Chapter 6
Giles was sulking. He had taken leave of his slayer with the same sort of peevish, immature huff he had criticized her earlier for indulging in. He had foolishly turned down the doctor's medication in a show of macho bravado, and he was paying for it now. His head hurt. A lot. And there was nothing to do about it but try to lie down, fail to feel any better from it, and toss about restlessly waiting for the day to end.
He had almost worked himself into a right and proper snit when the door chime sounded. Thinking it was Buffy come to apologize, he called out a feeble "Yes?"
It was Inara. She was dressed less ornately than when he saw her last, in a slinky but comfortable slip of a dress that for her passed as practical. She carried a tray of tea.
He sat up, half surprised, half wary. "Hello."
"And to you," she said with a slight bow. "I hope you'll pardon my intrusion, but I heard you were under the weather and thought perhaps you might enjoy some tea." She poured him a mug. "Here, drink this."
He made no move toward the offering, and she pressed it forward with a smile, but an insistent one. "If you let yourself get dehydrated, you'll never hear the end of it from Simon, or from Buffy. Drink the tea."
He took a sip. "Thank you."
"Are you feeling very bad?"
"Yes. I...look, I'm afraid I shan't be pleasant company. I don't mean to be rude, but..."
"Yes, yes, you are far from home, out of sorts and you've turned away the only ministrations offered to you. You are in a pitiable state, I'm sure."
He took another sip of tea. "Well, don't sound TOO convinced..."
"Oh, I am not convinced at all. Confused, perhaps, at why you'd choose to suffer so, but convinced? Hardly."
"Why I would 'choose?' Look, did they explain to you about the trans-dimensional travel? It's quite taxing on the system to..."
"Oh, I'm sure. But I am sure too that it is not quite that simple. I might not know much about dimensional travel, but I do know how to read people and I can tell you with 100 certainty that trans-dimensional jet lag is not your problem."
"Oh? What is, then?"
"Well, I could say the stress of your little assignment, fate of thousands resting in the balance, that sort of thing. But I was led to believe you have dealt with that before. So my second guess would be some troubles with your young friend."
He slammed the mug down with a peevish scowl. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Oh, I'm not, I assure you. It's here before my eyes. I can identify, off-hand, 59 muscles in your body that are tensed right now. And those are just muscles that I can see. No wonder you have a headache!"
He closed his eyes, counted to three, and consciously willed his body to relax. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"That's a start," she said. "Now, do it again. Close your eyes, count to three and breathe. Better...now, keep them closed..."
He felt the press of fingers against his temples, and startled away from her. "I thought you didn't service passengers?"
"Don't flatter yourself. This is just a friendly gesture. Now, close your eyes again, and we're going to play a little game..."
She moved her fingers across the base of his skull in gentle, rhythmic massage, stopping at the pressure points, kneading her fingers into them. "Deep breaths, Rupert. Now, the game. It's a little exercise called 'anywhere but here.' Deep breaths. Now---I want you to picture in your mind a place where you feel safe and comfortable. Draw the lines, the textures, the it in, and breathe. Are you there?"
His back unknotted beneath her touch. "Yes..."
"Describe it to me. Breathe...now tell me what you see..."
"I'm at the fair grounds. The ones near my boyhood home. A wide expanse of grass, a plain fence around it. There is a gap in the fence half a mile up the road from where the busses dropped me off."
Smooth, even circles on his skull. "And where are you?"
"On the side of the fence I shouldn't be on. But it's all right. The fair isn't open yet. It's night, and everyone is sleeping. I'm all alone, under the stars, the animals around me. So peaceful..."
"I'll bet. Is anyone there with you?"
He suddenly tensed again. "No."
"Your boyhood friends?"
"Their parents were more watchful than mine."
"Your adult friends? Buffy, perhaps?"
He broke away from her. "No!"
"Ah." She smiled serenely. "So you did quarrel."
"Yes. And?"
"And you've tensed up again, so it must be on your mind."
"It isn't."
"Well, that's a lovely little dream image you had. Though kind of an odd safe place for someone who comes from a world where monsters really do come out of the shadows. You didn't want your soldier out there in the darkness with you?"
He shrugged, trying to resume the rhythm of his breathing.
"If it were me, it would be a comfort to have her there. There is a strength in you, no doubt about her, but in her there is a destiny."
He arched an eye. "And what would you know about destiny?"
"Perhaps more than you think. But then, I am not one who finds my destiny a burden."
She caught the flicker of a wince behind his eyes. "Ah. I hit a sore spot, didn't I? Lie back..."
He felt the wrap of her fingers on his head again, the gentle flow of massage.
"So do you want to talk about it?"
"No," he said.
She moved to the next pressure point, pressed and waited for his yelp of pain. "Are you sure?"
He closed his eyes, submitting. "We did quarrel."
"About?"
"About a time...fate of the world hanging in the balance, that sort of thing. I made a decision. And she hasn't forgiven me for it."
"Ah."
"It's that burden of destiny you spoke of. Hers was to be the slayer. Mine was to be the watcher. But to watch, and not act upon what I see..."
"That was a burden you were not prepared for?"
"That was a burden I could not abide."
"And she could not abide it either?"
"Not from me."
He winced as she hit the next pressure point. "There is a council," he said. "A council I was part of. A council even I saw the folly of wholeheartedly supporting. She has some bad associations with them---times they tried to meddle, got in her way, failed to understand...I make one decision, and she lumps me in with the rest of them..."
"Was it the right decision?"
"I thought so at the time. But ultimately, no."
"And did you tell her so?"
"What?"
"That you were wrong. Did you tell her?"
"I tried...".
Inara gently eased his head back onto the pillow. "So you'll tell her," she said. "Or you'll find some other way to work it through. But that is for later. For now, you should get some sleep..."
To his surprise, he was able to comply with that. Meddlesome woman. Magic fingers.
to be continued...
Giles was sulking. He had taken leave of his slayer with the same sort of peevish, immature huff he had criticized her earlier for indulging in. He had foolishly turned down the doctor's medication in a show of macho bravado, and he was paying for it now. His head hurt. A lot. And there was nothing to do about it but try to lie down, fail to feel any better from it, and toss about restlessly waiting for the day to end.
He had almost worked himself into a right and proper snit when the door chime sounded. Thinking it was Buffy come to apologize, he called out a feeble "Yes?"
It was Inara. She was dressed less ornately than when he saw her last, in a slinky but comfortable slip of a dress that for her passed as practical. She carried a tray of tea.
He sat up, half surprised, half wary. "Hello."
"And to you," she said with a slight bow. "I hope you'll pardon my intrusion, but I heard you were under the weather and thought perhaps you might enjoy some tea." She poured him a mug. "Here, drink this."
He made no move toward the offering, and she pressed it forward with a smile, but an insistent one. "If you let yourself get dehydrated, you'll never hear the end of it from Simon, or from Buffy. Drink the tea."
He took a sip. "Thank you."
"Are you feeling very bad?"
"Yes. I...look, I'm afraid I shan't be pleasant company. I don't mean to be rude, but..."
"Yes, yes, you are far from home, out of sorts and you've turned away the only ministrations offered to you. You are in a pitiable state, I'm sure."
He took another sip of tea. "Well, don't sound TOO convinced..."
"Oh, I am not convinced at all. Confused, perhaps, at why you'd choose to suffer so, but convinced? Hardly."
"Why I would 'choose?' Look, did they explain to you about the trans-dimensional travel? It's quite taxing on the system to..."
"Oh, I'm sure. But I am sure too that it is not quite that simple. I might not know much about dimensional travel, but I do know how to read people and I can tell you with 100 certainty that trans-dimensional jet lag is not your problem."
"Oh? What is, then?"
"Well, I could say the stress of your little assignment, fate of thousands resting in the balance, that sort of thing. But I was led to believe you have dealt with that before. So my second guess would be some troubles with your young friend."
He slammed the mug down with a peevish scowl. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Oh, I'm not, I assure you. It's here before my eyes. I can identify, off-hand, 59 muscles in your body that are tensed right now. And those are just muscles that I can see. No wonder you have a headache!"
He closed his eyes, counted to three, and consciously willed his body to relax. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"That's a start," she said. "Now, do it again. Close your eyes, count to three and breathe. Better...now, keep them closed..."
He felt the press of fingers against his temples, and startled away from her. "I thought you didn't service passengers?"
"Don't flatter yourself. This is just a friendly gesture. Now, close your eyes again, and we're going to play a little game..."
She moved her fingers across the base of his skull in gentle, rhythmic massage, stopping at the pressure points, kneading her fingers into them. "Deep breaths, Rupert. Now, the game. It's a little exercise called 'anywhere but here.' Deep breaths. Now---I want you to picture in your mind a place where you feel safe and comfortable. Draw the lines, the textures, the it in, and breathe. Are you there?"
His back unknotted beneath her touch. "Yes..."
"Describe it to me. Breathe...now tell me what you see..."
"I'm at the fair grounds. The ones near my boyhood home. A wide expanse of grass, a plain fence around it. There is a gap in the fence half a mile up the road from where the busses dropped me off."
Smooth, even circles on his skull. "And where are you?"
"On the side of the fence I shouldn't be on. But it's all right. The fair isn't open yet. It's night, and everyone is sleeping. I'm all alone, under the stars, the animals around me. So peaceful..."
"I'll bet. Is anyone there with you?"
He suddenly tensed again. "No."
"Your boyhood friends?"
"Their parents were more watchful than mine."
"Your adult friends? Buffy, perhaps?"
He broke away from her. "No!"
"Ah." She smiled serenely. "So you did quarrel."
"Yes. And?"
"And you've tensed up again, so it must be on your mind."
"It isn't."
"Well, that's a lovely little dream image you had. Though kind of an odd safe place for someone who comes from a world where monsters really do come out of the shadows. You didn't want your soldier out there in the darkness with you?"
He shrugged, trying to resume the rhythm of his breathing.
"If it were me, it would be a comfort to have her there. There is a strength in you, no doubt about her, but in her there is a destiny."
He arched an eye. "And what would you know about destiny?"
"Perhaps more than you think. But then, I am not one who finds my destiny a burden."
She caught the flicker of a wince behind his eyes. "Ah. I hit a sore spot, didn't I? Lie back..."
He felt the wrap of her fingers on his head again, the gentle flow of massage.
"So do you want to talk about it?"
"No," he said.
She moved to the next pressure point, pressed and waited for his yelp of pain. "Are you sure?"
He closed his eyes, submitting. "We did quarrel."
"About?"
"About a time...fate of the world hanging in the balance, that sort of thing. I made a decision. And she hasn't forgiven me for it."
"Ah."
"It's that burden of destiny you spoke of. Hers was to be the slayer. Mine was to be the watcher. But to watch, and not act upon what I see..."
"That was a burden you were not prepared for?"
"That was a burden I could not abide."
"And she could not abide it either?"
"Not from me."
He winced as she hit the next pressure point. "There is a council," he said. "A council I was part of. A council even I saw the folly of wholeheartedly supporting. She has some bad associations with them---times they tried to meddle, got in her way, failed to understand...I make one decision, and she lumps me in with the rest of them..."
"Was it the right decision?"
"I thought so at the time. But ultimately, no."
"And did you tell her so?"
"What?"
"That you were wrong. Did you tell her?"
"I tried...".
Inara gently eased his head back onto the pillow. "So you'll tell her," she said. "Or you'll find some other way to work it through. But that is for later. For now, you should get some sleep..."
To his surprise, he was able to comply with that. Meddlesome woman. Magic fingers.
to be continued...