A/N: I don't own Twilight or BtVS; they are the property of Stephanie Meyers and Joss Whedon respectively. I just like to ponder what would happen if the two worlds collided.
Chapter 36: Morning After Misery
Giles groaned, his head throbbing painfully as he slowly blinked his eyes open, each heartbeat echoing like a drum within his skull. Why do I do this to myself? He was a disheveled mess: his hair defiantly sticking up at all angles as if in protest against any attempt at order, each strand embarking on its own mutinous path. The room spun slightly, and he winced, regretting every sip of Scotch from the night before. Through the window by the front door, dark clouds loomed "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with discomfort. Cloudy and yet, each ray of light a personal affront. Perhaps the universe does have a sense of humour.
His eyes, bloodshot and squinting, betrayed his discomfort. A reflection of poor decisions, he mused, the vibrant web of red veins a stark contrast to their usual clarity. His face felt grimy, the uneven stubble adding to his unkempt appearance, a tangible reminder of his neglect.
Giles's clothing, rumpled and worn from a night spent on the couch, seemed to cling to him in despair. He shifted, feeling the fabric twist uncomfortably against his skin. A sorry state, Rupert. His attempt to rise was met with a chorus of protests from his body, each movement sluggish, every muscle aching as if filled with lead.
Catching his reflection across the room, Giles couldn't help but let out a rueful chuckle, quickly stifled by the sharp pain it elicited in his head. Is this what I've come to? The man in the mirror was a far cry from the composed Watcher he was known to be—disheveled, weary, a victim of his own excess.
Across the room Jasper stirred in the chair, his neck stiff from an awkward night's rest that offered little comfort. He grimaced, the pain a sharp reminder of his physical form's limitations, despite the supernatural resilience that usually kept him apart from such human concerns. His movements were halting, a rare glimpse into vulnerability as he attempted to adjust to the discomfort that greeted him upon waking.
The clothes he wore, borrowed from Giles in a moment of necessity, were ill-fitting and emphasized his discomfort. The sleeves strained slightly at his wrists, and the hem of the pants exposed his ankles—a clear sign they belonged to another. The fabric, tight across his shoulders and chest, pulled uncomfortably at every movement, a constant reminder that he was out of his element, both in attire and in circumstance.
As he tried to sit up straight, a twinge of pain shot through his side, where the wound from the wild boar hunt had yet to fully heal. The awkward position in which he had spent the night had done no favours to his recovery, the pain now a dull, persistent ache that gnawed at his side. It was a stark reminder of the physical toll that his nocturnal lifestyle now seemed to exact and with sluggish abilities to recover.
The thunder outside, a natural symphony of impending rain, mirrored Jasper's own discontent. "What in tarnation..." he muttered, his Southern drawl thick with irritation, betraying a sense of disorientation. His usual impeccable grooming was absent; his hair, normally kept with meticulous care, now fell in disarray, each strand rebelling against its usual order.
Their simultaneous complaints clashed in the air, neither one particularly pleased with their current state. Giles shot Jasper a sideways glance, his irritation evident. "You couldn't have found a more comfortable spot to fall asleep?" he grumbled; his tone laced with annoyance.
Jasper rubbed his neck, shooting Giles a pointed look. "I reckon I didn't have much choice in the matter, seeing as you were sprawled out on the couch like a bloomin' drunken octopus," he retorted, his annoyance matching Giles'.
Giles scowled, massaging his temples. "Well, excuse me for claiming the couch for one night. It's been your domain for the past three days."
Jasper raised an eyebrow, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, I could've opted for your bed, but I figured I'd leave that to the owner of the establishment," he quipped, his tone laced with playful sarcasm. A slumber party, indeed. What next? Braiding each other's hair? Despite Giles' irritation, a reluctant smile threatened to break through his grimace. Jasper's humor, even now, was infectious.
Giles shot Jasper a withering glare, his headache intensifying at the jest. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" he muttered, his irritation mounting. "One night of shared misfortune does not a slumber party make."
Giles struggled to push himself up from the couch, his head swimming with each movement. He cursed under his breath as a wave of nausea washed over him, his unsteady legs protesting the effort. One foot in front of the other, Rupert. That's how we'll conquer this beast. The room swayed alarmingly, and Giles's thoughts scattered. Tea. I need tea. The cure-all of every British malady, real or imagined.
Jasper, observing Giles's struggle with a mixture of amusement and sympathy, extended a hand to steady him. "Easy there, old man," he said, his Southern drawl thick and gruff. "Wouldn't want you to add toppin' over to your list of complaints."
Giles's pride bristled. I don't need assistance to navigate my own living room, thank you very much. Yet, the hand was not just a lifeline but a silent acknowledgment of their shared misery. Perhaps there's solidarity even in the throes of a hangover.
Giles shot Jasper a withering glare, his frustration mounting. "Bloody hell," he muttered, his tone edged with irritation. "This infernal hangover is enough to drive one to madness."
Giles rubbed his temples, the pounding in his head intensifying with each passing moment. "I need a drink," he grumbled, his voice strained. Tea, you fool. Not more Scotch. Unless you wish to truly test if it's possible to die from a hangover.
Jasper's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Now hold on there, old man," he interjected, his tone firm. "Hair of the dog ain't gonna fix what ails ya this mornin'.
Giles blinked, momentarily taken aback by Jasper's response. "No, you bloody southern fool," he retorted, his irritation evident. "I meant tea!" He proceeded to shake off Jasper's hand with a grunt, stumbling slightly as he made his way into the kitchen. "Houseguests and fish," he muttered under his breath, his annoyance palpable. "They both start to stink after three days." Three days, indeed. Though, with Jasper, it's more the company that's becoming rather... pungent. His own comment about needing a shower was a deflective jest, but perhaps there was truth in needing to wash away the remnants of last night.
Jasper, misunderstanding Giles's remark, panickily sniffed at his clothes and breath, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "What's wrong with my smell?" he worriedly asked.
Giles glared at Jasper from the kitchen door, his irritation palpable. He slammed a few cabinet doors shut before snapping at Jasper, his voice laced with frustration. "Just bugger off and have a shower!"
At the harsh words, Jasper instinctually hissed, his eyes darkened ominously, betraying a flash of his vampire nature as he slowly unfurled his lips to reveal his sharp fangs. The room was charged with tension, a palpable discomfort hanging in the air, underscored by the thunderous symphony outside. In stark contrast, Willow cheerfully entered the room, a burst of colour and energy against the backdrop of the morning's gloom. She was the very picture of vibrancy, dressed in a purple raincoat that glistened with droplets from the rain, her matching umbrella closed and dripping by the door.
"Morning, boys! Thought you might need some refreshments after your rough night," she chirped, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension that had just moments before filled the room. Her arrival was like a breath of fresh air, her presence instantly lightening the atmosphere. Willow balanced a tray laden with drinks and a bag of bagels with ease, her movements fluid and assured, a stark contrast to the stiffness and discomfort exhibited by Giles and Jasper.
Her hair, slightly damp from the rain, framed her face in soft curls, and her eyes twinkled with a mixture of mischief and warmth. It was clear she had taken the morning's downpour in stride, her spirits undampened by the weather that seemed to mirror the mood of her two friends. The rain had left a rosy glow on her cheeks, and her smile was as bright and welcoming as a beacon, cutting through the dreariness that had settled over Giles and Jasper. Her energy was infectious, her countenance untroubled by the rain or the early hour. In her, there was no sign of the previous night's excesses or the weight of a sleepless night. Instead, she exuded a sense of well-being and care; after setting down the tray of drinks, she shrugged off her raincoat, revealing a cheerful sweater beneath.
Giles, his patience fraying at the edges like a well-worn tapestry, found his frustration bubbling over in a snap that was uncharacteristically sharp. "He doesn't need a latte, Willow! He needs a damn shower!" His voice, usually measured and calm, now carried the weight of his irritation across the room, landing with unintended harshness. The glare he directed at Jasper was more a manifestation of his own discomfort than any real anger towards Willow. Willow, ever the peacemaker. What would we do without her? he thought, regret mingling with the remnants of his annoyance. Even in his snappishness, he recognized the invaluable calm Willow brought.
Jasper, momentarily caught off guard by Giles' outburst, felt a primal surge of protectiveness flare within him. His body tensed, instincts honed over decades of survival kicking in, ready to confront whatever threat had elicited Giles' sharp tone. But as his eyes landed on Willow, her demeanour untouched by the tension, her smile as bright as the refreshments she carried, his defensive posture eased. The hiss that had begun to form faltered, transforming into a puzzled frown. No danger here, just Willow being Willow, he realized, the fog of his irritation lifting slightly. Yet, there was an undercurrent of irritation emanating from Giles, his frustration palpable in the way he glared at him. However, as Jasper delved deeper, he sensed a discordance in Giles's emotions, as if they were being clouded by the Scotch he consumed the night before. Beneath the irritation, there lurked a flicker of affection and concern, genuine but obscured by the haze of alcohol.
Feeling a pang of guilt for his initial reaction, Jasper forced himself to relax, smoothing out the creases of tension in his brow. He offered Willow a sheepish smile, his Southern charm returning as he adjusted to the situation. "Morning, Willow," he greeted, his drawl softer now, lacking the edge of defensiveness. "Sorry 'bout that. Rough night, you know how it is."
Willow returned his smile with genuine warmth, her eyes sparkling with understanding. "No need to apologize, Jasper," she replied, her voice soothing. "We've all had our fair share of rough nights. But hopefully, some breakfast and good company will help chase away those lingering woes."
She handed Giles a strong black coffee. "Here you go, Giles. Something to wake you up and clear the fog."
Giles accepted it gratefully, the aroma alone already making him feel more alert. "Thank you, Willow," he muttered under his breath, his voice softer now, the sharp edges of his irritation blunted by the comforting embrace of the tea. "Some breakfast and good company might do us all some good."
Next, she turned to Jasper, holding out a chai latte with a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "And for you, Jasper. Thought you might appreciate something with a bit of spice."
As Jasper reached for the cup, their fingers brushed, sending a brief, unexpected spark through both of them. He took the cup, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. He hadn't had Chai in his human life, and the scent was intriguing. He took a tentative sip, and immediately, little explosions of flavour danced on his tongue. The warmth and spices were a stark contrast to the cool venom that used to pool in his mouth, and so different from the heady metallic taste of blood. "Well, I'll be," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. "This is... different. But good. Thanks, Willow."
Willow's smile widened. "I'm glad you like it. Now, let's see if we can turn this morning around, shall we?"
Despite his softened demeanour, however, Giles couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Still wouldn't hurt for him to have a shower, though."
Jasper, catching Giles's muttered comment, let out a low chuckle, his own tension easing as he realized Giles was starting to thaw from his earlier irritability. He nodded at Giles before shooting him a mock salute. "I reckon you might be onto somethin' there, old man," he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I'll just mosey on over to the bathroom then, shall I?"
Jasper moved stiffly as he headed towards the stairs, still holding onto the Chai, and taking occasional sips. The warm, spicy flavours continued to surprise and delight him with each sip. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned back and winked at Willow. "Thanks again for the Chai, Willow. It's a real eye-opener."
Willow's eyes sparkled with amusement and warmth. "You're welcome, Jasper. Enjoy your shower."