Birthday fic for Lori!
Today is the birthday of the lovely ljs! As is tradition, I come bearing fic of the Giles/Anya persuasion. And a while ago I participated in the "pay if forward" meme, in which I promised to write Lori a G/A fic as well, so I hope she doesn't mind that I combined the two.
The prompt Lori gave me was established-relationship, romance (it can be with an edge if you like), and "Mood Indigo."
This ficlet takes place sometime in a future where Giles and Anya are together (rather recently at this point). Rated PG13.
Happy Birthday Lori!
Midnight Blue
Anya wanders from room to room, from window to window, gazing out into the dark December night. She isn't sure how she's ended up in this mood, but she doesn't like it, not at all. Perhaps she just isn't used to being idle. The trip to Westbury has been wonderful up until now. But she’s used to working, to keeping busy, to being productive. Rupert threatened to take her laptop away from her yesterday.
"It's call a holiday, you see," he'd explained with exaggerated patience, and she'd hit him with a pillow. The pillow fight that followed had left them both gasping with laughter, and eventually gasping for an entirely different, completely pleasurable reason.
So why is she now so sad? Maybe it was that report on the news, which she often thinks should be renamed the bad news. Not that this report is much different than any other. People dead. People tortured. People kept away from those they loved. But for some reason it hits her harder tonight. It's as if she could feel all those souls, crying out for justice. For vengeance. That isn't her way any longer. She made that choice, painfully and deliberately. She knows now that vengeance just leads to more pain, more suffering. And that was reinforced to her clearly enough on tonight's bad news. No, that's no longer her way. But it used to be.
"Feeling blue?" he asks. The invitation is there to talk, to comfort, but all she can do is stand there next to the window and nod. He has been reading, or pretending to - her wandering has been a bit of a distraction, she‘s sure. His feet are propped up on an ottoman and a cup of tea is by his side. This is a typical before bed ritual. It's late. They should be getting ready to turn in. But she knows she won't be able to sleep. Its seems he realizes this too. He puts down his book and his glasses, stands up and stretches. "Fancy a walk, then darling?" In the cold? In the snow? In the middle of the night? Was he crazy?
It's just what she needs.
She nods again, more enthusiastically this time, and enjoys the smile she brings to his face, the way it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle attractively. They bundle up and set out for a midnight jaunt around the property. First stop, the stables, where the sweet smell of hay mixes with that horsy smell that she has been surprised to find she doesn't mind at all. She removes her gloves to stroke the velvet nose of one of her favorites, a grey-white beauty named Shadowfax. He snorts in appreciation as she feeds him an apple from her pocket. And a few lumps of sugar when Rupert isn't looking. The horse gives her a knowing look and nuzzles her cheek.
When they leave the building, she inhales deeply, the crisp, clean air a sharp contrast to the warm, musky scent of the stable. Their boots crunch over snow and gravel. And though her nose is cold and her eyes water, the rest of her is nice and warm. Her arm is tucked into Rupert's, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. Walking like this is awkward at first - his legs are so much longer than hers - but they soon find a comfortable pace. She leans her head against his wool covered shoulder and feels like she could walk like this forever.
Eventually they come to the fence that borders the property, though, and have to stop. Together they gaze up at the indigo sky, and he remarks on the clarity of the stars. It's impossible to see them this clearly when the lights of a city, whether it be London or Los Angeles, interfere. The expanse above her head seems to go on forever, midnight blue satin studded with twinkling diamonds. She is reminded of a gown she wore once, midnight blue satin, studded with diamonds. In another century. Another country. Another life. She closes her eyes against the unwanted memory and turns her head into his chest.
"What is it?" he asks. "Tell me." It's just the right combination of gentle and insistent that make her want to answer the question, this time.
"My past. Sometimes...it's hard. It's just hard."
He murmurs his understanding as he brings his arms around her, one hand coming up to stroke her hair while the other one remains, big and warm and solid, against her back. She can feel it even through the puffy down coat that she is wearing.
"We all have pasts," he says, still stroking, still soothing. He'd told her about his, so she doesn't take this comment lightly. "We all have regrets."
"I know. I guess I just don't know what to do with all of mine." Sometimes, she feels so very old.
His hands grip her shoulders gently, and he moves her just far enough away from him to be able to look down into her eyes. He looks for a long time, as if he's trying to see inside. And maybe he does. "I could give you platitudes about moving on and leaving the past behind and such, but I doubt that would be of much help, would it?”
“No,” she says, grateful for his honesty even as she is disappointed that there are no magic words to make everything better.
He brushes a strand of hair off her face with a gloved hand. “All I can say is this: I love you, Anya. And I choose to be here, with you."
She hasn’t known that this is exactly what she needs to hear until the words leave his mouth. His lips are cold when she kisses him, but that mouth is warm and wonderful, and their breath rises in clouds of steam around their faces when they finally come apart. They laugh and rub red noses together in an Eskimo kiss. She turns, her back against his chest, and lets him pull her close. The fields and woods beyond the fence are blanketed in a covering of fresh, white snow. The world seems very quiet now. Peaceful, even. She looks up at Rupert and he is gazing down at her, smiling. Even bundled up in all these layers, he sees her. All of her.
And she is enough.
The prompt Lori gave me was established-relationship, romance (it can be with an edge if you like), and "Mood Indigo."
This ficlet takes place sometime in a future where Giles and Anya are together (rather recently at this point). Rated PG13.
Happy Birthday Lori!
Midnight Blue
Anya wanders from room to room, from window to window, gazing out into the dark December night. She isn't sure how she's ended up in this mood, but she doesn't like it, not at all. Perhaps she just isn't used to being idle. The trip to Westbury has been wonderful up until now. But she’s used to working, to keeping busy, to being productive. Rupert threatened to take her laptop away from her yesterday.
"It's call a holiday, you see," he'd explained with exaggerated patience, and she'd hit him with a pillow. The pillow fight that followed had left them both gasping with laughter, and eventually gasping for an entirely different, completely pleasurable reason.
So why is she now so sad? Maybe it was that report on the news, which she often thinks should be renamed the bad news. Not that this report is much different than any other. People dead. People tortured. People kept away from those they loved. But for some reason it hits her harder tonight. It's as if she could feel all those souls, crying out for justice. For vengeance. That isn't her way any longer. She made that choice, painfully and deliberately. She knows now that vengeance just leads to more pain, more suffering. And that was reinforced to her clearly enough on tonight's bad news. No, that's no longer her way. But it used to be.
"Feeling blue?" he asks. The invitation is there to talk, to comfort, but all she can do is stand there next to the window and nod. He has been reading, or pretending to - her wandering has been a bit of a distraction, she‘s sure. His feet are propped up on an ottoman and a cup of tea is by his side. This is a typical before bed ritual. It's late. They should be getting ready to turn in. But she knows she won't be able to sleep. Its seems he realizes this too. He puts down his book and his glasses, stands up and stretches. "Fancy a walk, then darling?" In the cold? In the snow? In the middle of the night? Was he crazy?
It's just what she needs.
She nods again, more enthusiastically this time, and enjoys the smile she brings to his face, the way it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle attractively. They bundle up and set out for a midnight jaunt around the property. First stop, the stables, where the sweet smell of hay mixes with that horsy smell that she has been surprised to find she doesn't mind at all. She removes her gloves to stroke the velvet nose of one of her favorites, a grey-white beauty named Shadowfax. He snorts in appreciation as she feeds him an apple from her pocket. And a few lumps of sugar when Rupert isn't looking. The horse gives her a knowing look and nuzzles her cheek.
When they leave the building, she inhales deeply, the crisp, clean air a sharp contrast to the warm, musky scent of the stable. Their boots crunch over snow and gravel. And though her nose is cold and her eyes water, the rest of her is nice and warm. Her arm is tucked into Rupert's, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. Walking like this is awkward at first - his legs are so much longer than hers - but they soon find a comfortable pace. She leans her head against his wool covered shoulder and feels like she could walk like this forever.
Eventually they come to the fence that borders the property, though, and have to stop. Together they gaze up at the indigo sky, and he remarks on the clarity of the stars. It's impossible to see them this clearly when the lights of a city, whether it be London or Los Angeles, interfere. The expanse above her head seems to go on forever, midnight blue satin studded with twinkling diamonds. She is reminded of a gown she wore once, midnight blue satin, studded with diamonds. In another century. Another country. Another life. She closes her eyes against the unwanted memory and turns her head into his chest.
"What is it?" he asks. "Tell me." It's just the right combination of gentle and insistent that make her want to answer the question, this time.
"My past. Sometimes...it's hard. It's just hard."
He murmurs his understanding as he brings his arms around her, one hand coming up to stroke her hair while the other one remains, big and warm and solid, against her back. She can feel it even through the puffy down coat that she is wearing.
"We all have pasts," he says, still stroking, still soothing. He'd told her about his, so she doesn't take this comment lightly. "We all have regrets."
"I know. I guess I just don't know what to do with all of mine." Sometimes, she feels so very old.
His hands grip her shoulders gently, and he moves her just far enough away from him to be able to look down into her eyes. He looks for a long time, as if he's trying to see inside. And maybe he does. "I could give you platitudes about moving on and leaving the past behind and such, but I doubt that would be of much help, would it?”
“No,” she says, grateful for his honesty even as she is disappointed that there are no magic words to make everything better.
He brushes a strand of hair off her face with a gloved hand. “All I can say is this: I love you, Anya. And I choose to be here, with you."
She hasn’t known that this is exactly what she needs to hear until the words leave his mouth. His lips are cold when she kisses him, but that mouth is warm and wonderful, and their breath rises in clouds of steam around their faces when they finally come apart. They laugh and rub red noses together in an Eskimo kiss. She turns, her back against his chest, and lets him pull her close. The fields and woods beyond the fence are blanketed in a covering of fresh, white snow. The world seems very quiet now. Peaceful, even. She looks up at Rupert and he is gazing down at her, smiling. Even bundled up in all these layers, he sees her. All of her.
And she is enough.