FIC: The Second Step (Giles/Anya, PG)
My usual practice for my contributions to the community is to write one gen fic and one fic for my One True Pairing. The gen fic was in June; this is my 'ship fic. ;)
TITLE: The Second Step
AUTHOR: LJS
PAIRING: Giles/Anya
RATING: PG-ish for the occasional bit of language
LENGTH: 1775 words
SUMMARY: AU after "The Gift".
It is the Fourth of July -- Anya's birthday -- and a fairy godfather makes a visit to the Magic Box.
The first thing Giles heard as he came up the stairs from the Magic Box’s storage cellar was Anya, saying with an odd hesitation, “Well, today is my birthday. Observed, anyway.”
The second thing Giles heard was a wild male tenor, English, sounding like a breeze through a fully leafed wood, saying, “Ah. What do you want for your day, lovely?”
Every instinct shrieked. Despite the aches borne of over a month of grief and guilt, Giles took the rest of the stairs three at a time.
When he burst into the shop, Anya and the tweedy male personage with whom she spoke turned to him. Anya seemed rattled; the male emphatically not. Giles didn’t like the lack of space between Anya and the stranger, either. Intervention seemed in order.
“Hullo,” Giles said. “Anything I can help with?”
The male personage - for Giles had immediately recognized he was not, strictly speaking, a man - moved forward. “Oh, you must be the other proprietor. ‘R. Giles,’ isn’t it? I’ve seen your name everywhere, but haven’t yet made your acquaintance.”
He held out his hand, the nails of which were sharpened. Under each point was a half-moon of dirt. This was the only mark of difference between the personage and ordinary humans- well, besides the odd, glimmering green in his hair.
After a few seconds of frantic mental retrieval of cautions dealing with such persons, Giles shook the hand. “Well met. And you are?” he said.
Anya, with nervous grace, came between Giles and the personage. “Oh, this is Dr Oakes! He’s new, he teaches anthropology at UC Sunnydale, he’s been coming in for some of the folklore texts you keep.” Where the personage couldn’t see, she mouthed silently, “Sorry. Should have warned you.”
“Yes. I’d wondered who had bought the Sutton-Grove,” Giles said mildly. “What are you looking for today?”
“Oh, I’m not looking for anything in particular, although I have picked up a few blessed candles,” said Dr Oakes. He smiled. It was sharp and crooked as a partially severed branch hanging over a deep-forest path, and just about as dangerous. “I came to speak to dear Anya.”
Without thinking, Giles drew Anya against him - careful of her still healing injuries after that horrible night at the tower - and enclosed her in the protective circle of his arm. “And, er, why do you need to speak to her?”
“Giles,” Anya said, “it’s just… he’s just being friendly.”
In her ear Giles whispered, “You know better. Or you should.”
“Yes. But don’t be rude, it’s always trouble with these types,” she whispered back. Then, brightly, to Oakes, “I don’t think I need anything for my birthday, not really. But you’re a sweetheart to think of it.”
Dr Oakes laughed. He stepped through the shadows toward them, bringing the scent of old soil and green growing things and mint, and put one hand on Giles’ shoulder and one on Anya’s. Those sharpened nails dug in, piercing the casual jacket and shirt Giles wore and scratching at skin. “Oh, you two have such sweet pain, just delicious,” he said, and laughed again.
Behind Oakes gleamed sunlight from across the sea; behind him further still were shadows cast by ancient trees, deep-dark as any night. For a moment it was as if the Magic Box had no walls or roof, nothing between them and the wild world.
Giles couldn’t swallow for a moment, so strong was his sense of loss. It was worse than that night at the tower and the days after, it was so much worse -
But then Anya put her arms around his waist, and he felt warmly anchored, and he could breathe again.
Dr Oakes leaned forward, gripping even harder. “It will be the second step for you both.”
“What?” Giles and Anya said in unison.
Without warning Dr Oakes let go and spun away. Collecting a Magic Box bag from the counter as he went, he threw over his shoulder, “You’ll know when you know. Happiest of birthdays, sweet Anya. Thank you for my candles. Blessing for a blessing.”
“Thank you,” Anya said. She hadn’t let go of Giles. But then, he thought, he hadn’t let go of her either.
Dr Oakes waved as he went out the door - the bell over the door ringing, ringing, ringing - just as Willow came in.
“Who was that?” she said.
Giles looked at Anya. She looked at him. He found her eyes increasingly worth study, the age of her, the loveliness… “Er, I rather think,” he said, bringing his attention back to Willow, “that he was-"
“A fairy godfather,” Anya finished. Then she rested her head against Giles’s shoulder. The smell of her hair - roses and sweet smoke; a shampoo she made herself and sold in the shop - surrounded him.
Willow stopped short, there at the cauldron display - “I don’t think that’s appropriate language, Anya.”
“No, Willow. She meant that the gentleman was a fae,” Giles said absently. Then, as he let go, “Godfather, Anya? Really?”
She let go. “No, not really. But he was very kind. He knew I’m not quite okay yet.”
As she began to bustle unnecessarily at the counter, moving around their point-of-purchase display, Giles continued to gaze at her. She meant more than just physical injuries, of course; even though it had been she who’d broken up with Xander right after she got out of the hospital, the dissolution of the relationship had left her slightly shaken. “Everything’s changed,” she’d told him once when he’d asked how she was. “Could be bad, could be good. I haven’t got my breath back.”
Giles knew the feeling. Staring at her, watching her gleam and grit in the shop every day, dear Lord he knew the feeling.
“Giles?” Willow said. He blinked, looked away from Anya, managed a smile. She smiled back. “Tara and I are taking Dawn to the mall. Um, the ‘bot is put away for now. Xander will check on… her… after work.”
“Right,” he said, although as always the mention of the Buffybot gave him a slight wave of nausea. Nothing could replace his Slayer, much less a mechanical thing. (He’d tried to train the Buffybot the other day, in his despairing grasp at anything familiar, and Anya had caught him at it. “It’s a toaster,” she’d said briskly, and he couldn’t disagree.)
Willow said, “You need anything?”
His gaze went automatically to Anya, now rearranging the Potion of the Day jars. But - “No, thank you, Willow. You girls have a good time.” He squeezed her shoulder in what he’d heard Dawn calling “Patriarch Giles” fashion, which was bloody annoying and wrong - but the Scoobies could use the comfort.
So could he, for that matter. But the mall couldn’t provide it.
After Willow left, Giles hovered behind Anya for a moment. Then, belatedly registering what Anya had said to the fae: “Anya, is it actually your birthday?”
“That’s what it says on my driver’s license and my passport.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I don’t really remember, and I had to put down something. So yes, this is my birthday -“
“Observed,” he finished.
They smiled at each other, there in the quiet shop. He could smell roses and sweet smoke again, even though he was several steps away from her.
Dr Oakes had said something about a second step…. “Er, I’d like to take you out to dinner for your birthday, if you’re free? But now I might work on that puzzle the fae set us.”
“Yes. And yes,” Anya said, beaming. She leaned over the counter, wriggling as she reached around for something. He closed his eyes, praying for patience and a modicum of fucking dignity, because the way the silk of her dress molded against her - “Here!”
When he opened his eyes, she was holding out a yellow legal pad on which he often scratched out notes and a pen. He didn’t know why that knowledge of his working methods pleased him, but there it was.
For the next few minutes, he listed all the possible meanings ‘second step’ (and, he assumed, first step) might have. Anya turned on the classical-and-NPR radio station, which was playing Tchaikovsky - leading up to that bloody 1812 Overture, he had no doubt, but at the moment playing the ballet music for Sleeping Beauty. She served a few customers, and otherwise worked on the account books
.
There was something soothing about the rhythm of their work, of the synchronicity of their movements, of the sharing of purpose and sunlight. He found himself smiling easily, the way he hadn’t for weeks.
But he had to disturb the peace eventually. As the 1812 Overture began, deceptively sweet, he realized he had to fetch a text from the upper level to cross-check a possible interpretation from Stokesey. With only a slight groan, he pushed himself up and headed over to the staircase.
“Careful,” Anya said from the counter. “It’s been kind of wobbly lately.”
He was already moving up, hands on the railing, but he looked back. “It was fine yesterday-“
And then one foot landed on the second step, and the world seemed to explode.
Dark night, and a futile step forward, watching Buffy fall from the tower; dark night, and a step away from a dead man who had harbored Glory; dark night, and a friend dying of chaos magic. Dark day, and his first step into the Council headquarters; dark day, and Travers insisting Giles hurt Buffy, that first step into betrayal.
He tripped and fell backward.
And Anya was there to catch him. She staggered - such a slim woman she was - but she held on. She was so much stronger than she looked.
His arms around her, he caught his breath and his balance again. Then, muttering, “That was no sodding blessing.”
“Well, you know the fae,” Anya said absently. “Weirdos, one and all.” She inspected his eyes, as if checking for enchantment. “You seem okay, though. What happened?”
“Visions. Bad memories,” he said, just as absently. The depth and caring in those brown eyes of hers… “Are you all right? Er, catching me.”
“Fine,” she said. "You might lay off the scones for a little while, though."
He took a step back, but roses and sweet smoke followed. He kept gazing at her.
She licked her lips. “Giles?”
The second step he took was forward. The second step he took was to her. She took her own second step at the same time, and they came together in a kiss marked by cannonfire and delight.
Darkness and grief retreated, and it was a blessing indeed.
(Forever after, Giles looked for Dr Oakes to thank him. But the fae had disappeared, as they are wont to do. Weirdos, one and all.)
TITLE: The Second Step
AUTHOR: LJS
PAIRING: Giles/Anya
RATING: PG-ish for the occasional bit of language
LENGTH: 1775 words
SUMMARY: AU after "The Gift".
It is the Fourth of July -- Anya's birthday -- and a fairy godfather makes a visit to the Magic Box.
The first thing Giles heard as he came up the stairs from the Magic Box’s storage cellar was Anya, saying with an odd hesitation, “Well, today is my birthday. Observed, anyway.”
The second thing Giles heard was a wild male tenor, English, sounding like a breeze through a fully leafed wood, saying, “Ah. What do you want for your day, lovely?”
Every instinct shrieked. Despite the aches borne of over a month of grief and guilt, Giles took the rest of the stairs three at a time.
When he burst into the shop, Anya and the tweedy male personage with whom she spoke turned to him. Anya seemed rattled; the male emphatically not. Giles didn’t like the lack of space between Anya and the stranger, either. Intervention seemed in order.
“Hullo,” Giles said. “Anything I can help with?”
The male personage - for Giles had immediately recognized he was not, strictly speaking, a man - moved forward. “Oh, you must be the other proprietor. ‘R. Giles,’ isn’t it? I’ve seen your name everywhere, but haven’t yet made your acquaintance.”
He held out his hand, the nails of which were sharpened. Under each point was a half-moon of dirt. This was the only mark of difference between the personage and ordinary humans- well, besides the odd, glimmering green in his hair.
After a few seconds of frantic mental retrieval of cautions dealing with such persons, Giles shook the hand. “Well met. And you are?” he said.
Anya, with nervous grace, came between Giles and the personage. “Oh, this is Dr Oakes! He’s new, he teaches anthropology at UC Sunnydale, he’s been coming in for some of the folklore texts you keep.” Where the personage couldn’t see, she mouthed silently, “Sorry. Should have warned you.”
“Yes. I’d wondered who had bought the Sutton-Grove,” Giles said mildly. “What are you looking for today?”
“Oh, I’m not looking for anything in particular, although I have picked up a few blessed candles,” said Dr Oakes. He smiled. It was sharp and crooked as a partially severed branch hanging over a deep-forest path, and just about as dangerous. “I came to speak to dear Anya.”
Without thinking, Giles drew Anya against him - careful of her still healing injuries after that horrible night at the tower - and enclosed her in the protective circle of his arm. “And, er, why do you need to speak to her?”
“Giles,” Anya said, “it’s just… he’s just being friendly.”
In her ear Giles whispered, “You know better. Or you should.”
“Yes. But don’t be rude, it’s always trouble with these types,” she whispered back. Then, brightly, to Oakes, “I don’t think I need anything for my birthday, not really. But you’re a sweetheart to think of it.”
Dr Oakes laughed. He stepped through the shadows toward them, bringing the scent of old soil and green growing things and mint, and put one hand on Giles’ shoulder and one on Anya’s. Those sharpened nails dug in, piercing the casual jacket and shirt Giles wore and scratching at skin. “Oh, you two have such sweet pain, just delicious,” he said, and laughed again.
Behind Oakes gleamed sunlight from across the sea; behind him further still were shadows cast by ancient trees, deep-dark as any night. For a moment it was as if the Magic Box had no walls or roof, nothing between them and the wild world.
Giles couldn’t swallow for a moment, so strong was his sense of loss. It was worse than that night at the tower and the days after, it was so much worse -
But then Anya put her arms around his waist, and he felt warmly anchored, and he could breathe again.
Dr Oakes leaned forward, gripping even harder. “It will be the second step for you both.”
“What?” Giles and Anya said in unison.
Without warning Dr Oakes let go and spun away. Collecting a Magic Box bag from the counter as he went, he threw over his shoulder, “You’ll know when you know. Happiest of birthdays, sweet Anya. Thank you for my candles. Blessing for a blessing.”
“Thank you,” Anya said. She hadn’t let go of Giles. But then, he thought, he hadn’t let go of her either.
Dr Oakes waved as he went out the door - the bell over the door ringing, ringing, ringing - just as Willow came in.
“Who was that?” she said.
Giles looked at Anya. She looked at him. He found her eyes increasingly worth study, the age of her, the loveliness… “Er, I rather think,” he said, bringing his attention back to Willow, “that he was-"
“A fairy godfather,” Anya finished. Then she rested her head against Giles’s shoulder. The smell of her hair - roses and sweet smoke; a shampoo she made herself and sold in the shop - surrounded him.
Willow stopped short, there at the cauldron display - “I don’t think that’s appropriate language, Anya.”
“No, Willow. She meant that the gentleman was a fae,” Giles said absently. Then, as he let go, “Godfather, Anya? Really?”
She let go. “No, not really. But he was very kind. He knew I’m not quite okay yet.”
As she began to bustle unnecessarily at the counter, moving around their point-of-purchase display, Giles continued to gaze at her. She meant more than just physical injuries, of course; even though it had been she who’d broken up with Xander right after she got out of the hospital, the dissolution of the relationship had left her slightly shaken. “Everything’s changed,” she’d told him once when he’d asked how she was. “Could be bad, could be good. I haven’t got my breath back.”
Giles knew the feeling. Staring at her, watching her gleam and grit in the shop every day, dear Lord he knew the feeling.
“Giles?” Willow said. He blinked, looked away from Anya, managed a smile. She smiled back. “Tara and I are taking Dawn to the mall. Um, the ‘bot is put away for now. Xander will check on… her… after work.”
“Right,” he said, although as always the mention of the Buffybot gave him a slight wave of nausea. Nothing could replace his Slayer, much less a mechanical thing. (He’d tried to train the Buffybot the other day, in his despairing grasp at anything familiar, and Anya had caught him at it. “It’s a toaster,” she’d said briskly, and he couldn’t disagree.)
Willow said, “You need anything?”
His gaze went automatically to Anya, now rearranging the Potion of the Day jars. But - “No, thank you, Willow. You girls have a good time.” He squeezed her shoulder in what he’d heard Dawn calling “Patriarch Giles” fashion, which was bloody annoying and wrong - but the Scoobies could use the comfort.
So could he, for that matter. But the mall couldn’t provide it.
After Willow left, Giles hovered behind Anya for a moment. Then, belatedly registering what Anya had said to the fae: “Anya, is it actually your birthday?”
“That’s what it says on my driver’s license and my passport.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I don’t really remember, and I had to put down something. So yes, this is my birthday -“
“Observed,” he finished.
They smiled at each other, there in the quiet shop. He could smell roses and sweet smoke again, even though he was several steps away from her.
Dr Oakes had said something about a second step…. “Er, I’d like to take you out to dinner for your birthday, if you’re free? But now I might work on that puzzle the fae set us.”
“Yes. And yes,” Anya said, beaming. She leaned over the counter, wriggling as she reached around for something. He closed his eyes, praying for patience and a modicum of fucking dignity, because the way the silk of her dress molded against her - “Here!”
When he opened his eyes, she was holding out a yellow legal pad on which he often scratched out notes and a pen. He didn’t know why that knowledge of his working methods pleased him, but there it was.
For the next few minutes, he listed all the possible meanings ‘second step’ (and, he assumed, first step) might have. Anya turned on the classical-and-NPR radio station, which was playing Tchaikovsky - leading up to that bloody 1812 Overture, he had no doubt, but at the moment playing the ballet music for Sleeping Beauty. She served a few customers, and otherwise worked on the account books
.
There was something soothing about the rhythm of their work, of the synchronicity of their movements, of the sharing of purpose and sunlight. He found himself smiling easily, the way he hadn’t for weeks.
But he had to disturb the peace eventually. As the 1812 Overture began, deceptively sweet, he realized he had to fetch a text from the upper level to cross-check a possible interpretation from Stokesey. With only a slight groan, he pushed himself up and headed over to the staircase.
“Careful,” Anya said from the counter. “It’s been kind of wobbly lately.”
He was already moving up, hands on the railing, but he looked back. “It was fine yesterday-“
And then one foot landed on the second step, and the world seemed to explode.
Dark night, and a futile step forward, watching Buffy fall from the tower; dark night, and a step away from a dead man who had harbored Glory; dark night, and a friend dying of chaos magic. Dark day, and his first step into the Council headquarters; dark day, and Travers insisting Giles hurt Buffy, that first step into betrayal.
He tripped and fell backward.
And Anya was there to catch him. She staggered - such a slim woman she was - but she held on. She was so much stronger than she looked.
His arms around her, he caught his breath and his balance again. Then, muttering, “That was no sodding blessing.”
“Well, you know the fae,” Anya said absently. “Weirdos, one and all.” She inspected his eyes, as if checking for enchantment. “You seem okay, though. What happened?”
“Visions. Bad memories,” he said, just as absently. The depth and caring in those brown eyes of hers… “Are you all right? Er, catching me.”
“Fine,” she said. "You might lay off the scones for a little while, though."
He took a step back, but roses and sweet smoke followed. He kept gazing at her.
She licked her lips. “Giles?”
The second step he took was forward. The second step he took was to her. She took her own second step at the same time, and they came together in a kiss marked by cannonfire and delight.
Darkness and grief retreated, and it was a blessing indeed.
(Forever after, Giles looked for Dr Oakes to thank him. But the fae had disappeared, as they are wont to do. Weirdos, one and all.)