Fic : Mexican Tea
Title: Mexican Tea
Author: theoreme
Pairing: Giles/Anya
Rating: FRT
Warnings : a bit of profanity
Summary: Anya had been preparing a speech for Giles. It just wasn’t what she finally said.
Length: 1696
Timeline: Season 7
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, alas.
Note: If someone is interested in beta-ing this fic, please do.
For ljs , the best Giles/Anya author there is. Thank you for your fics.
He knew he had bought tea the last time he was in Sunnydale. He didn’t even try to store biscuits up anymore, because he couldn’t bear to hear Andrew It-wasn’t-me-it-was-an-starved-hobbit explanation again -and how old did they think he was? Not wait, he didn’t want to know. Still, a man had to draw the line somewhere and for a man such as Rupert Giles, it was when he couldn’t even make himself a bloody cup of tea after escaping from death by Harbingers and suffocation by airports crowds. It was the third tea tin disappearing this month and he was -again- on his knees on the kitchen’s floor, forced to rummage through every cupboard, trying to locate it. Where was his sodding tea?
The precious object suddenly appeared in front of his tired eyes. Someone was holding it- small hands, feminine, nails cut short and not polished. He knew those hands; she didn’t use nail polish because it could interact with shop products. However, his overtired brain could not do very much other than command his head to look up; deductions required at least one sip of the pot he still hadn’t made. His eyes took on the female form in front of him. Slender, beaming and lovely- Anya. Ex-fierce demon, ex-sparkling shopkeeper, ex-brief lovely fiancé. How he missed the time spend with her in their shop.
“Are you looking for your tea can, Giles? I’ve hidden it in a secret place while you we were away saving more Potentials of a quick death in order to bring them here to endure agonizing fear and endless despair.”
He knew he should have said something about terrified girls and the cruelty of bluntness, but at the moment, he honestly didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that she had saved him from the infamy and horror of teabags.
“Bless you, Anya. Would you, please?”
“Help you imbibe your body and brain with caffeine while you are trying not to fall asleep on the seat you’re going to take right now?”
“Oh, thank god, yes.”
Giles tried to seat down as slowly as he could, hoping to save the remaining shreds of his dignity. To slump down in a chair in front of a lady he had kissed, no matter how magically it was induced, would have generations of Giles gentlemen rolling in their graves. And angry ancestors weren’t something one laughed about on the Hellmouth, especially when the First Evil was around emulating corpses. Giles could imagine it taking the form of his great-uncle Harold in order to gleefully lecture him about the importance of being well-mannered in front of the ladies. Oh the shame it would be.
“Giles, Giles!”
“Hmm?”
“Your tea is ready.”
“Sorry, I was a bit lost in my thoughts. Metaphorically lost, don’t worry.”
Anya was the only one he trusted to make his tea exactly the way he liked it. Buffy’s was quite good, Willow’s passable but too weak, Dawn’s overly sweet and Xander’s a disaster so horrifying that he was sure his friend had invented a new beverage entirely. Andrew was on strict order to not even touch the teapot and Giles was never going to drink any cup of tea prepared by Spike ever again- metallic flavours belonged exclusively to blood, as far as he was concerned.
But Anya’s... Giles happily smelled his cup even before tasting it. The first sip was heavenly. Giles felt his brain starting to function again, his body succeeded in sitting straight and his vision finally cleared.
Anya was sitting in front of him and Giles, with his new tea-improved eyesight, could see that she was lovely as ever. However, she seemed to be distracted, frowning and biting her soft -don’t even think about it, old man- and warm -I said no!- lips.
“What is it, Anya?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all! Everything is fine!”
“Anya, I know when you want to say something and you’re not sure how it will be received. You had the same expression on your face the day you explained to me how I had managed to send two fertility statues to a monastery and not the blessed pewter angels they had bought by mail order.”
“Well, it was embarrassing. Especially with-“
“I remember my mistake, believe me, excruciatingly well. That said, Anya, what is it?”
She was still frowning and had started to bite these delici -no, don’t- lips again. She finally took a deep breath, which was an indication that he was not going to like whatever she was about to tell him- or not understand it immediately, which would chagrin him even more.
“How do you feel about the French people? Do they bother you?” He had known it; this conversation was going to require a higher level of brain activity. He drank half his cup in one gulp. His neurones sprang into action and his sense of humour cheerfully announced to his self that it was still alive.
“How do I feel about the French? I’m not sure that I can give you an unbiased opinion here, as I am English. Every well-educated person in my country will automatically think about Crecy and Agincourt, Trafalgar and Waterloo and start sniggering- even if one tries to keep one’s composure, because mocking battered and well-defeated enemies is petty and undignified. But then, people offering the fine bottles of Saint-Emilion and Chablis wine and some of the greatest masterpieces in art and literature to the world must have some redeeming qualities, one hopes.”
“What about the Italians? Do you think they are nice people?”
“Since I’ve only arrived today from an dangerous and painful trip in the Latium region, where I was nearly killed by local vampires and suffered from an indigestion of pasta, it’s safe to say that I love the country but would prefer to go back there when I’m no longer in mortal danger nor in the sole company of frightened teenagers. I still haven’t seen Lorenzetti’s frescoes in Siena, you know.”
“And what about the Indians? Ho do you feel about your ex-colonies?”
“Anya, for God’s sake, I’ve been living for years in a former colony! Moreover, I’m tired, I’m suffering from jetlag and over-exposure to teenage issues, and my back aches painfully, so please tell me why you are so keen to determine which nations I like?”
“It’s just...”
She was taking an even deeper breath than before; Giles used this small respite to finish his cup of tea before bracing herself.
“It’s just that I didn’t know how to ask and I’ve been human long enough now to understand that I couldn’t act like I did last time with Xander. I asked Dawn and she said she remembered Buffy’s advice to her when she was younger, but it wasn’t really helpful. I mean, a thing can mean anything and you could believe that I ask you to let me borrow a toaster or a dagger, because these are things, and saying that I have a thing could also mean anything and it could even seem lewd in a old-man-in-a-trench-coat-way and those are creeps, I’m telling you. Then, I was to ask about Mexicans, but once again, why? I mean, you’re European, English even, and you drool over Celtic artefacts and Latin books. Mexicans might be nice people but they certainly don’t seem to be your preferred cultural or historical or ethnographical area of interest-”
During her monologue, Giles felt several thoughts cross his brain. He firstly addressed a note to himself to check the contents of the tin, then he tore said mental note when he realised that the stuff was so good he could understand subtext, text and context of Anya’s soliloquy, and at the same time a tiny thought whined that he didn’t drool over artefacts, he merely appreciated them. But the major part of his brain was feeling elated and happy at what Anya was saying. Of course, she wasn’t going to stop talking because she never did when she was ranting, at least not until she started to have difficulty breathing. Therefore, Giles had all the time in the world to get his exhausted body to get up and walk towards her. Anya’s speech was finally stopped when he kissed the lips that had been the centre of his preoccupations for days, especially when he wasn’t running for his life.
“Anya, darling, I agree with all you have said. And, since you were so courageous to take the first step, I must be a gentleman and now propose you a course of actions. I would be very happy if you consented to leave this house with me, drive us to this lovely Thai take-away we both like, allow me to pay this time without splitting the bill, and finally drive us back to your flat. I will even try to stay conscious during our dinner. And at the end of this enjoyable evening, I will ask you to allow me to sleep in your arms for the night, which would make me an even happier man. I’m afraid it would be in a very literal sense, but I promise that when we woke up tomorrow morning, a more metaphorical sense could be considered.”
This time, Anya was the one silencing him with a kiss.
“I’m very happy with the way you think, Rupert.” Giles felt obliged to recompense her use of his first name with another kiss. “I suggest you take all your bags before we go, it would be stupid to disperse them in two places. And don’t forget the tea can; I’ve been trying to use it to get you alone in this kitchen for far too long.”
“Tea leaves manipulation, darling?”
“Correct estimation of the time you were prepared to stay alone in this kitchen, after having scared everyone else by your tea-deprived temper, in order to look for an object that wasn’t even in its place anymore.”
“You had it all this time?”
“I was just waiting for you to find out. Of course, I had to put it before your eyes but it worked well, didn’t it?”
“That it did, love, that it did.”