Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Challenge/Prompt: nekid_spike: A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words: Day 12:
Word Count: 907
Date Written: 14 August 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
He leans against a bookcase, sipping his tea slowly. He’s been up for hours, long before dawn ever began to spill over the horizon of this little town that so many mistake for being sleepy. If the residents had any idea of the things that truly go down here, they would flee, but they’re protected from that knowledge by a very special young woman they all take for granted.
He peers over his mug at her now. Buffy’s absorbed in books, and he knows this is her least favorite part of being a Slayer. She can fight for hours, but she’d rather not ever crack open a book. A wry grin pulls at the corners of the Watcher’s mouth. The two of them are so much alike, and yet so different too.
The conversation of their friends pour around them. Buffy’s not listening, and although Giles hears the teenagers’ words, he lets them wrap around him without actually hearing the words themselves. It’s a distant murmur at best as, still gazing upon Buffy, he feels his eyelids begin to slide shut.
He gives himself a mental shake and takes another sip of his tea, a stronger brew than he usually likes. It’s late. He’s been up for over twenty four hours now, but he can not give in to temptation. His Slayer needs him.
He watches as she stands. The girl is truly poetry in motion as she walks quietly over to him. Their friends keep talking, oblivious to the way she looks, to the way she moves, to the quiet, strong, amazing beauty right here in the room with them. She stops just before him and smiles up at him. “You’re sleepy,” she says.
“Beyond,” he admits, blushing, as he sets his mug down and proceeds to clean his spectacles.
“I can fix that.” She takes his glasses from his hands and sits them down next to his mug. She continues to hold one of his hands as she steps closer, and her other hand reaches up to loosen his tie.
“B-Buffy -- “ he murmurs, now blushing a deeper, crimson red. “W-We can not.”
“I’m the Slayer, Giles,” she says with a grin. Still holding onto his tie with one hand, she squeezes the hand she holds with her other. “Who’s going to tell me what I can and can’t do?”
He blushes and clears his throat. “Th-That would be me.”
“Hmm mmm.” Her fingers thread up his tie, slide over his neck, and come to rest on the stubble on his chin. “And you’re going to stop me because . . . You don’t want this?” She steps closer to him, closing out the distance that, until now, had remained. “Tell me something I might actually believe.”
“Y-You don’t want this,” he starts, stammering. “Y-You might think you do, b-but in the morning . . . “
“I won’t respect myself? Please. The world better respect me. I’ve saved its ass enough times.”
“Giles? Giles?! Hey, Giles, come back from La La Land!”
Giles blinks and looks sharply up. Willow is holding his glasses out in front of him, but it’s Buffy’s voice that’s calling to him from where she sits in the stairwell.
“Giles, man,” Xander calls from his other side, “you should totally take a break. We can handle things for a while.”
Blushing as red as Willow’s hair, Giles accepts the glasses she hands to him. He slips them back onto the bridge of his nose as he hears her murmuring bashfully, “You . . . You dropped them.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs and straightens his tie and vest.
“Giles, seriously, take a break -- “
“I’m fine,” he insists, “and we have an apocalypse to determine how to stop.”
He hears the roll of his Slayer’s eyes in her voice as she remarks “Again.”
“Yeah,” Xander agrees, “it’s not like it’s going anywhere, not until we stop it any way.”
“I’m fine,” Giles insists, “I just need to strengthen this brew a little more.”
Willow looks at her best friend. “I think we’ll go on a sugar run,” she volunteers.
She nods. “Yup.”
“But -- “
Xander sighs and pushes his chair back away from the table. “Oh, okay. You know you had me with the ‘d’ word.”
Willow grins brightly and whisks him away. Buffy shuts her book, places it on top of her pile of discards, and picks up another ancient textbook. Giles moves first to his tea pot; pours himself the last cup; starts another, stronger brew; and pours a considerable amount of sugar into his mug. Then he moves silently over to the mini-fridge behind his desk, opens the door, and takes out a soda he would never deign to drink.
Just as quietly, he moves back, with drinks in hand, to where his Slayer still sits, forcing herself through book after book. Without a word, he offers her the soda, her favorite brand and the only brand he stocks. The brilliant smile she gives him may not have the power to save the world, but it does seem to save his. Allowing himself the pleasure of grinning back at her, Giles sits beside her . . . and within the minute, Buffy’s gently taking his mug of tea out of his still hands and placing it to the side. She looks back at Giles, who’s dropped asleep again, with an adoring smile before forcing her attention back to her book and the ongoing search for how to stop this apocalypse.