The View From Here is Fabulous!
My memory is reminiscent of a fine Swiss cheese, but I believe this was my first real fic. Thank you, Lori, for building such a fine nest.
TITLE: Loose Ends
AUTHOR: kimmerwoman
RATING: PG
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Joss may own them, but Giles and Anya are much better off in the hands of caretakers who love them.
SUMMARY: A broken Magic Box won't just fix itself.
It’s the alarm that wakes him, the incessant buzzing driving a dull icepick through one ear and out the other. Face down on the pillow, legs twisted in the sheets, it takes a minute or so for Giles to recognize the sound. Stretching his arm to the bedside table, he gropes for the source of his pain. A small groan escapes his lips, as his fingers locate, then knock over the now screaming clock. Righting it, he smacks the top and blessed silence returns.
After a minute he lifts his head, opens one bleary eye, and then reverses the process. A few more minutes go by before the events that led to his pounding head and slightly queasy stomach come filtering back into his brain.
*****
He’d seen Willow off to Sunnydale the day before; the end of a long, exhausting three months. He’d been intimately involved in her rehabilitation, working magicks with the coven to rid her of the dark energies that threatened to consume her. He’d sat with her through many sleepless nights, talking about her insecurities, her life with Tara and as a Scooby. Researching the visions that had haunted her during her last few weeks in Westbury.
It was nearly dark when Giles pulled up to the curb outside his flat in Bath. Shutting off the motor, he placed his hands on the steering wheel, fingers drumming a tattoo. He cast an eye towards his front door and sighed. Nothing but research was waiting for him inside. He took the keys from the ignition, opened the door. He threw his legs out of the slightly too-small car and, with his butt, slammed it shut. With another quick look towards his flat, he leaned against the vehicle. He wasn’t quite ready to face it. Slipping his keys into his pants pocket, he headed off to the pub for a quick pint.
At the “Sturm and Dragon” he ordered a pint of Guinness, watching the ritualistic pouring, oddly comforted by the familiarity. The glass was full to the brim and he took a sip as he turned to head for a corner table. As he licked the foam from his mount, he tucked himself into the bench seat, scooting to the corner facing the door. Some habits never went away. Settling in, he took a larger mouthful of the stout and stretched his legs under the table. There were only a few patrons scattered throughout and a couple of locals chatting at the bar. A middle-aged couple sitting side-by-side, each set of hands slowly turning their glasses as they stared in opposite directions. A group of twenty-somethings that looked to be celebrating a birthday. The low hum of conversation, coupled with the alcohol and recent lack of sleep, worked its own particular magic. He closed his eyes and felt the tension ease, the ever-present knot in his stomach unwind.
He’d only been sitting there a few minutes when he felt it. The small hairs rising on his neck. A slight charge in the atmosphere, like the ozone after a lightning strike. The tension returned in a tidal wave. Behind his glasses, his eyes opened, squinted, then went wide.
“Well it’s about damn time! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Standing before him, holding a large box stuffed with accordion folders and sheaves of paper held together with large clips, was Anya.
His heart stopped, just a little.
Giles quickly scanned the room as he stood, nearly upending the table and surprised that Anya’s unorthodox arrival hadn’t caused any alarm. “Anya? What on earth...”
“Giles, I need your help.” Anya dropped the box on the table, nearly knocking over the glass. She slid into the booth beside him, caught his jacket at the elbow and dragged him back down into the bench. She doesn’t let go. Looking him in the eyes with an intensity that made him flinch slightly, she continued without taking a breath. “I know you’re a silent, overseas partner - which I’m usually quite pleased about what with being in charge of the taking and the counting of the money and not having to worry about your dodgy interpretation of the word *inventory*.” Giles drew a breath to speak, but was run over. “Nonetheless you and I are partners and its just irresponsible of you to be here quaffing alcohol while I deal with city inspectors poking around...”
Not knowing what else to do, Giles leaned in and pressed his fingers to her lips. “Hello Anya,” he said quietly, with a quick smile. “It’s good to see you again. I was just about to get a refill. Can I get you something?” With a slight shrug, she took a breath and he noted with interest the small amulet that dangled into the deep vee of her shirt, brushing the upper curve of her breasts.
“Oh, um...sorry.” She tossed him a small, reproachful grin. “I might be just a tiny bit keyed up. My life is very stressful, you know, with the blowing up of my livelihood and insurance adjusters - not to mention the vengeance gig.” Her eyes light up, as though she had just now registered his question. “Oh, yes...wine. Yes, wine would be good. White wine. That would be nice.” She let go of his arm, and as he headed for the bar her eyes rested on his retreating backside.
He returned, a glass in each hand and a coaster for her drink under his arm. Anya moved the box to her left side as Giles set his glass down, then placed the coaster and her drink in front of her. He slid into his seat. “Now Anya, why don’t you tell me - slowly - what’s happened.”
“Ok.” She took a sip of wine, then began. “Now, you and I both know I am perfectly capable of handling all Magic Box business matters on my own...”
“Agreed.”
“But we aren’t talking a little dust-up like when Olaf tore up the store. This is total destruction. There are contractors and black-hearted insurance adjusters who have made it their life’s missions to keep me from...” She took another sip then looked at him through the glass. “You know, this is very good. What is it?”
“Viognier. From California, oddly enough.”
“Huh.” She finished her wine and extended her hand. “We’re business partners, aren’t we, talking business? A perfectly legitimate tax deduction.” She handed him her glass. “Another? Um...please?”
Giles hailed the waitress and ordered a bottle with an extra glass.
“Where were we?”
“You were telling me about your difficulties with the, er, black-hearted insurance men.”
The waitress arrived with the wine, refilling Anya’s glass, filling Giles’. They each began to drink.
“Oh yes! Black-hearted insurance adjusters who think they don’t have to pay up because they choose to call what happened an *Act of God*. You know they offered to pay only half of what I...” Giles’ eyebrows lifted over his glasses. “Uh, we...we lost. Look at this!” Setting her glass down on the table, she turned to the box beside her and began to rifle through the papers. Target found, she yanked a clipped bundle from the bottom of the stacks. She wet her finger then pushed back the pages until she found the offending letter. “Ha!” she cried. Sliding it from under the clip, she straight-armed it under his nose, stabbing at it with the forefinger of her off hand. “Any damages caused by veiny, over-wrought, vengeance-seeking, hopped up on black magic, out of control witches are considered “Acts of God” and are therefore excluded from coverage!”
He took the paper from her outstretched hand and adjusted his glasses. “They really say hopped up..?”
“Well, no. They go on about earthquakes, blah-blah, land slippage, blah-blah-blah, acts of god, blah-blah-blah-blah. They don’t even specify which God! The bottom line’s the same. They aren’t paying.”
“Anya I am sorry, truly. I’m sure we can...”
“It’s just that, well, there’s just so much to do and you haven’t been around since you took Willow off for her brainwashing...”
“It was rehabilitation, and I know. Again, I apologize.” He leaned in, and took her hand. “These last few weeks must have been very difficult for you.”
She looked down at their hands, his over hers, then up into his eyes. He always had the nicest eyes, she thought. Suddenly nervous, she pulled her hand away. “How is she, by the way?” she asked, betraying nothing.
“Willow? Quite well, all things considered. Feeling a bit anxious about her return to Sunnydale. She’s on a plane as we speak.”
Surprised at the news, Anya refilled her wine glass, “Do you think that’s wise? I mean, without a keeper?”
A small smile played at his lips then disappeared. “I don’t think that will be necessary. She’s a bit shaky, unsure of her control. But I think she’ll persevere.”
A glance toward the bar told Giles the pub was ready to close.
“Anya, what do you say we take this conversation back to my flat?”
She twirled her glass then swallowed down the last few drops. Lovely. “Is there wine there?” He responded with a grin and a nod. And despite the aggravating topic of conversation, she began to feel better.
*******
Fifteen minutes later, Giles inserted his key into the front door lock. Pushing it open, he stepped aside to allow Anya to pass before him. As he walked in behind her, he flicked the switch on the wall. The ensuing light revealed a small sitting room, furnished with many of the pieces he had in Sunnydale. Open books were scattered throughout, on the sofa and the desk in the far corner. Evidence of his recent researches. Guiding Anya to the sofa with a hand to the small of her back, he picked up the books and moved them to the small coffee table, then helped her take a seat. “Wait here. I’ll just go get the wine.”
Alone on the sofa, Anya looked around the small flat. Soothed by the wine, and strangely comforted by the familiar furnishings, she shucked her shoes and settled back into the cushions to wait for his return.
She didn’t wait long. He returned to her with two glasses and an opened bottle. Handing her a glass, he poured the wine - repeating the process for his own. She grabbed the bottle and turned it to read the label. “Not a Viognier, I’m afraid,” he said, ruefully. “We’ll have to settle for a Pinot.” He set the bottle on the coffee table and sat down on the end opposite Anya’s.
“It’ll do in a pinch.” she says, and took her first sip. As she leaned over the coffee table, she looked through the books he’d placed there. ‘Manifestations and Their Meanings’, she read, and asked, “What are you researching?”
“Hmm? Oh. Willow’s been experiencing visions over the last few weeks. The earth with teeth, and such. They clearly point to the Hellmouth, I’m just trying to find something more specific.”
“Oh yeah, that. It’s been a topic of conversation in Arashmaharr for weeks now. D’Hoffryn’s been taking meetings. Slogans are being posted throughout the demon dimensions. “From Beneath You It Devours,” and other nonsense. It’s causing quite a buzz.”
Giles stared into his glass, taken aback by her casual response to what was very probably an impending apocalypse. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes, then looked at her with a glare.
“It seems you’ve rather fully embraced your life as a vengeance demon.” There was sadness in his voice, belying the look.
Anya returned the look, then sighed. “It’s complicated.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushions.
“Explain it to me?” he asked.
For a moment, the silence of the room was broken only by the tick of the clock sitting on the bookcase.
She lifted her head, looking in every direction but his. Then, lowering her eyes, she took a ragged breath. “Xander didn’t want me,” she said simply. “D’Hoffryn did.” Her arms are wrapped around her chest, holding in the hurt.
Giles stood and walked around the coffee table, crouching in front of her. He raised his hand to her amulet and lifted it away from her chest, holding it up to her. “And now?” he asked quietly.
She looked up into his eyes. He saw tears, but they didn’t fall. “I don’t know,” she whispered. She scrubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand and sniffed. “It’s just that nothing’s the same. I don’t fit in Xander’s world anymore. And Hallie says I’m a joke in the demon world.”
Still kneeling, Giles released the amulet and replaced it with her hand. “Hallie being...”
“My best friend in Arashmaharr. Apparently my only friend. She says everyone is calling me ‘Miss Softserve’. That hurts.” She looked at Giles and gave a sheepish grin. “It’s been much harder embracing creative vengeance this time around. I just don’t seem to have the same enthusiasm.”
From his crouch, Giles moved to sit on the sofa beside her. He didn’t let go of her hand.
“Anya, maybe vengeance isn’t what you’re meant for.”
She turned slightly, sought, then found, his arm and began to squeeze. “But that’s just it! I don’t know what I’m meant for. I thought I was meant for vengeance. And I was good, Giles. I was really good. Then ‘poof’ - amulet smashed and no more vengeance. And by the way, don’t think I don’t remember that was your fault!” Startled by this remark, Giles shook his head slightly, and tucked it away for later discussion.
“I thought I was meant to be Mrs Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins Harris. One vengeful, vengeance victim later and I’m standing in a tastefully decorated hall, wearing a dress that made me beautiful, explaining to a hundred drunken humans and pissed off demons that Xander doesn’t want me.” Her voice broke, but she still didn’t cry. Giles lifted his hand, fingertips to her forehead, and rans them softly down her cheek. He moved a stray bit of hair back around her ear. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice nearly inaudible. “You never should have gone through that alone.” He wrapped his arm around her and she rubbed her head into his shoulder, snuggling in.
The room was quiet as they sat huddled together. From the bookcase, the clock struck the hour.
Giles was the first to break the silence. “Anya, my dear, you haven’t answered the question. What do you think you’re meant for? What is it that will make you happy?” A question he’s asked himself more than once over the last couple of years.
She looked up at him without answering. Until now, she’d always just grabbed the first thing that came along. Olaf chose the load-bearing barmaid over her, leaving her hollowed out. She took satisfaction when she turned him into a troll, but it didn’t last and she accepted D’Hoffryn’s invitation. Eleven hundred years of inflicting pustules and flaccid penises, while fun, weren’t enough to fill the void Olaf left in his wake. She’d spent the last three years human and it felt like she’d never left her small village in Sweden. She returned her head to his shoulder and his fingers began to lightly brush against her hair. And after awhile, she figured it out.
************
The alarm clock sufficiently killed, Giles dives back into the pillow. “Christ!” he thinks, as the events of the previous evening re-enter his consciousness. He rolls over and rubs his hand across his chest. A second later, he stops and pulls up the covers, then drops them. Bolting upright, hair spiky from sweat and sleep, his eyes search the room.
“Well it’s about damn time, Honey.”
His heart stops, just a little.
Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed beneath her breasts and wearing nothing but the shirt he’d broken land speed records removing last night, was Anya.
Giles throws himself back into the pillow.
And smiles.
~~~~~
TITLE: Loose Ends
AUTHOR: kimmerwoman
RATING: PG
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Joss may own them, but Giles and Anya are much better off in the hands of caretakers who love them.
SUMMARY: A broken Magic Box won't just fix itself.
It’s the alarm that wakes him, the incessant buzzing driving a dull icepick through one ear and out the other. Face down on the pillow, legs twisted in the sheets, it takes a minute or so for Giles to recognize the sound. Stretching his arm to the bedside table, he gropes for the source of his pain. A small groan escapes his lips, as his fingers locate, then knock over the now screaming clock. Righting it, he smacks the top and blessed silence returns.
After a minute he lifts his head, opens one bleary eye, and then reverses the process. A few more minutes go by before the events that led to his pounding head and slightly queasy stomach come filtering back into his brain.
*****
He’d seen Willow off to Sunnydale the day before; the end of a long, exhausting three months. He’d been intimately involved in her rehabilitation, working magicks with the coven to rid her of the dark energies that threatened to consume her. He’d sat with her through many sleepless nights, talking about her insecurities, her life with Tara and as a Scooby. Researching the visions that had haunted her during her last few weeks in Westbury.
It was nearly dark when Giles pulled up to the curb outside his flat in Bath. Shutting off the motor, he placed his hands on the steering wheel, fingers drumming a tattoo. He cast an eye towards his front door and sighed. Nothing but research was waiting for him inside. He took the keys from the ignition, opened the door. He threw his legs out of the slightly too-small car and, with his butt, slammed it shut. With another quick look towards his flat, he leaned against the vehicle. He wasn’t quite ready to face it. Slipping his keys into his pants pocket, he headed off to the pub for a quick pint.
At the “Sturm and Dragon” he ordered a pint of Guinness, watching the ritualistic pouring, oddly comforted by the familiarity. The glass was full to the brim and he took a sip as he turned to head for a corner table. As he licked the foam from his mount, he tucked himself into the bench seat, scooting to the corner facing the door. Some habits never went away. Settling in, he took a larger mouthful of the stout and stretched his legs under the table. There were only a few patrons scattered throughout and a couple of locals chatting at the bar. A middle-aged couple sitting side-by-side, each set of hands slowly turning their glasses as they stared in opposite directions. A group of twenty-somethings that looked to be celebrating a birthday. The low hum of conversation, coupled with the alcohol and recent lack of sleep, worked its own particular magic. He closed his eyes and felt the tension ease, the ever-present knot in his stomach unwind.
He’d only been sitting there a few minutes when he felt it. The small hairs rising on his neck. A slight charge in the atmosphere, like the ozone after a lightning strike. The tension returned in a tidal wave. Behind his glasses, his eyes opened, squinted, then went wide.
“Well it’s about damn time! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Standing before him, holding a large box stuffed with accordion folders and sheaves of paper held together with large clips, was Anya.
His heart stopped, just a little.
Giles quickly scanned the room as he stood, nearly upending the table and surprised that Anya’s unorthodox arrival hadn’t caused any alarm. “Anya? What on earth...”
“Giles, I need your help.” Anya dropped the box on the table, nearly knocking over the glass. She slid into the booth beside him, caught his jacket at the elbow and dragged him back down into the bench. She doesn’t let go. Looking him in the eyes with an intensity that made him flinch slightly, she continued without taking a breath. “I know you’re a silent, overseas partner - which I’m usually quite pleased about what with being in charge of the taking and the counting of the money and not having to worry about your dodgy interpretation of the word *inventory*.” Giles drew a breath to speak, but was run over. “Nonetheless you and I are partners and its just irresponsible of you to be here quaffing alcohol while I deal with city inspectors poking around...”
Not knowing what else to do, Giles leaned in and pressed his fingers to her lips. “Hello Anya,” he said quietly, with a quick smile. “It’s good to see you again. I was just about to get a refill. Can I get you something?” With a slight shrug, she took a breath and he noted with interest the small amulet that dangled into the deep vee of her shirt, brushing the upper curve of her breasts.
“Oh, um...sorry.” She tossed him a small, reproachful grin. “I might be just a tiny bit keyed up. My life is very stressful, you know, with the blowing up of my livelihood and insurance adjusters - not to mention the vengeance gig.” Her eyes light up, as though she had just now registered his question. “Oh, yes...wine. Yes, wine would be good. White wine. That would be nice.” She let go of his arm, and as he headed for the bar her eyes rested on his retreating backside.
He returned, a glass in each hand and a coaster for her drink under his arm. Anya moved the box to her left side as Giles set his glass down, then placed the coaster and her drink in front of her. He slid into his seat. “Now Anya, why don’t you tell me - slowly - what’s happened.”
“Ok.” She took a sip of wine, then began. “Now, you and I both know I am perfectly capable of handling all Magic Box business matters on my own...”
“Agreed.”
“But we aren’t talking a little dust-up like when Olaf tore up the store. This is total destruction. There are contractors and black-hearted insurance adjusters who have made it their life’s missions to keep me from...” She took another sip then looked at him through the glass. “You know, this is very good. What is it?”
“Viognier. From California, oddly enough.”
“Huh.” She finished her wine and extended her hand. “We’re business partners, aren’t we, talking business? A perfectly legitimate tax deduction.” She handed him her glass. “Another? Um...please?”
Giles hailed the waitress and ordered a bottle with an extra glass.
“Where were we?”
“You were telling me about your difficulties with the, er, black-hearted insurance men.”
The waitress arrived with the wine, refilling Anya’s glass, filling Giles’. They each began to drink.
“Oh yes! Black-hearted insurance adjusters who think they don’t have to pay up because they choose to call what happened an *Act of God*. You know they offered to pay only half of what I...” Giles’ eyebrows lifted over his glasses. “Uh, we...we lost. Look at this!” Setting her glass down on the table, she turned to the box beside her and began to rifle through the papers. Target found, she yanked a clipped bundle from the bottom of the stacks. She wet her finger then pushed back the pages until she found the offending letter. “Ha!” she cried. Sliding it from under the clip, she straight-armed it under his nose, stabbing at it with the forefinger of her off hand. “Any damages caused by veiny, over-wrought, vengeance-seeking, hopped up on black magic, out of control witches are considered “Acts of God” and are therefore excluded from coverage!”
He took the paper from her outstretched hand and adjusted his glasses. “They really say hopped up..?”
“Well, no. They go on about earthquakes, blah-blah, land slippage, blah-blah-blah, acts of god, blah-blah-blah-blah. They don’t even specify which God! The bottom line’s the same. They aren’t paying.”
“Anya I am sorry, truly. I’m sure we can...”
“It’s just that, well, there’s just so much to do and you haven’t been around since you took Willow off for her brainwashing...”
“It was rehabilitation, and I know. Again, I apologize.” He leaned in, and took her hand. “These last few weeks must have been very difficult for you.”
She looked down at their hands, his over hers, then up into his eyes. He always had the nicest eyes, she thought. Suddenly nervous, she pulled her hand away. “How is she, by the way?” she asked, betraying nothing.
“Willow? Quite well, all things considered. Feeling a bit anxious about her return to Sunnydale. She’s on a plane as we speak.”
Surprised at the news, Anya refilled her wine glass, “Do you think that’s wise? I mean, without a keeper?”
A small smile played at his lips then disappeared. “I don’t think that will be necessary. She’s a bit shaky, unsure of her control. But I think she’ll persevere.”
A glance toward the bar told Giles the pub was ready to close.
“Anya, what do you say we take this conversation back to my flat?”
She twirled her glass then swallowed down the last few drops. Lovely. “Is there wine there?” He responded with a grin and a nod. And despite the aggravating topic of conversation, she began to feel better.
*******
Fifteen minutes later, Giles inserted his key into the front door lock. Pushing it open, he stepped aside to allow Anya to pass before him. As he walked in behind her, he flicked the switch on the wall. The ensuing light revealed a small sitting room, furnished with many of the pieces he had in Sunnydale. Open books were scattered throughout, on the sofa and the desk in the far corner. Evidence of his recent researches. Guiding Anya to the sofa with a hand to the small of her back, he picked up the books and moved them to the small coffee table, then helped her take a seat. “Wait here. I’ll just go get the wine.”
Alone on the sofa, Anya looked around the small flat. Soothed by the wine, and strangely comforted by the familiar furnishings, she shucked her shoes and settled back into the cushions to wait for his return.
She didn’t wait long. He returned to her with two glasses and an opened bottle. Handing her a glass, he poured the wine - repeating the process for his own. She grabbed the bottle and turned it to read the label. “Not a Viognier, I’m afraid,” he said, ruefully. “We’ll have to settle for a Pinot.” He set the bottle on the coffee table and sat down on the end opposite Anya’s.
“It’ll do in a pinch.” she says, and took her first sip. As she leaned over the coffee table, she looked through the books he’d placed there. ‘Manifestations and Their Meanings’, she read, and asked, “What are you researching?”
“Hmm? Oh. Willow’s been experiencing visions over the last few weeks. The earth with teeth, and such. They clearly point to the Hellmouth, I’m just trying to find something more specific.”
“Oh yeah, that. It’s been a topic of conversation in Arashmaharr for weeks now. D’Hoffryn’s been taking meetings. Slogans are being posted throughout the demon dimensions. “From Beneath You It Devours,” and other nonsense. It’s causing quite a buzz.”
Giles stared into his glass, taken aback by her casual response to what was very probably an impending apocalypse. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes, then looked at her with a glare.
“It seems you’ve rather fully embraced your life as a vengeance demon.” There was sadness in his voice, belying the look.
Anya returned the look, then sighed. “It’s complicated.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushions.
“Explain it to me?” he asked.
For a moment, the silence of the room was broken only by the tick of the clock sitting on the bookcase.
She lifted her head, looking in every direction but his. Then, lowering her eyes, she took a ragged breath. “Xander didn’t want me,” she said simply. “D’Hoffryn did.” Her arms are wrapped around her chest, holding in the hurt.
Giles stood and walked around the coffee table, crouching in front of her. He raised his hand to her amulet and lifted it away from her chest, holding it up to her. “And now?” he asked quietly.
She looked up into his eyes. He saw tears, but they didn’t fall. “I don’t know,” she whispered. She scrubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand and sniffed. “It’s just that nothing’s the same. I don’t fit in Xander’s world anymore. And Hallie says I’m a joke in the demon world.”
Still kneeling, Giles released the amulet and replaced it with her hand. “Hallie being...”
“My best friend in Arashmaharr. Apparently my only friend. She says everyone is calling me ‘Miss Softserve’. That hurts.” She looked at Giles and gave a sheepish grin. “It’s been much harder embracing creative vengeance this time around. I just don’t seem to have the same enthusiasm.”
From his crouch, Giles moved to sit on the sofa beside her. He didn’t let go of her hand.
“Anya, maybe vengeance isn’t what you’re meant for.”
She turned slightly, sought, then found, his arm and began to squeeze. “But that’s just it! I don’t know what I’m meant for. I thought I was meant for vengeance. And I was good, Giles. I was really good. Then ‘poof’ - amulet smashed and no more vengeance. And by the way, don’t think I don’t remember that was your fault!” Startled by this remark, Giles shook his head slightly, and tucked it away for later discussion.
“I thought I was meant to be Mrs Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins Harris. One vengeful, vengeance victim later and I’m standing in a tastefully decorated hall, wearing a dress that made me beautiful, explaining to a hundred drunken humans and pissed off demons that Xander doesn’t want me.” Her voice broke, but she still didn’t cry. Giles lifted his hand, fingertips to her forehead, and rans them softly down her cheek. He moved a stray bit of hair back around her ear. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice nearly inaudible. “You never should have gone through that alone.” He wrapped his arm around her and she rubbed her head into his shoulder, snuggling in.
The room was quiet as they sat huddled together. From the bookcase, the clock struck the hour.
Giles was the first to break the silence. “Anya, my dear, you haven’t answered the question. What do you think you’re meant for? What is it that will make you happy?” A question he’s asked himself more than once over the last couple of years.
She looked up at him without answering. Until now, she’d always just grabbed the first thing that came along. Olaf chose the load-bearing barmaid over her, leaving her hollowed out. She took satisfaction when she turned him into a troll, but it didn’t last and she accepted D’Hoffryn’s invitation. Eleven hundred years of inflicting pustules and flaccid penises, while fun, weren’t enough to fill the void Olaf left in his wake. She’d spent the last three years human and it felt like she’d never left her small village in Sweden. She returned her head to his shoulder and his fingers began to lightly brush against her hair. And after awhile, she figured it out.
************
The alarm clock sufficiently killed, Giles dives back into the pillow. “Christ!” he thinks, as the events of the previous evening re-enter his consciousness. He rolls over and rubs his hand across his chest. A second later, he stops and pulls up the covers, then drops them. Bolting upright, hair spiky from sweat and sleep, his eyes search the room.
“Well it’s about damn time, Honey.”
His heart stops, just a little.
Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed beneath her breasts and wearing nothing but the shirt he’d broken land speed records removing last night, was Anya.
Giles throws himself back into the pillow.
And smiles.
~~~~~