Schmoop ficlets: Faith/Giles
I'm going to be doing various fun RL things this week that aren't quite 'being on holiday' but are definitely not work. Should get a reasonable amount of time online, but no guarantees, so I may be a little quiet. Which means I'm posting fic on a Sunday despite it being some kind of fandom faux pas.
Not quite the last of the schmoop, but the last big post and the last pairing. Of course it's Faith and Giles. What did you think the Rulesverse was all about? *g* I hope you enjoy them.
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Warming Up
Rating PG13
Pairing/characters Faith/Giles
Word Count 621
Prompt snowed in
Setting January 2012
Note: for schmoop_bingo. All my responses for this challenge are set in the Rulesverse, a post-Chosen AU in which the Slayer Council develops into a fully rounded organisation. For this fic, it will help to know Faith and Giles have been together for a long time, and now have a son, Michael (Mike). He’s about 15 months old. Faith has an active regional assignment in Scandinavia, though she splits her time between there and the Slayer Council HQ in Scotland, where Giles and Mike are based.
“Hey G!”
“Faith! I wasn’t expecting you to call. I’m so glad you did.”
“But there’s a but?”
“Well, Michael is rather urgently in need of changing. Really quite urgently.”
“Stinks, huh?” She was laughing the laugh of a mother out of nappy range. Sometimes, Giles thought she didn’t exactly mind the breaks from domesticity.
“Indeed. Can I call you back? Won’t be long.”
“Sure. I’ll be here.”
Having one’s mind elsewhere was always a bonus in dealing with Michael’s nappies, so Giles gave himself over to wondering vaguely why Faith had called, and why she was at a loose end. The idea of Faith being in for the evening anywhere was deeply unlikely, and in a cabin in the Norwegian woods without TV, even less so. She usually found demons, bars or demon bars within minutes of setting up in any given location.
So when he finally managed to ring back (Michael poured pomegranate juice into his own ear, which took extra time for mopping up and consolation), Giles was verging on curious.
“How are things?”
“Pretty cool. New kid’s fitting in nicely.”
“Excellent. I thought Marga would work out well. She was very sound all round. Have you thought any more about SSO cover? We have sufficient generalists that you could get a squad support full-time. No need to rely on us here any more.” A noble offer, which would cut their communication still more. But the Scandinavian crew were rather under-supported, in comparison to others.
“Yeah. Maybe. We can talk when I’m over next. Two weeks to go.”
“Seems like an awfully long time.”
“Yeah. Hope I make it.” Faith sounded rather dubious about that.
“Is it likely you won’t be here?” Giles couldn’t help but feel a flutter of worry. She’d had little serious danger this winter, and he had had no reason to think that had changed.
“Well, it’s just...” She sounded oddly embarrassed. “I’m snowed in.”
“Really? How bad is it?”
“Oh, pretty bad. Up to the bedroom windows.”
“Good grief. That’s a lot of snow.”
“Yeah. It really is. I mean, we had snow in Boston. And Mongolia. This isn’t worse than that, but I’m just kinda stuck.” Yes, she really was embarrassed. His poor Faith. She wouldn’t take kindly to the damsel in distress act.
He went for the practical. But she irritably assured him the heat and light were working, and there were candles and logs enough to compensate in need. Food and water, check. The rest of the squad were on various assignments, but knew where she was; help would come in due course, once the blizzard abated and the roads started to clear.
Meantime, Faith could only wait. And her cable and broadband had gone down in the storm.
“Are there books?” Giles asked on autopilot, against all common sense and knowledge of Faith.
“Yeah, some. Mainly came with the house, and I don’t read Swedish worth a damn.” She surprised him, as always. “Coupla beat-up thrillers, some romances, a few airport bestsellers. Same crap you always get in holiday rentals.”
She didn’t sound enthused. Giles tested the water, “So whatever can we think of to pass the time for you?”
Faith didn’t really go for coy. “I was hoping for phone sex.”
“Thought you might be.” He was smiling. Direct had it good points. Very good.
“Well, I’m in this big old bed all on my own. With a roaring fire and candlelight going to waste.”
Giles gave a small, almost contented groan. He could picture her perfectly. “I wish very much I were there with you. You have no idea how much I mean that.”
Low chuckle on the line. “Yeah I do. A little bit. So, say you were here... how would that go?”
*
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Social Discomfort
Rating PG
Pairing/characters Faith/Giles
Word Count 690
Prompt Kitchen disaster
Setting October 2014
Note: for schmoop_bingo. All my responses for this challenge are set in the Rulesverse, a post-Chosen AU in which the Slayer Council develops into a fully rounded organisation. Later in Faith and Giles’s marriage: they now live together at Slayer Council HQ, and have a second child, Rosy, who is 6 months old. Kat is a ‘kickass ninja nanny’ in their household.
The smell of burning gently permeated the Lehane-Giles flat. Then the sound of swearing, swiftly muffled.
“Should we-” Buffy began.
“Nooooo,” hissed Spike, Xander and Cordelia in unison.
“Denial is the way,” said Talia. “Everything is fine. We’re having a great time.”
“Well, I am,” said Spike. “Decent booze, and I don’t have to eat the food.”
The silence which followed his words was broken only by the unhappy gurgling of stomachs which remained largely empty, apart from the unwelcome assault of the appetizers. The potato kebabs had been particularly painful. And chewy.
“Does anyone know what the next course is?” Willow asked with the expression of a woman prepared to brew up some soothing spells if she got enough warning.
“It’s meat,” said Oz. “I’m not prepared to go any further than that.”
A further silence. Smells that defeated the nose of a wolf. That sounded bad.
“Giles is in there. He can cook.” Buffy was desperate for hope.
“Yeah, but Faith started it all.” Xander, gloomily.
“Why did she do that? I mean, it’s nice,” said Talia, who was still far too optimistic to fit in with the Slayer Council. “But, I look at Faith, I don’t think dinner party. More like, whoa, warrior!”
Cordelia rolled her eyes. “She’s having a domesticity crisis. They’re rare, thank God. But Rosy’s nearly off the boob-juice, which means Faith goes back to work. She wants to do the mommy thing first. She’ll be fine, honestly. We saw it with Mike. She’ll be back on beer and nachos in six months time. Or at least let Giles cook.”
A crash from the kitchen.
“And stay out!” Faith shouted.
Giles re-entered the flat’s main room. The occupants pretended without notable success that they were both temporarily deaf and thrilled with the evening.
“The main course may be a trifle delayed,” he said, to no one’s surprise. “Would anyone like a refill?”
Glasses were flourished, with some desperation. “Delicious wine, Giles. Have I mentioned that?”
“Yes, Xander, I believe you have. Twice.”
A third silence. Glances were exchanged.
Spike broke first. “Rupert. If this food turns up, do we need to exorcise it?”
Giles put his wine glass down, very neatly aligned. Then he gently bent forwards, until his head was resting on the table. The group watched, concerned.
His voice rather muffled, Giles said, “I’m afraid Faith has inadvertently added some watermelon to the pasta sauce. Also rather a lot of soy, which has rendered it a trifle salty, what with the bacon as well. She is endeavouring to remedy this by adding flour. I am very fond of you all. I would be enormously grateful if you could pretend that the food is edible. You did very well for the first course. But I think this time, I must ask you to leave before things get any worse.”
The group exchanged glances. Should we...?
Yes. It was finally time. And luckily, Cordelia was the perfect person to break the news.
“Giles, it’s okay. We took precautions against poisoning. C’mon guys, get it out.”
Some of the Slayer Council could cook. Oz had brought a vast pan of chilli, Talia the accompaniments; Willow some green salad and fruit. Buffy brought mixed sandwiches, in case anyone wanted something lighter. Cordelia, of course, chips and dips. Xander, who cooked very much a la mode Lehane, had been forbidden to attempt anything. But he’d bought dessert. Lots of it.
“And you sneaked this in how, exactly?” Giles didn’t sound angry, more baffled.
“We always-” said Xander, but Oz silenced him with a death ray stare. “I mean, we talked to Kat. She helped.”
“Well, this is all very well, and I do appreciate the necessity, but who’s going to tell Fai- Hello darling!”
Faith was in the doorway. Slightly singed, a trifle greasy. A dangerous eyebrow raised. “You’re calling me darling now? Must be bad.” Her eyes ranged over the loaded table. There was a moment of suspended decision.
She opened her mouth.
“Cool. You brought chilli! I’ll get plates. Thanks guys.”
The tableful of guests breathed again.
Nobody said, “Don’t mention the pasta.” Nobody had to. But Faith’s domestic phase seemed to be slipping.
Thank the goddesses.
*
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title The Battle of Buttercream
Rating PG13 [a little bad language]
Pairing/characters Faith/Giles
Word Count 573
Prompt kidfic - birthday
Setting April 2015
Note: for schmoop_bingo. All my responses for this challenge are set in the Rulesverse, a post-Chosen AU in which the Slayer Council develops into a fully rounded organisation.
“Babies are boring.” Mike suspected it before, and now he knows it. He’s not going to take this lying down.
Giles is standing in the kitchen doorway, surveying the scene of party preparations and complaining son. Faith laughs, and taps Mike gently on the nose. “Kiddo, you were a baby once. We got evidence. In colour.”
“Rosy doesn’t need a dumb birthday party. She can’t even talk. I want a party!”
“You’ll get your party. Just another seven months to go.”
“When’s seven months?”
“Sooner than you think. You wanna read the Katie Morag book again?”
Giles is very tempted to vanish. Katie Morag and her endless bloody family, and their endless monthly procession of bloody birthdays, is the bane of his bedtime story existence. Educational, perhaps. Good for reconciling Mike to passing time, certainly. But nonetheless, agonisingly lengthy for the adults. It’s about the page for April when he starts to lose the will to go on.
It’s actually April now, of course. Rosy is one. He has two children, and he is aging. Sometimes, he fears for their future. Will he be around for them, for long enough? Will they come to despise his greying hair and slowing body?
They certainly will if he spends the next twenty years standing in doorways moodily instead of helping them to enjoy life. Giles breaks his brown study and moves into the kitchen just as Michael (bless the boy) turns down the dubious pleasures of Katie Morag and the Birthdays. Karma, possibly. Or perhaps the boy has finally run out of birthday fascination.
“What can I do?” It’s probably safe to ask now. Faith has been focusing fiercely on the catering front. She’s still intermittently determined to master the culinary arts (“Fuck it, G. I can kill over three hundred types of demon. Using the appropriate weaponry. Why can’t I make soup?”). It has been silently agreed between Giles and Kat that they have to accept this sinister end, though they also keep the freezer well stocked with emergency items for those moments when it all goes wrong beyond repair. Frozen peas are a lifesaver Giles failed to appreciate fully in his active Watcher years.
Faith nods at Mike. “Find something to occupy yourselves. I have to ice the cake.” She looks as desperate as the day they opened the Hellmouth, but without the certainty that she will win through. (Buttercream and Smarties. How wrong can that go? But he will, doubtless, find out.)
He scoops up Michael (can still swoop the boy up onto his shoulders. Not too often, admittedly.) “Let’s find your little sister, shall we? She got some good presents we could play with.”
“They’re just girls’ stuff.”
“Well, Rosy’s a girl. But I thought there were some bricks we might get working with.”
They enter the living room to find Rosy surrounded by bricks, bears and farm animals; Kat in laughing attendance. Giles gives his daughter the usual assessing glance, but no, there’s no sign of Slayerness manifesting. She’s giggling as Kat walks a pink plastic pig up her tummy, making very thorough oinking sounds as she goes. Michael drops his uncaring pose, and goes to join them, collecting a cow along the way, and giving his best, ‘Moooo.’
Behind him, Giles can hear wild banging and crashes in the kitchen. Faith appears to be losing the battle of the buttercream.
If he’d had this thirty years ago, he’d probably have taken it for granted. Much like frozen peas. Now, he knows the worth of it all.
*
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Tropical Storm Faith
Rating R
Pairing/characters Faith/Giles
Word Count 589
Prompt Wild card [picnic, caught in a storm: thanks to rebcake for the inspiration]
Setting June 2020
Note: for schmoop_bingo. All my responses for this challenge are set in the Rulesverse, a post-Chosen AU in which the Slayer Council develops into a fully rounded organisation
Picnicking in the highlands of Scotland is a game for fools, but Giles and Faith had persevered over the years. They were stampeded once; fogged out of play three times; attacked by midges almost without cease. Rain, wind and cold were so commonplace they barely counted as reasons to call off outdoor dining attempts. Giles had golden memories of childhood picnics luring him on. Faith, without any such foolishness, still loved to dream that her children would have such simple pleasures.
However, as Giles contemplated the rising wind, the darkening sky and the inadequacy of the children’s chosen clothing (an attempt to teach them personal responsibility, which had so far resulted in them being frozen solid at almost every outdoor event that summer), he started to think it was time to pack up the food basket. Shortly after he had that thought, it started to hail. Simple pleasures, forsooth.
“I hate this frickin’ country,” Faith howled, as she usually did about now. She was hurling plates and glasses into the hamper, causing chaos as lemonade flowed into strawberries, half-finished ham rolls and potato salad. Giles tried quite hard not to think about the unpacking, even as he tried to mitigate the worst of it. Kat was mustering plastic-bag headgear for the children, which Rosy would adore and Michael ignore. They were half protected under the trees, originally chosen as a shady spot, but the route back to the car was going to be very damp indeed.
Lightning flared, and the hail redoubled. Perfect. They couldn’t stay under the trees now.
The Lehane-Giles family fled for sanctuary. Luckily, Faith had the car keys, because she was first by a mile. Kat and Mike sped up behind, then Rosy... then Giles, way behind. Because of the picnic hamper, of course. Should have given it to Faith. He tried hard not to show his bursting lungs and racing heart as he slumped into the passenger seat. Faith could drive. He had no hangups in that direction anyway, let alone while processing a minor heart attack or similar.
The children were laughing with the exhilaration of sudden storms, and the joy of people who didn’t have to clean up after them. Faith was grinning too, and Giles managed to catch the mood before they made it back to the castle. Kat, quietly observing in the back seat, hustled Mike and Rosy off for hot baths and more sensible clothes.
“Mmm, hot water sounds goood,” said Faith, heading for their bathroom while shedding her drenched clothes. “Wanna join me?”
Of course he did.
The bathroom was sturdily built, but they had to be fairly quiet. The kids weren’t that far off, even if Kat, bless her, was making plenty of noise getting them cleaned up. Fast and quiet wasn’t ideal, but it would work.
Thank heavens for said sturdily-built castle fittings, Giles thought, as Faith virtually climbed the shower stall, legs outspread and braced, arms round him. He moved, she squeezed, and he jammed his fingers between them to ensure fast and quiet didn’t have to be one-sided. Muffling groans in each others’ shoulders, they proved it didn’t have to be unsatisfying either.
When he’d finally got his breath back and was sure his knees would hold, Giles murmured in her ear, “I’m thinking of retiring.”
“God, did I break you?” She laughed, intense and happy.
“Not entirely.” Though he wouldn’t be the same for a few hours. “But if we’re going to keep doing this, I may need some considerable physical therapy.”
“Better get started. I ain’t giving up on you.”
***
Not quite the last of the schmoop, but the last big post and the last pairing. Of course it's Faith and Giles. What did you think the Rulesverse was all about? *g* I hope you enjoy them.
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Warming Up
Rating PG13
Pairing/characters Faith/Giles
Word Count 621
Prompt snowed in
Setting January 2012
Note: for schmoop_bingo. All my responses for this challenge are set in the Rulesverse, a post-Chosen AU in which the Slayer Council develops into a fully rounded organisation. For this fic, it will help to know Faith and Giles have been together for a long time, and now have a son, Michael (Mike). He’s about 15 months old. Faith has an active regional assignment in Scandinavia, though she splits her time between there and the Slayer Council HQ in Scotland, where Giles and Mike are based.
“Hey G!”
“Faith! I wasn’t expecting you to call. I’m so glad you did.”
“But there’s a but?”
“Well, Michael is rather urgently in need of changing. Really quite urgently.”
“Stinks, huh?” She was laughing the laugh of a mother out of nappy range. Sometimes, Giles thought she didn’t exactly mind the breaks from domesticity.
“Indeed. Can I call you back? Won’t be long.”
“Sure. I’ll be here.”
Having one’s mind elsewhere was always a bonus in dealing with Michael’s nappies, so Giles gave himself over to wondering vaguely why Faith had called, and why she was at a loose end. The idea of Faith being in for the evening anywhere was deeply unlikely, and in a cabin in the Norwegian woods without TV, even less so. She usually found demons, bars or demon bars within minutes of setting up in any given location.
So when he finally managed to ring back (Michael poured pomegranate juice into his own ear, which took extra time for mopping up and consolation), Giles was verging on curious.
“How are things?”
“Pretty cool. New kid’s fitting in nicely.”
“Excellent. I thought Marga would work out well. She was very sound all round. Have you thought any more about SSO cover? We have sufficient generalists that you could get a squad support full-time. No need to rely on us here any more.” A noble offer, which would cut their communication still more. But the Scandinavian crew were rather under-supported, in comparison to others.
“Yeah. Maybe. We can talk when I’m over next. Two weeks to go.”
“Seems like an awfully long time.”
“Yeah. Hope I make it.” Faith sounded rather dubious about that.
“Is it likely you won’t be here?” Giles couldn’t help but feel a flutter of worry. She’d had little serious danger this winter, and he had had no reason to think that had changed.
“Well, it’s just...” She sounded oddly embarrassed. “I’m snowed in.”
“Really? How bad is it?”
“Oh, pretty bad. Up to the bedroom windows.”
“Good grief. That’s a lot of snow.”
“Yeah. It really is. I mean, we had snow in Boston. And Mongolia. This isn’t worse than that, but I’m just kinda stuck.” Yes, she really was embarrassed. His poor Faith. She wouldn’t take kindly to the damsel in distress act.
He went for the practical. But she irritably assured him the heat and light were working, and there were candles and logs enough to compensate in need. Food and water, check. The rest of the squad were on various assignments, but knew where she was; help would come in due course, once the blizzard abated and the roads started to clear.
Meantime, Faith could only wait. And her cable and broadband had gone down in the storm.
“Are there books?” Giles asked on autopilot, against all common sense and knowledge of Faith.
“Yeah, some. Mainly came with the house, and I don’t read Swedish worth a damn.” She surprised him, as always. “Coupla beat-up thrillers, some romances, a few airport bestsellers. Same crap you always get in holiday rentals.”
She didn’t sound enthused. Giles tested the water, “So whatever can we think of to pass the time for you?”
Faith didn’t really go for coy. “I was hoping for phone sex.”
“Thought you might be.” He was smiling. Direct had it good points. Very good.
“Well, I’m in this big old bed all on my own. With a roaring fire and candlelight going to waste.”
Giles gave a small, almost contented groan. He could picture her perfectly. “I wish very much I were there with you. You have no idea how much I mean that.”
Low chuckle on the line. “Yeah I do. A little bit. So, say you were here... how would that go?”
*
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Social Discomfort
Rating PG
Pairing/characters Faith/Giles
Word Count 690
Prompt Kitchen disaster
Setting October 2014
Note: for schmoop_bingo. All my responses for this challenge are set in the Rulesverse, a post-Chosen AU in which the Slayer Council develops into a fully rounded organisation. Later in Faith and Giles’s marriage: they now live together at Slayer Council HQ, and have a second child, Rosy, who is 6 months old. Kat is a ‘kickass ninja nanny’ in their household.
The smell of burning gently permeated the Lehane-Giles flat. Then the sound of swearing, swiftly muffled.
“Should we-” Buffy began.
“Nooooo,” hissed Spike, Xander and Cordelia in unison.
“Denial is the way,” said Talia. “Everything is fine. We’re having a great time.”
“Well, I am,” said Spike. “Decent booze, and I don’t have to eat the food.”
The silence which followed his words was broken only by the unhappy gurgling of stomachs which remained largely empty, apart from the unwelcome assault of the appetizers. The potato kebabs had been particularly painful. And chewy.
“Does anyone know what the next course is?” Willow asked with the expression of a woman prepared to brew up some soothing spells if she got enough warning.
“It’s meat,” said Oz. “I’m not prepared to go any further than that.”
A further silence. Smells that defeated the nose of a wolf. That sounded bad.
“Giles is in there. He can cook.” Buffy was desperate for hope.
“Yeah, but Faith started it all.” Xander, gloomily.
“Why did she do that? I mean, it’s nice,” said Talia, who was still far too optimistic to fit in with the Slayer Council. “But, I look at Faith, I don’t think dinner party. More like, whoa, warrior!”
Cordelia rolled her eyes. “She’s having a domesticity crisis. They’re rare, thank God. But Rosy’s nearly off the boob-juice, which means Faith goes back to work. She wants to do the mommy thing first. She’ll be fine, honestly. We saw it with Mike. She’ll be back on beer and nachos in six months time. Or at least let Giles cook.”
A crash from the kitchen.
“And stay out!” Faith shouted.
Giles re-entered the flat’s main room. The occupants pretended without notable success that they were both temporarily deaf and thrilled with the evening.
“The main course may be a trifle delayed,” he said, to no one’s surprise. “Would anyone like a refill?”
Glasses were flourished, with some desperation. “Delicious wine, Giles. Have I mentioned that?”
“Yes, Xander, I believe you have. Twice.”
A third silence. Glances were exchanged.
Spike broke first. “Rupert. If this food turns up, do we need to exorcise it?”
Giles put his wine glass down, very neatly aligned. Then he gently bent forwards, until his head was resting on the table. The group watched, concerned.
His voice rather muffled, Giles said, “I’m afraid Faith has inadvertently added some watermelon to the pasta sauce. Also rather a lot of soy, which has rendered it a trifle salty, what with the bacon as well. She is endeavouring to remedy this by adding flour. I am very fond of you all. I would be enormously grateful if you could pretend that the food is edible. You did very well for the first course. But I think this time, I must ask you to leave before things get any worse.”
The group exchanged glances. Should we...?
Yes. It was finally time. And luckily, Cordelia was the perfect person to break the news.
“Giles, it’s okay. We took precautions against poisoning. C’mon guys, get it out.”
Some of the Slayer Council could cook. Oz had brought a vast pan of chilli, Talia the accompaniments; Willow some green salad and fruit. Buffy brought mixed sandwiches, in case anyone wanted something lighter. Cordelia, of course, chips and dips. Xander, who cooked very much a la mode Lehane, had been forbidden to attempt anything. But he’d bought dessert. Lots of it.
“And you sneaked this in how, exactly?” Giles didn’t sound angry, more baffled.
“We always-” said Xander, but Oz silenced him with a death ray stare. “I mean, we talked to Kat. She helped.”
“Well, this is all very well, and I do appreciate the necessity, but who’s going to tell Fai- Hello darling!”
Faith was in the doorway. Slightly singed, a trifle greasy. A dangerous eyebrow raised. “You’re calling me darling now? Must be bad.” Her eyes ranged over the loaded table. There was a moment of suspended decision.
She opened her mouth.
“Cool. You brought chilli! I’ll get plates. Thanks guys.”
The tableful of guests breathed again.
Nobody said, “Don’t mention the pasta.” Nobody had to. But Faith’s domestic phase seemed to be slipping.
Thank the goddesses.
*
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title The Battle of Buttercream
Rating PG13 [a little bad language]
Pairing/characters Faith/Giles
Word Count 573
Prompt kidfic - birthday
Setting April 2015
Note: for schmoop_bingo. All my responses for this challenge are set in the Rulesverse, a post-Chosen AU in which the Slayer Council develops into a fully rounded organisation.
“Babies are boring.” Mike suspected it before, and now he knows it. He’s not going to take this lying down.
Giles is standing in the kitchen doorway, surveying the scene of party preparations and complaining son. Faith laughs, and taps Mike gently on the nose. “Kiddo, you were a baby once. We got evidence. In colour.”
“Rosy doesn’t need a dumb birthday party. She can’t even talk. I want a party!”
“You’ll get your party. Just another seven months to go.”
“When’s seven months?”
“Sooner than you think. You wanna read the Katie Morag book again?”
Giles is very tempted to vanish. Katie Morag and her endless bloody family, and their endless monthly procession of bloody birthdays, is the bane of his bedtime story existence. Educational, perhaps. Good for reconciling Mike to passing time, certainly. But nonetheless, agonisingly lengthy for the adults. It’s about the page for April when he starts to lose the will to go on.
It’s actually April now, of course. Rosy is one. He has two children, and he is aging. Sometimes, he fears for their future. Will he be around for them, for long enough? Will they come to despise his greying hair and slowing body?
They certainly will if he spends the next twenty years standing in doorways moodily instead of helping them to enjoy life. Giles breaks his brown study and moves into the kitchen just as Michael (bless the boy) turns down the dubious pleasures of Katie Morag and the Birthdays. Karma, possibly. Or perhaps the boy has finally run out of birthday fascination.
“What can I do?” It’s probably safe to ask now. Faith has been focusing fiercely on the catering front. She’s still intermittently determined to master the culinary arts (“Fuck it, G. I can kill over three hundred types of demon. Using the appropriate weaponry. Why can’t I make soup?”). It has been silently agreed between Giles and Kat that they have to accept this sinister end, though they also keep the freezer well stocked with emergency items for those moments when it all goes wrong beyond repair. Frozen peas are a lifesaver Giles failed to appreciate fully in his active Watcher years.
Faith nods at Mike. “Find something to occupy yourselves. I have to ice the cake.” She looks as desperate as the day they opened the Hellmouth, but without the certainty that she will win through. (Buttercream and Smarties. How wrong can that go? But he will, doubtless, find out.)
He scoops up Michael (can still swoop the boy up onto his shoulders. Not too often, admittedly.) “Let’s find your little sister, shall we? She got some good presents we could play with.”
“They’re just girls’ stuff.”
“Well, Rosy’s a girl. But I thought there were some bricks we might get working with.”
They enter the living room to find Rosy surrounded by bricks, bears and farm animals; Kat in laughing attendance. Giles gives his daughter the usual assessing glance, but no, there’s no sign of Slayerness manifesting. She’s giggling as Kat walks a pink plastic pig up her tummy, making very thorough oinking sounds as she goes. Michael drops his uncaring pose, and goes to join them, collecting a cow along the way, and giving his best, ‘Moooo.’
Behind him, Giles can hear wild banging and crashes in the kitchen. Faith appears to be losing the battle of the buttercream.
If he’d had this thirty years ago, he’d probably have taken it for granted. Much like frozen peas. Now, he knows the worth of it all.
*
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Tropical Storm Faith
Rating R
Pairing/characters Faith/Giles
Word Count 589
Prompt Wild card [picnic, caught in a storm: thanks to rebcake for the inspiration]
Setting June 2020
Note: for schmoop_bingo. All my responses for this challenge are set in the Rulesverse, a post-Chosen AU in which the Slayer Council develops into a fully rounded organisation
Picnicking in the highlands of Scotland is a game for fools, but Giles and Faith had persevered over the years. They were stampeded once; fogged out of play three times; attacked by midges almost without cease. Rain, wind and cold were so commonplace they barely counted as reasons to call off outdoor dining attempts. Giles had golden memories of childhood picnics luring him on. Faith, without any such foolishness, still loved to dream that her children would have such simple pleasures.
However, as Giles contemplated the rising wind, the darkening sky and the inadequacy of the children’s chosen clothing (an attempt to teach them personal responsibility, which had so far resulted in them being frozen solid at almost every outdoor event that summer), he started to think it was time to pack up the food basket. Shortly after he had that thought, it started to hail. Simple pleasures, forsooth.
“I hate this frickin’ country,” Faith howled, as she usually did about now. She was hurling plates and glasses into the hamper, causing chaos as lemonade flowed into strawberries, half-finished ham rolls and potato salad. Giles tried quite hard not to think about the unpacking, even as he tried to mitigate the worst of it. Kat was mustering plastic-bag headgear for the children, which Rosy would adore and Michael ignore. They were half protected under the trees, originally chosen as a shady spot, but the route back to the car was going to be very damp indeed.
Lightning flared, and the hail redoubled. Perfect. They couldn’t stay under the trees now.
The Lehane-Giles family fled for sanctuary. Luckily, Faith had the car keys, because she was first by a mile. Kat and Mike sped up behind, then Rosy... then Giles, way behind. Because of the picnic hamper, of course. Should have given it to Faith. He tried hard not to show his bursting lungs and racing heart as he slumped into the passenger seat. Faith could drive. He had no hangups in that direction anyway, let alone while processing a minor heart attack or similar.
The children were laughing with the exhilaration of sudden storms, and the joy of people who didn’t have to clean up after them. Faith was grinning too, and Giles managed to catch the mood before they made it back to the castle. Kat, quietly observing in the back seat, hustled Mike and Rosy off for hot baths and more sensible clothes.
“Mmm, hot water sounds goood,” said Faith, heading for their bathroom while shedding her drenched clothes. “Wanna join me?”
Of course he did.
The bathroom was sturdily built, but they had to be fairly quiet. The kids weren’t that far off, even if Kat, bless her, was making plenty of noise getting them cleaned up. Fast and quiet wasn’t ideal, but it would work.
Thank heavens for said sturdily-built castle fittings, Giles thought, as Faith virtually climbed the shower stall, legs outspread and braced, arms round him. He moved, she squeezed, and he jammed his fingers between them to ensure fast and quiet didn’t have to be one-sided. Muffling groans in each others’ shoulders, they proved it didn’t have to be unsatisfying either.
When he’d finally got his breath back and was sure his knees would hold, Giles murmured in her ear, “I’m thinking of retiring.”
“God, did I break you?” She laughed, intense and happy.
“Not entirely.” Though he wouldn’t be the same for a few hours. “But if we’re going to keep doing this, I may need some considerable physical therapy.”
“Better get started. I ain’t giving up on you.”
***