Getting Off The Griefmobile
By Annakovsky
See part 1 for all relevant info and disclaimer.
***********
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
***********
Once she'd relaxed, Faith had the front desk send up a first aid kit, to do a better job of fixing their spell/knife-wound issues. So she exchanged the towel lying messily on Giles's back for a gauze patch, taped on, to let him move around when he woke up. She worked carefully, tearing the tape into exact lengths and cutting the gauze with a neat precision. It seemed important, even though her usual style of bandaging was more along the lines of ripping the medical tape with her teeth and slapping everything together haphazardly. But she was usually bandaging herself.
Which she did next, redoing the binding on the inside of her elbow. She smeared a lot of antibacterial ointment on the cut and hoped she hadn't killed anything really disgusting lately with the knife she'd used to cut herself.
Afterward she put on pajama pants and a tank top and relaxed into the chair by the bed, curling her knees up to her chest. It was late, but she didn't feel like sleeping; the room was dark and comfortable and somehow she liked the feeling of being awake when the rest of the world wasn't. She watched Giles sleep for a long time, until the room gradually grew light with the pearly glow before sunrise. His breaths were even and slow, his back gently rising and falling in a hypnotizing, peaceful rhythm. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale. Exhale. Her own breaths slowed to match his.
Sleepy and relaxed, she watched him, the outline of his face, the muscles of his arm. He had scars all over his back. Faith let her eyes trace the lines of old cuts, of what looked like healed over cigarette burns. She felt half horrified, half reassured. Her own scars may mostly be of the emotional variety, but it was sort of weirdly good to find that other people their own old wounds, hidden under their clothes.
She was watching his back, her limbs heavy and relaxed, when she realized that his eyes were open and he was looking at her.
"Hey," she said softly. He smiled a little. They just looked at each other for a minute, Giles sleepy and blinking. "You have scars all over your back," she said, not meaning to. The room had a quiet, calm feel, like it wasn't quite part of the real world. Like anything you said wouldn't really count.
He blinked at her for a minute. "Angelus, mostly," he said at last, his voice still drowsy. "Torture."
"Really?" She was taken aback. "Angel?"
"He needed to know about a ritual," Giles said sleepily. "To destroy the world." He yawned. She looked at him, seeing how bad it must have been from the marks it had left, her internal picture of Angel and Giles changing.
"No one told me," she said finally, inadequately. She shivered, wondering if Wesley still had marks from her session with him.
"I don't suppose they did," he said mildly. "At the time it was nearly the least of our problems." He pushed himself up from the mattress slowly, shifted to a sitting position with the tentative motions of someone who'd run two miles too far the day before.
"I'm sorry," she said, thinking of the blood on Wesley's shirt, of her hand cutting him with a shard of glass.
Giles shrugged a little bit. "Comes with the job." He gingerly tested his sore muscles, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands. Then he slowly leaned forward, sitting with his arms resting on his knees and his hands dangling casually. He was doing the morning thing, moving slowly and staring into space, only half awake. Graying hair was wiry on his bare chest; he looked solid, and trustworthy, and reliable.
She almost reached out and touched his arm, but didn't.
He sat up straighter after a minute, his arm going around to check on the gauze bandage on his back. "Yeah," she said. "Guess you have to wear that thing until we get back to the States and Willow can do the spell. It still working okay, or does it need more holy water?"
"Hmmm? Oh, no, it's fine. I was just thinking... I believe one of the remaining Watchers is here in Jerusalem. He might be able to do the spell today."
"Yeah?"
"I'll try to get in touch with him later, I suppose," Giles said. Faith nodded. He looked at her, his gaze slow and measuring, still with the unabashed easiness of early morning. His eyes were very green.
The minaret call to prayer started then, its cry stark and unearthly, echoing against buildings. Holy, and far away. They both sat and listened for a moment.
Faith glanced at Giles, who was gazing at the floor with a reflective look on his face. The call was all around them. "I wasn't just messing with you," she said softly, her words almost drowned in the chant. Giles's head came up and he looked at her, all of a sudden very much awake, intense.
"Oh," he said after a minute. His brow furrowed and he looked away, eyes flickering.
They sat in silence as the prayer call ended and all they could hear were birds chirping outside.
"I know you don't want..." Faith started slowly, hesitating. "I get it. I just... thought you should know."
He stared at her, then shook his head as if to clear it, looking away. "It's not that I don't..." he trailed off, before looking up again and meeting her eyes, a cold intensity behind the green. "I'm not a one-night stand, Faith."
"I know," she said, almost pleading and not liking the vulnerability in her own voice. So she smirked. "They're usually a lot more fun."
He looked away, blinked hard, before getting up and beginning to walk away.
"Giles, wait," she said, standing up, her voice back to pleading. He stopped, but didn't turn around. She sighed. "It was a joke. But I guess, um, now isn't really the time, huh?"
He turned, looking at her with the same scary intensity, his Ripper face. "What exactly do you want?"
"I don't know," she said, looking away and running her hand through her hair. "I don't... I know how to fuck, okay? I don't know how to do... whatever the hell this is."
He raised his eyebrows, his face lightening a little bit. "Well, that makes two of us."
She smirked again. "You know how to fuck, too?"
That surprised a laugh out of him, anyway. They stood there looking at each other.
"So?" she asked finally. Her heart was beating absurdly fast - she felt like she was offering herself up to a firing squad. He stood there for an agonizing minute, eyes searching her face.
Then he stepped towards her. Her stomach suddenly felt like she had jumped out of a plane without a parachute, and it was funny how no one had ever mentioned to her how much this kind of thing, whatever the hell it was, felt like fear.
Then he was kissing her and she wasn't thinking about anything else at all.
******
TBC...
******
NOTE: This one goes out to tweedisgood. Giles really does deserve some lovin'.
By Annakovsky
See part 1 for all relevant info and disclaimer.
***********
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
***********
Once she'd relaxed, Faith had the front desk send up a first aid kit, to do a better job of fixing their spell/knife-wound issues. So she exchanged the towel lying messily on Giles's back for a gauze patch, taped on, to let him move around when he woke up. She worked carefully, tearing the tape into exact lengths and cutting the gauze with a neat precision. It seemed important, even though her usual style of bandaging was more along the lines of ripping the medical tape with her teeth and slapping everything together haphazardly. But she was usually bandaging herself.
Which she did next, redoing the binding on the inside of her elbow. She smeared a lot of antibacterial ointment on the cut and hoped she hadn't killed anything really disgusting lately with the knife she'd used to cut herself.
Afterward she put on pajama pants and a tank top and relaxed into the chair by the bed, curling her knees up to her chest. It was late, but she didn't feel like sleeping; the room was dark and comfortable and somehow she liked the feeling of being awake when the rest of the world wasn't. She watched Giles sleep for a long time, until the room gradually grew light with the pearly glow before sunrise. His breaths were even and slow, his back gently rising and falling in a hypnotizing, peaceful rhythm. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale. Exhale. Her own breaths slowed to match his.
Sleepy and relaxed, she watched him, the outline of his face, the muscles of his arm. He had scars all over his back. Faith let her eyes trace the lines of old cuts, of what looked like healed over cigarette burns. She felt half horrified, half reassured. Her own scars may mostly be of the emotional variety, but it was sort of weirdly good to find that other people their own old wounds, hidden under their clothes.
She was watching his back, her limbs heavy and relaxed, when she realized that his eyes were open and he was looking at her.
"Hey," she said softly. He smiled a little. They just looked at each other for a minute, Giles sleepy and blinking. "You have scars all over your back," she said, not meaning to. The room had a quiet, calm feel, like it wasn't quite part of the real world. Like anything you said wouldn't really count.
He blinked at her for a minute. "Angelus, mostly," he said at last, his voice still drowsy. "Torture."
"Really?" She was taken aback. "Angel?"
"He needed to know about a ritual," Giles said sleepily. "To destroy the world." He yawned. She looked at him, seeing how bad it must have been from the marks it had left, her internal picture of Angel and Giles changing.
"No one told me," she said finally, inadequately. She shivered, wondering if Wesley still had marks from her session with him.
"I don't suppose they did," he said mildly. "At the time it was nearly the least of our problems." He pushed himself up from the mattress slowly, shifted to a sitting position with the tentative motions of someone who'd run two miles too far the day before.
"I'm sorry," she said, thinking of the blood on Wesley's shirt, of her hand cutting him with a shard of glass.
Giles shrugged a little bit. "Comes with the job." He gingerly tested his sore muscles, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands. Then he slowly leaned forward, sitting with his arms resting on his knees and his hands dangling casually. He was doing the morning thing, moving slowly and staring into space, only half awake. Graying hair was wiry on his bare chest; he looked solid, and trustworthy, and reliable.
She almost reached out and touched his arm, but didn't.
He sat up straighter after a minute, his arm going around to check on the gauze bandage on his back. "Yeah," she said. "Guess you have to wear that thing until we get back to the States and Willow can do the spell. It still working okay, or does it need more holy water?"
"Hmmm? Oh, no, it's fine. I was just thinking... I believe one of the remaining Watchers is here in Jerusalem. He might be able to do the spell today."
"Yeah?"
"I'll try to get in touch with him later, I suppose," Giles said. Faith nodded. He looked at her, his gaze slow and measuring, still with the unabashed easiness of early morning. His eyes were very green.
The minaret call to prayer started then, its cry stark and unearthly, echoing against buildings. Holy, and far away. They both sat and listened for a moment.
Faith glanced at Giles, who was gazing at the floor with a reflective look on his face. The call was all around them. "I wasn't just messing with you," she said softly, her words almost drowned in the chant. Giles's head came up and he looked at her, all of a sudden very much awake, intense.
"Oh," he said after a minute. His brow furrowed and he looked away, eyes flickering.
They sat in silence as the prayer call ended and all they could hear were birds chirping outside.
"I know you don't want..." Faith started slowly, hesitating. "I get it. I just... thought you should know."
He stared at her, then shook his head as if to clear it, looking away. "It's not that I don't..." he trailed off, before looking up again and meeting her eyes, a cold intensity behind the green. "I'm not a one-night stand, Faith."
"I know," she said, almost pleading and not liking the vulnerability in her own voice. So she smirked. "They're usually a lot more fun."
He looked away, blinked hard, before getting up and beginning to walk away.
"Giles, wait," she said, standing up, her voice back to pleading. He stopped, but didn't turn around. She sighed. "It was a joke. But I guess, um, now isn't really the time, huh?"
He turned, looking at her with the same scary intensity, his Ripper face. "What exactly do you want?"
"I don't know," she said, looking away and running her hand through her hair. "I don't... I know how to fuck, okay? I don't know how to do... whatever the hell this is."
He raised his eyebrows, his face lightening a little bit. "Well, that makes two of us."
She smirked again. "You know how to fuck, too?"
That surprised a laugh out of him, anyway. They stood there looking at each other.
"So?" she asked finally. Her heart was beating absurdly fast - she felt like she was offering herself up to a firing squad. He stood there for an agonizing minute, eyes searching her face.
Then he stepped towards her. Her stomach suddenly felt like she had jumped out of a plane without a parachute, and it was funny how no one had ever mentioned to her how much this kind of thing, whatever the hell it was, felt like fear.
Then he was kissing her and she wasn't thinking about anything else at all.
******
TBC...
******
NOTE: This one goes out to tweedisgood. Giles really does deserve some lovin'.