Getting Off The Griefmobile
By Annakovsky
See part 1 for all relevant info and disclaimer.
***********
CHAPTER NINETEEN
***********
Giles had finished making all the phone calls he needed, set up all his appointments, and so had the afternoon free. And as Faith was out of commission, he had the time completely to himself.
He was on edge, fidgety, and so decided to go on a long walk, setting off in the direction of the Mount of Olives. The sun was hot, the streets dusty, and the leaves of the olive trees were rustling and glinting silver.
He was thinking about Faith, asleep in the hotel room. Faith who reminded him so strongly of his own youth, of Ethan. Both of them with their dark hair and wicked, flashing eyes, daring him to go against his better judgment.
He had been dreaming about her kissing him, the taste of scotch still smoky in his mouth and her hand on his cheek. It had been a long time since he had kissed anyone, too long. He had been dreaming of her lips on his when he woke to hear thumping in the next room. Then Faith moaning.
He was an old fool. He tried to go back to sleep, but eventually had to go sit in the bathroom, where he couldn't hear them, with his head in his hands. After a bit he decided to get ice from the machine, and inadvertently ran into the two of them in the hallway. Faith was flushed and beautiful, her hair mussed. The man was very young, maybe nineteen.
He was half angry. He wasn't sure about the other half.
From the Mount of Olives he turned to view all of Jerusalem spread out across the valley from him. He leaned against a gnarled old tree to look, annoyed when a tour guide shepherded a large group of sightseers past him. He overheard the guide saying that some of the trees were so old that they might date back as far as the life of Christ.
The trees were in quite a different world these days, irrelevant, just relics of the past. He suddenly felt angry at them, still hanging about long after their heyday was past. What was the point of their existing? He pushed himself off from the old tree and turned away to begin walking back to the city.
In front of him was Deidre, one of the old crowd, as he'd last seen her, just 21. Her eyes were bright, he could smell her perfume, and she stood in her familiar stance, weight on her left leg. He froze.
"God, you've changed, Ripper," she said.
"Go away," he said coldly to the First. "Don't you ever get tired of this nonsense?" He walked away, down the hill. Not-Deidre followed.
"Make sure you don't break a hip," she said. "Old and decrepit as you are." He rolled his eyes and kept walking, not looking at her. When he turned a corner, she stood in front of him again.
"I know you don't want me anymore. Enjoy banging the young one, then."
"Fuck off," he said, coldly furious, glaring. She winked at him, and vanished.
He had to walk for quite awhile to gain his composure.
When he got back to the hotel, he went to again check on Faith, expecting to find her still in bed. But she was up and dressed, looking pale, but better.
"I think I better eat," she said. They went to a pizza place at her request.
They talked of inconsequential things, the minutiae of traveling. Towards the end of the meal, Faith focused in on a spot on his face and picked up a napkin. She reached across the table and wiped a bit of sauce off his chin.
"You got a little schmutz there," she said.
He looked away, blinking, trying to get his bearings. After a moment he looked back at her. "What exactly are you playing at?" he asked, his voice low and tightly controlled.
"What?" She looked uneasy. "Nothing."
Irritated, he breathed deep, leaned back in his chair. "Fine."
"Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." She was guarded, wary.
He sighed, rubbed his forehead. Changed the subject. "Well, perhaps we should talk about your habits. Having a hangover that incapacitates you for an entire day isn't exactly conducive to our mission."
She stared at him. "What?" He looked back at her, sober and adult. "Oh, so I'm not allowed to have fun now?"
"I'm not saying you can't enjoy yourself, I'm just suggesting that you be more circumspect in your choices..."
Faith interrupted him. "Whatever, don't go all Stuffy Giles on me, 'cause first of all, that shtick is played, and second of all, I know you. You had your share of wild nights back in the day."
"Most of which I regret." He thought of Ethan holding a tattoo needle out towards him, a gleam in his eye. Of hallucinations and euphoric power, of flesh on flesh, nights of dark frenzy. Then of weeping at Randall's funeral, overcome by guilt and grief. "You have no idea how dangerous it can be."
"Hey, I'm a Slayer. I think I can handle myself." Faith looked a little offended.
"Oh, and I suppose you had that young man undergo a blood test before you brought him back to the hotel last night."
"Dude, Giles, we used a condom." She was staring at him, then smirked slightly. "What, you jealous or something?"
Annoyed, he waved his hand dismissively. "I'm concerned that you're going to have to deal with consequences much more far-reaching than you seem to expect."
She looked older, suddenly, and tired. "Never thought I'd even live this long, Giles. Seriously doubt that I'll have a middle age to regret this stuff in."
He had forgotten that part of the Slayer legacy, somehow. It surprised him how sick it made him feel to think of Faith in an early grave.
"Don't look at me like that," she said, uncomfortable and beginning to squirm.
"Is all this what you want?" he asked gently, after a moment.
She shrugged. "Passes the time." She was tearing her paper napkin into small pieces, carefully making them each the same size. Absorbed, she didn't say anything for a minute. Then she spoke softly. "Nothing in my life has been exactly what I wanted."
There wasn't anything much to say to that.
******
TBC...
******
By Annakovsky
See part 1 for all relevant info and disclaimer.
***********
CHAPTER NINETEEN
***********
Giles had finished making all the phone calls he needed, set up all his appointments, and so had the afternoon free. And as Faith was out of commission, he had the time completely to himself.
He was on edge, fidgety, and so decided to go on a long walk, setting off in the direction of the Mount of Olives. The sun was hot, the streets dusty, and the leaves of the olive trees were rustling and glinting silver.
He was thinking about Faith, asleep in the hotel room. Faith who reminded him so strongly of his own youth, of Ethan. Both of them with their dark hair and wicked, flashing eyes, daring him to go against his better judgment.
He had been dreaming about her kissing him, the taste of scotch still smoky in his mouth and her hand on his cheek. It had been a long time since he had kissed anyone, too long. He had been dreaming of her lips on his when he woke to hear thumping in the next room. Then Faith moaning.
He was an old fool. He tried to go back to sleep, but eventually had to go sit in the bathroom, where he couldn't hear them, with his head in his hands. After a bit he decided to get ice from the machine, and inadvertently ran into the two of them in the hallway. Faith was flushed and beautiful, her hair mussed. The man was very young, maybe nineteen.
He was half angry. He wasn't sure about the other half.
From the Mount of Olives he turned to view all of Jerusalem spread out across the valley from him. He leaned against a gnarled old tree to look, annoyed when a tour guide shepherded a large group of sightseers past him. He overheard the guide saying that some of the trees were so old that they might date back as far as the life of Christ.
The trees were in quite a different world these days, irrelevant, just relics of the past. He suddenly felt angry at them, still hanging about long after their heyday was past. What was the point of their existing? He pushed himself off from the old tree and turned away to begin walking back to the city.
In front of him was Deidre, one of the old crowd, as he'd last seen her, just 21. Her eyes were bright, he could smell her perfume, and she stood in her familiar stance, weight on her left leg. He froze.
"God, you've changed, Ripper," she said.
"Go away," he said coldly to the First. "Don't you ever get tired of this nonsense?" He walked away, down the hill. Not-Deidre followed.
"Make sure you don't break a hip," she said. "Old and decrepit as you are." He rolled his eyes and kept walking, not looking at her. When he turned a corner, she stood in front of him again.
"I know you don't want me anymore. Enjoy banging the young one, then."
"Fuck off," he said, coldly furious, glaring. She winked at him, and vanished.
He had to walk for quite awhile to gain his composure.
When he got back to the hotel, he went to again check on Faith, expecting to find her still in bed. But she was up and dressed, looking pale, but better.
"I think I better eat," she said. They went to a pizza place at her request.
They talked of inconsequential things, the minutiae of traveling. Towards the end of the meal, Faith focused in on a spot on his face and picked up a napkin. She reached across the table and wiped a bit of sauce off his chin.
"You got a little schmutz there," she said.
He looked away, blinking, trying to get his bearings. After a moment he looked back at her. "What exactly are you playing at?" he asked, his voice low and tightly controlled.
"What?" She looked uneasy. "Nothing."
Irritated, he breathed deep, leaned back in his chair. "Fine."
"Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." She was guarded, wary.
He sighed, rubbed his forehead. Changed the subject. "Well, perhaps we should talk about your habits. Having a hangover that incapacitates you for an entire day isn't exactly conducive to our mission."
She stared at him. "What?" He looked back at her, sober and adult. "Oh, so I'm not allowed to have fun now?"
"I'm not saying you can't enjoy yourself, I'm just suggesting that you be more circumspect in your choices..."
Faith interrupted him. "Whatever, don't go all Stuffy Giles on me, 'cause first of all, that shtick is played, and second of all, I know you. You had your share of wild nights back in the day."
"Most of which I regret." He thought of Ethan holding a tattoo needle out towards him, a gleam in his eye. Of hallucinations and euphoric power, of flesh on flesh, nights of dark frenzy. Then of weeping at Randall's funeral, overcome by guilt and grief. "You have no idea how dangerous it can be."
"Hey, I'm a Slayer. I think I can handle myself." Faith looked a little offended.
"Oh, and I suppose you had that young man undergo a blood test before you brought him back to the hotel last night."
"Dude, Giles, we used a condom." She was staring at him, then smirked slightly. "What, you jealous or something?"
Annoyed, he waved his hand dismissively. "I'm concerned that you're going to have to deal with consequences much more far-reaching than you seem to expect."
She looked older, suddenly, and tired. "Never thought I'd even live this long, Giles. Seriously doubt that I'll have a middle age to regret this stuff in."
He had forgotten that part of the Slayer legacy, somehow. It surprised him how sick it made him feel to think of Faith in an early grave.
"Don't look at me like that," she said, uncomfortable and beginning to squirm.
"Is all this what you want?" he asked gently, after a moment.
She shrugged. "Passes the time." She was tearing her paper napkin into small pieces, carefully making them each the same size. Absorbed, she didn't say anything for a minute. Then she spoke softly. "Nothing in my life has been exactly what I wanted."
There wasn't anything much to say to that.
******
TBC...
******