FIC: Ain't No Sunshine (Part 2/?)
What: BtVS fanfic
Posted in: Summer of Giles 2012
Pairing: Faith & Giles
Rating: PG, FRT
Setting: Post "Chosen," no comics. Any similarity to the comics is coincidence as I haven't read them, though I have read some synopses of them online.
Disclaimer: I own nothing in the BtVS universe and no one pays me for my fan fiction either (sadly).
Summary: Sometime after Sunnydale imploded, Faith has left Cleveland and Robin and come to England to find Giles. Giles has been working to rebuild the Council, and Faith is hoping she can be of some help to him.
Note: Recommend you read Part 1 first.
Faith retrieved Giles’ guitar from the hallway, brought it inside, and shut and locked the door, hoping his neighbour would be satisfied and leave them alone. Faith really didn’t want to deal with cops tonight. Though, she mused, it was generally pretty enjoyable to take them down a peg or two. She smacked her fist into the palm of her opposite hand, enjoying the stinging sensation this caused, and smiled to herself -- they always underestimated her.
She took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders to loosen them up a bit. She realized she was feeling a bit wired. Maybe she would go on a quick patrol to burn off some energy. It’s not like Giles would be up keeping her entertained any time soon.
She ran her eyes over the length of Giles stretched out on his couch, on his stomach, out cold. She wasn’t really the nurturing type, but she figured he’d be more comfortable if she took off his coat, shoes, and glasses. He didn’t even wake up a little as she removed his clothing and specs.
“I could do anything I want to you, and you’d never even notice,” she whispered wickedly in his ear, grinning. Sigh. The thought was fun, but she wasn’t here to mess with him. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was here, and what she wanted from Giles, but she knew she didn’t want to start things off on the wrong foot by playing some petty prank on him. No matter how tempting the opportunity was, she chuckled.
She took in her surroundings then. Maybe it was a slayer thing, maybe it was a Faith thing, but she immediately identified a multitude of possible household items that could be used as potential weapons, and a variety of possible escape routes.
Then she began to notice other things, and some of the questions that had been bubbling up since she encountered Giles tonight resurfaced. She found several open bottles of whisky around the apartment, as well as a bunch of empties -- both beer and whisky bottles. She opened the fridge and found it stocked pretty well with more booze, and less food. “Pretty clear theme here G,” she said softly, “and it does’t look like a party. It kind of looks like a guy who’s decided to drink himself to death.”
She regarded Buffy’s old man again. He looked like the same old Giles, didn’t he? What could be happening in his life to cause this behaviour? Dude always seemed like a rock -- if any person was a steady, reliable type, it was G. So, wtf was going on?
Well, she wasn’t going to find out from Giles tonight, that was for sure. Not that he would be likely to open up to her anyway.
She slid Giles’ keys into her jeans pocket and stepped out quietly into the hallway, locking the door behind her. She decided to make a quick stop back at the pub she had found Giles at tonight before checking out the neighbourhood.
Faith sidled confidently into the pub she’d vacated with Giles only a short while ago. She surveyed the room. The stool Giles had sat on to perform was gone. There was no sign of the small disturbance they’d caused earlier. There were just a handful of patrons in the bar, and no one looked up to see who had come in. She spied the bartender and walked up to give him a piece of her mind. He surprised her by pulling her a pint and asking if she’d gotten Giles home alright.
“What do you care?” she asked contemptuously, eyeing the beer, “You ever heard of cutting someone off? Isn’t that your job?” Faith was angry and wanted answers, and this guy was as good as anyone to take her frustration out on. What would have happened to G if she hadn’t been here tonight?
“I didn’t serve him anything tonight,” the bartender answered. She cocked her head to the side, and looked him up and down. She didn’t get the sense this guy was lying, but... come on.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, taking a seat at the bar and drinking half the beer in one go -- she wasn’t walking away from another tonight, and she didn’t plan to be here long.
The bartender shrugged. “He came in here already plastered. If he wasn’t a regular I would have probably had to kick him out. But, he never really bothers anyone. In fact, people seem to enjoy his playing. Really, even tonight, at his worst, all he did was knock over a stool. Could be a lot worse,” the bartender shrugged again. The look of surprise and confusion on Faith’s face must have peaked his interest, and he asked in a practiced neutral tone, “You know him well?”
“We go way back. I came from the states to see him,” Faith answered distractedly, still trying to figure out what was going on with G. The bartender nodded at her, but Faith wasn’t looking at him. She was lost in her own thoughts. She’d never really been the thinking type, so it didn’t come easy for her to play Sherlock. But there was no vamp here to stake, no demon to kill -- at least, not yet -- so, she had to play this one differently. She took another swig.
She’d seen the evidence in Giles’ apartment and knew that G had enough booze at home to have gotten that loaded. But she had assumed it was warm-up booze -- that he’d had a few drinks at home, then he’d gone out to socialize and keep drinking. She knew how that could easily get out of hand when you were having a good time with friends. Not that she had many, or any, real friends herself that she’d partied with like that, but, she’d seen it in movies or on TV. Or heard about it or something.
She thought G had just overdone it tonight. Happened to the best of us. And who was she to judge if he liked to knock a few back everyday? So the fuck what? Drinking isn’t a crime. So yeah, she’d had a momentary wiggins back at Giles’ place when she’d seen all the empties... but, she’d grown up around drunks. His place wasn’t that bad, it had just surprised her because it was Giles. She’d thought for a moment that maybe he was planning to drink himself to death. But what had made her think that? Some kind of intuition? Or just a random thought that she was putting too much stock into now?
She growled in frustration and stood up from the stool to pace a bit. She hated trying to think this stuff out! It was giving her a headache. Give me something to punch, she thought.
“Who does he usually hang out with when he’s here?” she asked the bartender, pausing in her restless walking. She scanned the bar again. Faith thought maybe she’d talk to some of Giles’ buddies to get the scoop on what was up with the Watcher.
The bartender shook his head in negation. “He’s been coming in here at least a few times a week for the past... oh say, 6 months or so, but he always comes alone, sits alone if he drinks here, and usually leaves alone.”
Faith frowned. Sure, in the time she’d known Giles, she couldn’t really remember him having any friends outside of the Sunnydale gang of usual suspects, but she just assumed when he moved back to his mother-land he’d have some old friends, or make some new ones. B and her scoobies had sucked up all his time in California, probably messing up any outside relationships he’d tried to have. But here he’d be more free.
She considered herself something of a lone wolf, but knew that wasn’t the way most people functioned. She had slotted G in the ‘normal’ category in her mind, and normals have friends. Just like normals drink socially with co-workers and friends. It seemed like the image she’d had of Giles in her mind wasn’t matching up right with the information she was getting.
Something clicked then, and Faith narrowed her eyes at the bartender. “You said usually? He usually leaves alone? What do you mean by that?” Faith asked.
The barkeep shrugged again, looking slightly uncomfortable and apprehensive for the first time since Faith had come in. He deftly moved any glass off of the bar that was between himself and Faith. He really didn’t want to get involved in a lovers’ spat, if that’s what this was. He stepped back from the bar slightly, attempting to distance himself physically from Faith and watched her face closely for signs of jealousy when he said, “At first, sometimes he’d leave with a woman.” He winced slightly, worried this might be the thing she’d feared to hear, and perhaps the wrath of a woman scorned was about to be unleashed on his bar. He’d seen how strong this chick was, despite her size, when she’d held up Giles as if he were light as a feather.
The lack of reaction from Faith at this news relaxed the bartender. Okay, maybe they were just friends then, he thought, or it’s some kind of open-relationship. He decided to continue, “But not in the past 3 or 4 months. He started coming by more often then, nearly every day after work. But he stopped paying attention to the local tail. Then, maybe a month and a half ago, he came in with his guitar and asked me if he could play.” The bartender gestured around the pub. “As you can see, we aren’t really set up for performances. We never offer entertainment here. I mean, there’s the TV’s, but that’s it.”
“So, you agreed to let him play? Why?” Faith asked.
His shoulders twitched in a slight shrug. “Meh, it was a slow night. I thought, what the fuck? Turned out, he was really good, and it added a bit of atmosphere to liven the place up.”
Faith was looking at him expectantly, so he continued, “So, then he started coming around regularly to play. Usually, he comes in, plays a few songs, then goes home. Tonight’s the worst I’ve seen him though. He’s often drunk, or at least ‘feeling good’, but I’ve never seen him quite that bad,” the bartender said.
Faith downed the last of her beer, and was about to thank the bartender for his time and leave, when he looked up thoughtfully and mused, “He usually plays more to the audience, what audience there is, but tonight it was like he was playing just for himself. Or some chick he’s missing I guess.” He seemed to realize what he’d said then, and gave Faith a sidelong glance, still looking for signs of jealously. He was mildly curious about the relationship his drunk crooner had with this young firebrand.
“Yeah,” Faith replied, deep in thought. “Hey thanks for the info. And the beer.” She half-smiled at the bartender and left the pub to step out to the thickening fog. Who were you singing about G? she wondered.
Faith patrolled for about an hour, circling Giles’ apartment in an ever-widening radius. She never encountered anything of interest, but the exercise had relieved some of her restlessness regardless, and she had a better feel for her surroundings. She returned to Giles’ apartment building, and entered more quietly than last time.
She locked his door and threw the keys on the table. Giles was pretty quiet, which unnerved her a bit. She rolled him slightly and checked to make sure he was breathing and hadn’t choked on his own vomit or something. Five by five. Good.
She kicked her shoes off and left them by the door. Faith poured herself a whiskey and took a sip, enjoying the smooth taste. “You must get the good stuff G, it doesn’t burn like the cheap-ass crap I’m used to.”
She straightened up Giles’ flat a bit, hanging hers and Giles’ jackets on the kitchen chairs, putting dishes in the sink, and empties in a pile. She sat on the chair where she’d hung her leather jacket, and rested her feet on the table, making herself comfortable. Place is pretty Spartan, she thought and grimaced, momentarily flashing back to the memory of Gwendolyn Post who’d introduced her to that concept. She shook her head slightly. Faith had really had a string of bad luck with Watchers. Giles was the only one she’d probably ever really trust she thought as she watched him breathing, sipping her drink.
If he’s anything like me, he’ll be starved when he wakes up, she mused after a few minutes. Weirdly, she wanted to make a good impression on Giles. She’d come to England on a whim, of sorts, and hadn’t given him a heads-up. Sure, drunk he’d seemed happy to see her, but in the sober light of day... who knows? Maybe she could butter him up with breakfast.
Why she suddenly gave a shit what Giles, or anyone for that matter, thought of her, she didn’t know, but she was actually feeling nervous about how he would react to her when he woke up. She stood and downed the rest of her drink, and double-checked his fridge and cupboards for food. Finding an unsatisfying stash, she remembered seeing an all-night convenience store or something on her patrols.
She grabbed her jacket and his keys, and suddenly realized she didn’t have any English cash (was it pounds?), so she checked his wallet and took some bills. “Food’s for you G, so I guess you won’t mind.” She pulled her shoes on and headed back out into the night.
At the store she picked up eggs, what she guessed was the English version of bacon (looked a bit weird, but, whatevs), orange juice, bread, butter, milk, sugar and coffee. The basic hang-over food as far as she was concerned: fried eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. She had no idea if the prices were good or bad, or if she got the right change, but she was just glad she’d taken enough money to cover it all.
Back at the flat, Faith kicked off her shoes, checked on Giles again (still alive), hung up her jacket, put the groceries away, had another whiskey, and decided to try to catch some winks herself. Since Giles had the couch, and she wasn’t presumptuous enough to take his bed (though she was quite comfortable enough to take his money out of his wallet), she curled up in the fairly comfy living room chair.
Jet-lag wasn’t really affecting her. Even in her pre-slayer days, she’d never been one to have a regular sleep schedule. Growing up with the unpredictability of alcoholics meant she never knew when she’d be woken up with screaming, fighting, loud music, breaking glass, or worse, some creep in her room taking advantage of a child.
She learned early on to sleep when she could, when it was quiet, even if it was just for a few hours here and there. If she could appreciate anything from her rough childhood, she guessed it was learning vigilance and self-reliance. That was how you survived.
The challenge was, what if you wanted to do more than just survive? Her past left her ill-equipped when it came to intimacy or trusting people. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to let down her guard enough to really love someone. With Robin, she’d tried... but... she forced the thoughts away then. She got up and grabbed Giles’ jacket to use as a blanket. She settled back in the chair, pulling his coat around her, and enjoying the faint smell of his cologne mixed with booze and cigarettes on the collar. The few drinks she’d had tonight helped her drift off quickly once she shut her eyes, and turned off her thoughts.
Part 3
Posted in: Summer of Giles 2012
Pairing: Faith & Giles
Rating: PG, FRT
Setting: Post "Chosen," no comics. Any similarity to the comics is coincidence as I haven't read them, though I have read some synopses of them online.
Disclaimer: I own nothing in the BtVS universe and no one pays me for my fan fiction either (sadly).
Summary: Sometime after Sunnydale imploded, Faith has left Cleveland and Robin and come to England to find Giles. Giles has been working to rebuild the Council, and Faith is hoping she can be of some help to him.
Note: Recommend you read Part 1 first.
Faith retrieved Giles’ guitar from the hallway, brought it inside, and shut and locked the door, hoping his neighbour would be satisfied and leave them alone. Faith really didn’t want to deal with cops tonight. Though, she mused, it was generally pretty enjoyable to take them down a peg or two. She smacked her fist into the palm of her opposite hand, enjoying the stinging sensation this caused, and smiled to herself -- they always underestimated her.
She took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders to loosen them up a bit. She realized she was feeling a bit wired. Maybe she would go on a quick patrol to burn off some energy. It’s not like Giles would be up keeping her entertained any time soon.
She ran her eyes over the length of Giles stretched out on his couch, on his stomach, out cold. She wasn’t really the nurturing type, but she figured he’d be more comfortable if she took off his coat, shoes, and glasses. He didn’t even wake up a little as she removed his clothing and specs.
“I could do anything I want to you, and you’d never even notice,” she whispered wickedly in his ear, grinning. Sigh. The thought was fun, but she wasn’t here to mess with him. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was here, and what she wanted from Giles, but she knew she didn’t want to start things off on the wrong foot by playing some petty prank on him. No matter how tempting the opportunity was, she chuckled.
She took in her surroundings then. Maybe it was a slayer thing, maybe it was a Faith thing, but she immediately identified a multitude of possible household items that could be used as potential weapons, and a variety of possible escape routes.
Then she began to notice other things, and some of the questions that had been bubbling up since she encountered Giles tonight resurfaced. She found several open bottles of whisky around the apartment, as well as a bunch of empties -- both beer and whisky bottles. She opened the fridge and found it stocked pretty well with more booze, and less food. “Pretty clear theme here G,” she said softly, “and it does’t look like a party. It kind of looks like a guy who’s decided to drink himself to death.”
She regarded Buffy’s old man again. He looked like the same old Giles, didn’t he? What could be happening in his life to cause this behaviour? Dude always seemed like a rock -- if any person was a steady, reliable type, it was G. So, wtf was going on?
Well, she wasn’t going to find out from Giles tonight, that was for sure. Not that he would be likely to open up to her anyway.
She slid Giles’ keys into her jeans pocket and stepped out quietly into the hallway, locking the door behind her. She decided to make a quick stop back at the pub she had found Giles at tonight before checking out the neighbourhood.
Faith sidled confidently into the pub she’d vacated with Giles only a short while ago. She surveyed the room. The stool Giles had sat on to perform was gone. There was no sign of the small disturbance they’d caused earlier. There were just a handful of patrons in the bar, and no one looked up to see who had come in. She spied the bartender and walked up to give him a piece of her mind. He surprised her by pulling her a pint and asking if she’d gotten Giles home alright.
“What do you care?” she asked contemptuously, eyeing the beer, “You ever heard of cutting someone off? Isn’t that your job?” Faith was angry and wanted answers, and this guy was as good as anyone to take her frustration out on. What would have happened to G if she hadn’t been here tonight?
“I didn’t serve him anything tonight,” the bartender answered. She cocked her head to the side, and looked him up and down. She didn’t get the sense this guy was lying, but... come on.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, taking a seat at the bar and drinking half the beer in one go -- she wasn’t walking away from another tonight, and she didn’t plan to be here long.
The bartender shrugged. “He came in here already plastered. If he wasn’t a regular I would have probably had to kick him out. But, he never really bothers anyone. In fact, people seem to enjoy his playing. Really, even tonight, at his worst, all he did was knock over a stool. Could be a lot worse,” the bartender shrugged again. The look of surprise and confusion on Faith’s face must have peaked his interest, and he asked in a practiced neutral tone, “You know him well?”
“We go way back. I came from the states to see him,” Faith answered distractedly, still trying to figure out what was going on with G. The bartender nodded at her, but Faith wasn’t looking at him. She was lost in her own thoughts. She’d never really been the thinking type, so it didn’t come easy for her to play Sherlock. But there was no vamp here to stake, no demon to kill -- at least, not yet -- so, she had to play this one differently. She took another swig.
She’d seen the evidence in Giles’ apartment and knew that G had enough booze at home to have gotten that loaded. But she had assumed it was warm-up booze -- that he’d had a few drinks at home, then he’d gone out to socialize and keep drinking. She knew how that could easily get out of hand when you were having a good time with friends. Not that she had many, or any, real friends herself that she’d partied with like that, but, she’d seen it in movies or on TV. Or heard about it or something.
She thought G had just overdone it tonight. Happened to the best of us. And who was she to judge if he liked to knock a few back everyday? So the fuck what? Drinking isn’t a crime. So yeah, she’d had a momentary wiggins back at Giles’ place when she’d seen all the empties... but, she’d grown up around drunks. His place wasn’t that bad, it had just surprised her because it was Giles. She’d thought for a moment that maybe he was planning to drink himself to death. But what had made her think that? Some kind of intuition? Or just a random thought that she was putting too much stock into now?
She growled in frustration and stood up from the stool to pace a bit. She hated trying to think this stuff out! It was giving her a headache. Give me something to punch, she thought.
“Who does he usually hang out with when he’s here?” she asked the bartender, pausing in her restless walking. She scanned the bar again. Faith thought maybe she’d talk to some of Giles’ buddies to get the scoop on what was up with the Watcher.
The bartender shook his head in negation. “He’s been coming in here at least a few times a week for the past... oh say, 6 months or so, but he always comes alone, sits alone if he drinks here, and usually leaves alone.”
Faith frowned. Sure, in the time she’d known Giles, she couldn’t really remember him having any friends outside of the Sunnydale gang of usual suspects, but she just assumed when he moved back to his mother-land he’d have some old friends, or make some new ones. B and her scoobies had sucked up all his time in California, probably messing up any outside relationships he’d tried to have. But here he’d be more free.
She considered herself something of a lone wolf, but knew that wasn’t the way most people functioned. She had slotted G in the ‘normal’ category in her mind, and normals have friends. Just like normals drink socially with co-workers and friends. It seemed like the image she’d had of Giles in her mind wasn’t matching up right with the information she was getting.
Something clicked then, and Faith narrowed her eyes at the bartender. “You said usually? He usually leaves alone? What do you mean by that?” Faith asked.
The barkeep shrugged again, looking slightly uncomfortable and apprehensive for the first time since Faith had come in. He deftly moved any glass off of the bar that was between himself and Faith. He really didn’t want to get involved in a lovers’ spat, if that’s what this was. He stepped back from the bar slightly, attempting to distance himself physically from Faith and watched her face closely for signs of jealousy when he said, “At first, sometimes he’d leave with a woman.” He winced slightly, worried this might be the thing she’d feared to hear, and perhaps the wrath of a woman scorned was about to be unleashed on his bar. He’d seen how strong this chick was, despite her size, when she’d held up Giles as if he were light as a feather.
The lack of reaction from Faith at this news relaxed the bartender. Okay, maybe they were just friends then, he thought, or it’s some kind of open-relationship. He decided to continue, “But not in the past 3 or 4 months. He started coming by more often then, nearly every day after work. But he stopped paying attention to the local tail. Then, maybe a month and a half ago, he came in with his guitar and asked me if he could play.” The bartender gestured around the pub. “As you can see, we aren’t really set up for performances. We never offer entertainment here. I mean, there’s the TV’s, but that’s it.”
“So, you agreed to let him play? Why?” Faith asked.
His shoulders twitched in a slight shrug. “Meh, it was a slow night. I thought, what the fuck? Turned out, he was really good, and it added a bit of atmosphere to liven the place up.”
Faith was looking at him expectantly, so he continued, “So, then he started coming around regularly to play. Usually, he comes in, plays a few songs, then goes home. Tonight’s the worst I’ve seen him though. He’s often drunk, or at least ‘feeling good’, but I’ve never seen him quite that bad,” the bartender said.
Faith downed the last of her beer, and was about to thank the bartender for his time and leave, when he looked up thoughtfully and mused, “He usually plays more to the audience, what audience there is, but tonight it was like he was playing just for himself. Or some chick he’s missing I guess.” He seemed to realize what he’d said then, and gave Faith a sidelong glance, still looking for signs of jealously. He was mildly curious about the relationship his drunk crooner had with this young firebrand.
“Yeah,” Faith replied, deep in thought. “Hey thanks for the info. And the beer.” She half-smiled at the bartender and left the pub to step out to the thickening fog. Who were you singing about G? she wondered.
Faith patrolled for about an hour, circling Giles’ apartment in an ever-widening radius. She never encountered anything of interest, but the exercise had relieved some of her restlessness regardless, and she had a better feel for her surroundings. She returned to Giles’ apartment building, and entered more quietly than last time.
She locked his door and threw the keys on the table. Giles was pretty quiet, which unnerved her a bit. She rolled him slightly and checked to make sure he was breathing and hadn’t choked on his own vomit or something. Five by five. Good.
She kicked her shoes off and left them by the door. Faith poured herself a whiskey and took a sip, enjoying the smooth taste. “You must get the good stuff G, it doesn’t burn like the cheap-ass crap I’m used to.”
She straightened up Giles’ flat a bit, hanging hers and Giles’ jackets on the kitchen chairs, putting dishes in the sink, and empties in a pile. She sat on the chair where she’d hung her leather jacket, and rested her feet on the table, making herself comfortable. Place is pretty Spartan, she thought and grimaced, momentarily flashing back to the memory of Gwendolyn Post who’d introduced her to that concept. She shook her head slightly. Faith had really had a string of bad luck with Watchers. Giles was the only one she’d probably ever really trust she thought as she watched him breathing, sipping her drink.
If he’s anything like me, he’ll be starved when he wakes up, she mused after a few minutes. Weirdly, she wanted to make a good impression on Giles. She’d come to England on a whim, of sorts, and hadn’t given him a heads-up. Sure, drunk he’d seemed happy to see her, but in the sober light of day... who knows? Maybe she could butter him up with breakfast.
Why she suddenly gave a shit what Giles, or anyone for that matter, thought of her, she didn’t know, but she was actually feeling nervous about how he would react to her when he woke up. She stood and downed the rest of her drink, and double-checked his fridge and cupboards for food. Finding an unsatisfying stash, she remembered seeing an all-night convenience store or something on her patrols.
She grabbed her jacket and his keys, and suddenly realized she didn’t have any English cash (was it pounds?), so she checked his wallet and took some bills. “Food’s for you G, so I guess you won’t mind.” She pulled her shoes on and headed back out into the night.
At the store she picked up eggs, what she guessed was the English version of bacon (looked a bit weird, but, whatevs), orange juice, bread, butter, milk, sugar and coffee. The basic hang-over food as far as she was concerned: fried eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. She had no idea if the prices were good or bad, or if she got the right change, but she was just glad she’d taken enough money to cover it all.
Back at the flat, Faith kicked off her shoes, checked on Giles again (still alive), hung up her jacket, put the groceries away, had another whiskey, and decided to try to catch some winks herself. Since Giles had the couch, and she wasn’t presumptuous enough to take his bed (though she was quite comfortable enough to take his money out of his wallet), she curled up in the fairly comfy living room chair.
Jet-lag wasn’t really affecting her. Even in her pre-slayer days, she’d never been one to have a regular sleep schedule. Growing up with the unpredictability of alcoholics meant she never knew when she’d be woken up with screaming, fighting, loud music, breaking glass, or worse, some creep in her room taking advantage of a child.
She learned early on to sleep when she could, when it was quiet, even if it was just for a few hours here and there. If she could appreciate anything from her rough childhood, she guessed it was learning vigilance and self-reliance. That was how you survived.
The challenge was, what if you wanted to do more than just survive? Her past left her ill-equipped when it came to intimacy or trusting people. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to let down her guard enough to really love someone. With Robin, she’d tried... but... she forced the thoughts away then. She got up and grabbed Giles’ jacket to use as a blanket. She settled back in the chair, pulling his coat around her, and enjoying the faint smell of his cologne mixed with booze and cigarettes on the collar. The few drinks she’d had tonight helped her drift off quickly once she shut her eyes, and turned off her thoughts.
Part 3