Fic: A Little TLC Goes a Long Way
I believe it's still the 10th of June somewhere in the world ::clings to PST::
Title: A Little TLC Goes a Long Way
Author: lillianmorgan
Rating: G
Characters: Giles, Spike, Xander, Willow
Setting: early Season 4, post-Something Blue though not any episode specific
Disclaimer: I don’t own Joss’ or ME’s toys.
A/N: Written for headrush100’s Giles H/C ficathon. Please do go and check out the other stories! :)
Not beta-ed due to my rather disorganised, disgruntled feelings of late. So I'd be grateful if you see something wrong to point it out - though be gentle with me.
I chose the words of musician, performance, inheritance, drunk, Latin and had to incorporate them somehow.
As far as h/c goes … um yeah.
A Little TLC Goes a Long Way
There was a loud thumping that insisted on waking him up and came from somewhere surrounding the environs of Giles’ head. He couldn’t confirm that this was an inner cacophony - a dance of merry death created by his searing hangover - or whether it was someone else banging away. But it was with an unpleasant certainty he realised that he had to open his eyes in order to discern what it was.
Sighing, he did so. The room tipped and he rather regretted that.
“Oi!” came a loud and prolonged Spike-like voice from downstairs, together with a performance of clattering iron. Giles opened his eyes again and swung his legs from the bed. So far, so good.
The walk down the stairs was rather hazardous, unmanly clinging to the banister notwithstanding (and why did his flat have to be Spanish villa style, which was all very nice to look at but very perturbing when one was descending a twisting staircase ever so slightly hungover).
He walked into the bathroom, where Spike was still bodily chained up but sadly not mouthily muzzled.
“Yes? What is all the hullabaloo in aid of now?” asked Giles, trying to hide the weariness from his voice.
Spike looked him up and down, somehow managing to look disgusted and unsettlingly interested concurrently. It made Giles want to wrap his arms around his body. At the very least, he closed the gaping hole that his dressing gown had formed by tightening the belt. Spike merely smirked.
“Didn’t you hear the knocking?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I was just on my way down to find out what it was.”
Spike arched an eyebrow. “Far be it from me to invite your temper, but you took your time.” He cleared his throat. “Well hadn’t you better answer the door then?”
The knocking sounded again and Giles tutted and turned on his heel. Opening his front door, revealed a blindingly bright Californian mid-morning sun that did a magnificent job of scalding his eyes. As well as Willow and Xander.
“Oh hi Giles,” Willow said breathily. She smiled a full smile that told him she was terribly embarrassed to be there. Xander bit his lip.
“Well, hello you two. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“And a mighty yo-ho-ho to that,” said Xander, stepping over the threshold. “You know, I was all ready to leave but Willow said that we absolutely had to wait for you to answer the door. For like ten minutes.”
Willow shuffled across the front door mat. “It’s not like we see you every day, Giles. Anything could have happened. It’s important that we keep up with each other. You know. I mean you’re not Buffy’s Watcher but you’re still … important.”
“Quite.”
“More like the Watcher was incompus mentus from imbibing too much Laphroaig!” shouted Spike.
“Speak American if you’re going to say anything at all, Captain Peroxide,” said Xander as he made his way to the bathroom. Giles turned back to Willow who was still waiting to be invited in.
“Do come in Willow. I’m afraid I’m not at my best today. Got a touch of the flu,” Giles said, reaching for his glasses that he discovered instantly were not on his face. Willow’s eyes opened even further as she watched him.
“Thanks, Giles. You do look different today.” She glanced down at his frayed dressing gown and slippered feet. “Non-librariany.” Her eyes flew to his face, and a blush painted her cheeks. “Ah. It suits you!”
“What was it that you two wanted? Not that I’m unhappy to see you, of course. But once or twice I’ve heard of an invention called the telephone. I believed it’s used to announce arrivals.” He ushered Willow into the lounge and they sat down. The thump in his head increased its velocity and noise and he winced.
“Just wanted to say hi, Giles,” Willow asserted, her face crinkling into a worried frown.
Xander returned from the bathroom. “I’ve shut him up for a while.”
Giles chose not to interpret that further, instead raised his hand to his head in an effort to calm his headache. Xander continued, “Though if I’ve learned one thing from my family’s inheritance, Spike’s suggestion of hair of the dog is so not a good one. Soup, maybe. Or tea. Rest as well.”
“Giles has the flu, Xander,” Willow sought fit to correct.
Xander stood in front of Willow and looked uncommonly flustered. “We should get going then, Wills.”
“But Xander. We came around to see how Giles was. It’d be rude. And besides he’s not well. He needs someone to take care of him. Especially when we’re all he has.” A silent battle of something passed between them, and Giles could appreciate there was more to their visit than a friendly hello. He felt a bit insulted by their heavy-handed interpretation of his situation, but that was nothing especially new.
“Fine,” Xander bit out. “But we’re making soup. And you,” he said, finger jabbing toward Giles, “need to put your feet up.”
Willow scurried after Xander into the kitchen and they began banging pots and cupboard doors.
Deciding to make the best of the situation, Giles stretched his legs on the couch, reached for a magazine and cried out, “A cold flannel would be nice too.”
Xander walked out and handed him a glass of water and two aspirin tablets. “You’re hungover, Giles. Plain and simple. Don’t push your luck.”
He turned, pressing his lips together holding back the laughter, and walked back to the kitchen.
As Giles laid back and read about Roger Daltrey’s latest endeavours, and waited for his soup, he decided it was rather nice to be waited on. Even if their bedside manner left something to be desired.
Finis
Title: A Little TLC Goes a Long Way
Author: lillianmorgan
Rating: G
Characters: Giles, Spike, Xander, Willow
Setting: early Season 4, post-Something Blue though not any episode specific
Disclaimer: I don’t own Joss’ or ME’s toys.
A/N: Written for headrush100’s Giles H/C ficathon. Please do go and check out the other stories! :)
Not beta-ed due to my rather disorganised, disgruntled feelings of late. So I'd be grateful if you see something wrong to point it out - though be gentle with me.
I chose the words of musician, performance, inheritance, drunk, Latin and had to incorporate them somehow.
As far as h/c goes … um yeah.
A Little TLC Goes a Long Way
There was a loud thumping that insisted on waking him up and came from somewhere surrounding the environs of Giles’ head. He couldn’t confirm that this was an inner cacophony - a dance of merry death created by his searing hangover - or whether it was someone else banging away. But it was with an unpleasant certainty he realised that he had to open his eyes in order to discern what it was.
Sighing, he did so. The room tipped and he rather regretted that.
“Oi!” came a loud and prolonged Spike-like voice from downstairs, together with a performance of clattering iron. Giles opened his eyes again and swung his legs from the bed. So far, so good.
The walk down the stairs was rather hazardous, unmanly clinging to the banister notwithstanding (and why did his flat have to be Spanish villa style, which was all very nice to look at but very perturbing when one was descending a twisting staircase ever so slightly hungover).
He walked into the bathroom, where Spike was still bodily chained up but sadly not mouthily muzzled.
“Yes? What is all the hullabaloo in aid of now?” asked Giles, trying to hide the weariness from his voice.
Spike looked him up and down, somehow managing to look disgusted and unsettlingly interested concurrently. It made Giles want to wrap his arms around his body. At the very least, he closed the gaping hole that his dressing gown had formed by tightening the belt. Spike merely smirked.
“Didn’t you hear the knocking?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I was just on my way down to find out what it was.”
Spike arched an eyebrow. “Far be it from me to invite your temper, but you took your time.” He cleared his throat. “Well hadn’t you better answer the door then?”
The knocking sounded again and Giles tutted and turned on his heel. Opening his front door, revealed a blindingly bright Californian mid-morning sun that did a magnificent job of scalding his eyes. As well as Willow and Xander.
“Oh hi Giles,” Willow said breathily. She smiled a full smile that told him she was terribly embarrassed to be there. Xander bit his lip.
“Well, hello you two. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“And a mighty yo-ho-ho to that,” said Xander, stepping over the threshold. “You know, I was all ready to leave but Willow said that we absolutely had to wait for you to answer the door. For like ten minutes.”
Willow shuffled across the front door mat. “It’s not like we see you every day, Giles. Anything could have happened. It’s important that we keep up with each other. You know. I mean you’re not Buffy’s Watcher but you’re still … important.”
“Quite.”
“More like the Watcher was incompus mentus from imbibing too much Laphroaig!” shouted Spike.
“Speak American if you’re going to say anything at all, Captain Peroxide,” said Xander as he made his way to the bathroom. Giles turned back to Willow who was still waiting to be invited in.
“Do come in Willow. I’m afraid I’m not at my best today. Got a touch of the flu,” Giles said, reaching for his glasses that he discovered instantly were not on his face. Willow’s eyes opened even further as she watched him.
“Thanks, Giles. You do look different today.” She glanced down at his frayed dressing gown and slippered feet. “Non-librariany.” Her eyes flew to his face, and a blush painted her cheeks. “Ah. It suits you!”
“What was it that you two wanted? Not that I’m unhappy to see you, of course. But once or twice I’ve heard of an invention called the telephone. I believed it’s used to announce arrivals.” He ushered Willow into the lounge and they sat down. The thump in his head increased its velocity and noise and he winced.
“Just wanted to say hi, Giles,” Willow asserted, her face crinkling into a worried frown.
Xander returned from the bathroom. “I’ve shut him up for a while.”
Giles chose not to interpret that further, instead raised his hand to his head in an effort to calm his headache. Xander continued, “Though if I’ve learned one thing from my family’s inheritance, Spike’s suggestion of hair of the dog is so not a good one. Soup, maybe. Or tea. Rest as well.”
“Giles has the flu, Xander,” Willow sought fit to correct.
Xander stood in front of Willow and looked uncommonly flustered. “We should get going then, Wills.”
“But Xander. We came around to see how Giles was. It’d be rude. And besides he’s not well. He needs someone to take care of him. Especially when we’re all he has.” A silent battle of something passed between them, and Giles could appreciate there was more to their visit than a friendly hello. He felt a bit insulted by their heavy-handed interpretation of his situation, but that was nothing especially new.
“Fine,” Xander bit out. “But we’re making soup. And you,” he said, finger jabbing toward Giles, “need to put your feet up.”
Willow scurried after Xander into the kitchen and they began banging pots and cupboard doors.
Deciding to make the best of the situation, Giles stretched his legs on the couch, reached for a magazine and cried out, “A cold flannel would be nice too.”
Xander walked out and handed him a glass of water and two aspirin tablets. “You’re hungover, Giles. Plain and simple. Don’t push your luck.”
He turned, pressing his lips together holding back the laughter, and walked back to the kitchen.
As Giles laid back and read about Roger Daltrey’s latest endeavours, and waited for his soup, he decided it was rather nice to be waited on. Even if their bedside manner left something to be desired.
Finis