding emphatically as she swung hers and Tara’s hands between them. The two girls had done a little more exploring and a lot more smooching until they decided Giles had spent enough time on his own, and had started back to the cottage. The tension between them broken, they had found their way through the forest easily, despite Willow’s tendency to suddenly chase Tara around, giggling for all she was worth. It seemed that, along with the recovery of her sexual appetite, Willow had also rediscovered the tempting allure of tickling. Tara was almost breathless from the amount of times she had evaded Willow’s outstretched fingers, laughing so hard that she thought she was going to fall over or get a cramp.
Tara cast her girlfriend a sideways look of some amusement. “Really?” she asked, her mouth curving up at one side quizzically. “So out of everything we’ve done today, you liked the jam tarts best of all?” She shook her head, looking down at the ground in amused wonder.
Willow frowned for a moment, and then realized to what Tara was referring. “Oh!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back and pulling on Tara’s arm. “God, no!” she giggled, causing the blonde to look across at her. “I didn’t mean out of everything, silly,” she murmured, bringing up their clasped hands to plant a soft kiss onto Tara’s knuckles. “In fact, the reason I like jam tarts the best is because of…you know…” she raised her eyebrows suggestively, wiggling them up and down until Tara begun laughing at her.
“There’s something to be said for British cuisine then,” Tara shrugged, squeezing Willow’s hand.
“Yeah,” the redhead tittered, “jam tarts, the best aphrodisiac a girl could wish for.”
“Willow,” Tara stopped walking, halting her girlfriend. Turning to look at her, she raised her hand and put her palm against the redhead’s cheek. “You are the only aphrodisiac I need, honey,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss the mouth that smiled back at her.
As they began walking towards the cottage again, Willow bumped her hips against Tara’s playfully. “You use that line on all the women you meet?” she asked, her voice taking on a mock-petulant tone. Catching the eyes of her girlfriend, Willow pursed her lips into a pout, eliciting a wry smile from the blonde.
“Only the ones I’m in love with,” Tara answered, a flippant tone entering her voice.
“And just how many has that been?” Willow teased. “What was it at your last count, ten? Fifteen?”
“Hundreds,” Tara said mock-seriously, “too many to possibly – “ she stopped, standing dead still at the edge to the road. “Look,” she lifted her hand and pointed. Following her gaze, Willow saw the shining four wheel drive sitting in the driveway next to Giles’ car. In comparison, the silver vehicle made Giles’ car look like a box on wheels, and not even an attractive box at that. Whoever the visitor was, it was someone who had more than a little money to spare.
“Nice car,” Willow said, almost wistfully.
“Yeah, did Giles say he was expecting someone?” Tara turned to face her girlfriend, a frown on her face.
“Nope.” Willow shook her head. “At least, not to me he didn’t.”
“Do you think we should, you know, come back later?” Tara asked.
“No way!” Willow forged ahead, pulling the rather reluctant blonde behind her, “I want to know who it is.”
***
It had all been rather civilized, Giles thought. Sipping tea and munching on some shortbread he’d been saving for a special occasion. And talking…he’d forgotten what it was like to have a proper conversation with a grown up. Not, of course that he didn’t like chatting with Willow and Tara, but talking with someone who was more his own age reminded him of how much he’d missed it. On the rare occasion he’d had chance to talk to another adult, it had invariably been a colleague at Sunnydale High (and he wasn’t missing the faculty much) or Joyce Summers. He paused. Joyce. He sometimes wondered if, in the trauma that her death had wreaked upon Buffy and Dawn, he’d given himself chance to miss her too.
“Rupert?” Cerys leaned forward on the sofa, her brows drawing together over her dark eyes.
He shot her a smile that was intended to placate her, waving his hand carelessly in the air. “Sorry,” he said.
“No, it’s fine,” Cerys sat back again, settling her teacup onto her lap once more. “You just looked a little distant, that’s all.”
“Just thinking about old friends,” he admitted, looking down into his teacup where the swirling brown liquid yielded one lone bubble before that, too, disappeared into the murky depths.
“Ah,” she nodded knowingly, glancing down at her lap. Her brown curls slid off her shoulders and flowed down her chest, falling over one another. “Was it lonely, being a Watcher I mean, did you get lonely?”
He looked up, met her eyes at the same instant that she glanced over at him. She smiled softly, encouragingly, and he felt a tiny glow of appreciation in his stomach.
“Lonely in the sense that my only true friends were a bunch of sixteen year olds, you mean?” he said, his mouth pursing almost playfully over the words, as though he was trying to hold back his amusement.
“No, I didn’t mean…” Cerys began and then stopped, pressing her lips into a hard line. “I got the impression that being a Watcher doesn’t exactly allow for much of a personal life.”
“Ah,” Giles nodded sagely. “I suppose it doesn’t, but I didn’t have much of a personal life before I was sent to Sunnydale, so truth be told, I honestly didn’t notice that much of a difference.”
“Oh,” Cerys looked down at her lap again, playing with the china handle of her teacup absent-mindedly.
“But as it happened, I found some very special people in Sunnydale,” Giles added, his voice softening somewhat. Thoughts of a raven-haired techno pagan flitted briefly across his memory and he smiled to himself. As his gaze drifted over towards the sofa where his Council colleague sat, apparently deep in thought, he jerked out of his reverie and raised his cup to his lips. Drinking deeply, he closed his eyes and forced his thoughts to the present. The present in which sat a very attractive woman whom he was currently failing to impress, or so he thought.
“And how about you?” he enquired, bringing her chocolaty gaze pooling into his own.
“How about me what?” she asked, taking a sip of her tea.
“Have you found any special people?” He purposely didn’t look at her until she leaned forward, sliding her cup and saucer onto the low coffee table in front of the sofa. A look crossed her face that he couldn’t quite read, whether one of a painful memory or of a love not quite conquered, he was unable to tell. Sitting back on the couch, Cerys took a deep breath and shook her head.
“Once,” she said softly, her accent falling in soft cadences over her words. “It didn’t work out.” Silence diminished her explanation as she brushed at an invisible speck of fluff on her trousers. Her gaze flicked over to Giles and she offered him an almost embarrassed grin. “Working for the Council; everything we see, and some of the things we don’t…it doesn’t make for healthy private relationships really.”
Giles got to his feet, feeling a rush of empathy. “It doesn’t, that’s true. But you know, you can’t let the Council dictate all of your life. The work we do is very important, often lives depend on us, but we’re only human.”
Cerys let out a snort of laughter. “Well you and I are, but I sometimes wonder about the Board of Directors.” Instantly her face dropped into an expression of horror and she glanced up at him, clasping a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t mean your family…” she referred to the line of Giles’ that had been prevalent at the Council for many decades.
Giles brushed her aside, “Don’t be sorry. You’re half right anyway. I was practically raised by my grandparents when my father worked for the Council. I’m afraid a devotion to duty rather took its toll in my home. Especially with my mother.” He pursed his lips, almost pathetically grateful to find someone who understood the path his life had taken thus far. “I always promised myself that I wouldn’t be like my father, but,” he shook his head and shrugged, reaching forwards for the empty cup and saucer on the coffee table, “look at me now. This time last year I was preparing to battle against a vicious hellgod.” He pursed his lips in what looked like disdain, “From that to this.” His hand swept the cottage, finishing his train of thought for him.
Cerys got to her feet, brushing a few stray crumbs from her trousers and her shirt. As she straightened up, she realized that she was standing extremely close to the man that she’d heard so much about for the last five years. If forced to admit it, she would have said that Rupert Giles, although not that much older than her own 35 years, was a bit of a personal hero. When the call had come through to the office from Robert Merryvale, she had literally fought off any opposition to take the posting. She wanted to glean whatever knowledge and experience she could from the now infamous Watcher, as well as fulfilling her duties to the Council. After all, orders were orders. And Robert Merryvale had been more than concise about what she was being employed for. But Rupert Giles wasn’t quite what she’d expected, either.
Handsome, yes. Devastatingly intelligent, without a doubt. Cerys would have even gone as far as to say the word ‘charismatic’ to herself, if not to anyone else. But there was something else as well. Rupert Giles was introspective, yet eloquent. He was thoroughly aware of the restrictions of working for the Council, and yet he had taken this job with little to no objection at all. Looking up into his hazel flecked eyes, she thought that he would see right through her; see that she was little more than a pen pusher, an acolyte, a fan. The smile she thought she saw him blinking back, the soft pressure of his breath near her face and the spicy tang of his aftershave reminded her that he was a man of many contradictions. But, above all of that, he was a man. A very attractive man. In fact, she swallowed audibly; she could feel that hint of nausea in her stomach that reminded her of just how attractive a man he was.
Her eyes widened imperceptibly as he stood, transfixed by her deep brown eyes, gazing at him with a hint of something else. That emotion he could never quite read in women. Inwardly he cursed himself for not being more ruthless, not being more confident, not being anything other than bumbling Rupert Giles. But try as he might, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from those twin pools of light that were shining up at him.
“Rupert,” Cerys said slowly, her mouth curving into what Giles thought was a delicious heart shape; her accent sounding like music to his ears.
“Yes?” he inched closer, steeling himself to say something, anything, other than let this electricity buzz up and down his body without acknowledging it.
The cottage door burst open and Willow and Tara literally stumbled over the doorstep, their entrance making Giles take a huge leap backwards, away from Cerys Salisbury and her electricity. The cup and saucer in his hand rattled dangerously, the china cup spinning awkwardly with his jerked movement. Cursing under his breath, he clamped his other hand down on the offending cup and silenced it, before placing it back down onto the table again rather hurriedly.
“Giles!” Willow gasped, her eyes wide and curious as they swept over the figure of the Council operative. Cerys coughed quietly to herself and stepped back an inch or two, forcing her gaze down to the ground and picking at the hem of her shirt. As the edge of the sofa pressed grudgingly against her calves, she closed her eyes momentarily, hoping that whoever these girls were, that they would leave soon. For some reason, she was a little more than eager to be alone with the mysterious Rupert Giles again.
“We saw the car and thought…” Tara began, then stopped, her eyes drifting over the sheepish expressions on the faces of Giles and Cerys. Narrowing her gaze somewhat, she moved back to close the cottage door, then leaned against it. “We weren’t sure what we thought,” she finished softly, exchanging a look with Willow that spoke volumes. Jerking her eyes towards their room, she indicated that perhaps their presence wasn’t exactly required, or even desired, right now. Willow indicated with several wide-eyed expressions and agonized facial gestures that she didn’t care; she wanted to know what was going on. Tara pressed her lips together into a firm line. Sure, she wanted to know what was going on as well, but somehow, her eyes flickered back to Giles and the woman, she felt like they were intruding. And that just made her feel awkward. Well, more awkward than she usually felt.
“Willow, Tara, this is Cerys Salisbury,” Giles swept out his hand towards the two girls then back to the figure of the woman that tempted his gaze so terribly. “She’s ah…from the Council,” he added, a tinge of guilt coloring his tone. The sharp intake of breath he heard from both girls did nothing to assuage his trepidation.
“The Council?” Willow echoed, her face hardening as she took another, closer look at the woman who was now offering her a conciliatory smile of greeting. “What’s she doing here?” She didn’t intend for her voice to sound as cold as it did, but she saw the woman flinch at the same time that Tara stepped forward. Suspicion began to edge into the corners of her mind and she couldn’t help feeling that whoever she was, this woman was trouble.
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Sweetie...I'm a fag.
by Kalita » Mon Feb 18, 2002 11:09 am
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