Tiny, fluffy drabble! I have a bunch of Giles stuff I've been working on, and yet this pointless little brainstorm is the first one that makes it up. Go figure.
She had been incredibly skilled, from the beginning, in hand-to-hand combat and the use of a wide range of mêlée weaponry. He wondered how much of it had been Merrick's instruction. Really, he was beginning to suspect it to be primarily instinctual. Of course she had the strength, and a gymnast's training, but there was something else above and beyond that. Aptitude. He wondered if it was this way with all Slayers.
He despaired at first. What could he possibly teach her? From quarterstaff through crossbow, flail, ax, and a dozen others... she took up each tool, appraised it, and turned it to her advantage. In a few movements she could demonstrate more skill with a weapon than his entire Watcher's training had lent him. Most days he was relegated to research guy and mobile punching bag, and it was hard enough to convince her of his use in those departments.
But now he finally felt that he could do some good. He had something he could teach her, after all. He could do what he was sent here for. He could do more than watch.
The knowledge lightened his mood immediately.
Of course, that might also have to do with the light, familiar armor, the free movement of his arm, and the fact that the bruises from hand-to-hand had just about had time to heal.
As for the fact that he was winning... well.
The foil flew out of her hand, again, and clattered across the library floor. She growled with frustration, glared up at him. "This new smug thing you've got going on... It isn't going to go away any time soon, is it?"
He didn't respond, and didn't move the point of his blade from where it rested against her shoulder.
"Okay, okay!" she sighed. "Touché."
The title is from a fave quote of mine. "A bullet, you see, may go anywhere, but steel's almost bound to go somewhere." - Dorothy Sayers, 1936