"Youthful Experience" for the h/c ficathon
Title: Youthful Experience
Author: cmk418
Rating/Characters: FRC, Giles & Andrew
Word Count: 1192
Disclaimer: They’re all Joss’
Prompt: post-Chosen; Giles suffers some minor-to-moderate illness. Scoobies of your choice rally to help him, much to his chagrin.
Author’s Notes: Comics canon is completely ignored. Thanks to everyone who has already written something for the ficathon for inspiring me to jump in at the last minute and write this. Feedback is appreciated.
It started out like any other morning until he looked at himself in the mirror. “Oh dear Lord,” he whispered. This wasn’t as bad as being turned into a Fyarl, but it was close. He couldn’t go into work, of course, couldn’t run the risk of any of the Slayers coming down with this. Not to mention that he looked bloody awful.
Maybe this was just his body’s way of telling him he needed a break.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Andrew came through the door of Giles’ flat precisely at 9:26 AM. The workday started officially at 9:00 AM and twenty-five minutes was the exact amount of time it took to walk from Council headquarters to Giles’ home. “Mister Giles, are you all right? Everyone is worried.”
“I sincerely doubt anyone else knows.”
“Well, Dawn was worried. But she’s got that meeting with…” Andrew looked up at Giles and took a step back. “Yow! What attacked you? Should I call someone to do some research? Should we send out a patrol?”
“No, there’s no need. Unless you want to harm Elizabeth.”
“Little Elizabeth who came to visit a couple weeks ago? But she was so cute. I suppose five-year-olds can be possessed, but…”
“Oh, do stop. She wasn’t possessed. She had the chicken pox.”
“Oh.” Andrew paused, and then it sunk in. “Oh! I’ve had that. I can help you.”
“I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”
“No, no, no. Just let me call Dawn and tell her that I’m taking care of you.”
“Really, there’s no need,” Giles protested weakly, but Andrew waved him off with one hand while dialing the Council with the other.
“Hey Dawn. I’m here with Mister Giles. He’s got the chicken pox.” Andrew ignored the muttered ‘oh dear Lord’ behind him. “Hold on, let me check.”
In the next moment, Andrew had slapped a hand over Giles’ forehead. He continued talking into the phone. “You’re right, he is a little warm. Right. The Tylenol stuff, not aspirin. He’s probably going to be out for a few days, but I’ll make sure he gets the best of care. I had it before. Yeah. I was six. Funny story. I… oh, you’ve got to go. All right, I’ll see you soon.” Andrew turned off the phone and looked at Giles. “Let’s see about making you better.”
“Paracetamol.”
“God bless you.”
“The Tylenol stuff, as you call it. There are tablets by the sofa. I can get them.”
“Let me get you some water.”
“If you insist.” Giles took a seat on the sofa and shook three tablets out of the bottle. Andrew busied himself filling up a glass of water. “Would you rather have tea? I could start a pot.”
“No, thank you, Andrew. Water will be fine.”
Andrew brought him the glass. He glanced around the room. “Where’s your medicine cabinet?”
“I keep it cleverly hidden in the bathroom.” Giles stated and watched Andrew disappear through the bathroom door.
“Man, do you got a lot of drugs in here!”
“I find the painkillers come in handy after a day of training.”
There were sounds of falling plastic bottles and general knocking around from the bathroom. Giles started to move from the sofa when Andrew said, “What we need isn’t here. Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Several. Under the kitchen sink. One in the bedroom. One in the hall closet.”
Andrew tore through the apartment, rummaging through them all, like a chaos demon hell-bent on as much destruction as possible. Maybe the Fyarl would have been easier than dealing with Andrew.
He found Andrew pulling apart the first-aid kit in his bedroom and muttering to himself. “All this stuff… can’t believe… Aha! There you are.” He pulled out a pink bottle from the kit and set it on the nightstand.
“What on earth is that? And why are my sheets on the floor?”
“The sheets are all chicken-pox-y and need to be cleaned. You can take a nap in the guest room if you want.”
“If I want? Andrew, it’s my house!”
“Poor, sweet, soon-to-be-itchy Mister Giles. You really need to get some rest.” Andrew slung an arm over his shoulders and steered Giles in the direction of the guest room. Giles allowed himself to be tucked into bed without complaint, but mentally vowed to have a talk with Andrew as soon as this was over.
Yes, being a Fyarl was much, much easier than this.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
“Andrew!” he bellowed.
Footsteps approached at a run. Andrew came through the door of the guest room.
“Why, may I ask, am I trussed to the bedposts?”
“I was worried that you would scratch. You’re not supposed to.”
“Andrew.” Giles stated in that deadly quiet voice that struck more fear in Andrew’s heart than a whole legion of demons. “Untie me. Now.”
Andrew loosened the bonds, stepping back from the bed quickly after untying the last one.
“Come here,” whispered Giles. Again with the quiet and deadly.
“Are you itching yet? I could start a bath.”
The suggestion seemed to do its work in distracting Giles from wanting to strangle Andrew. Good Lord, did he itch. He rolled against the bedcovers, wanting to find some bunch of fabric or the edge of a pillow that he could rub up against to alleviate the discomfort.
“You’re not supposed to scratch,” admonished Andrew. “If you do the…” he gestured “…sores will break open and there’ll be oozing and then scarring and it won’t be at all pretty.”
“That’s a lovely picture.”
“Wait there. I’m going to start a bath. And don’t scratch.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Giles stuck his foot into the tub. “Why is it all gritty?”
Andrew answered from the other side of the door. “That’s the baking soda.”
“Am I part of some grand cosmic cooking experiment?”
“It’s supposed to be soothing. Just get in. And don’t scratch!”
Giles sighed. Why couldn’t he have caught this at six like all the other children had?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
He was having the nicest dream. The Ukodu demon with claws as sharp as razors was tearing into his flesh. Scratch upon scratch down his arms, over his chest. He knew he should be afraid, but it just felt so…
“Stop that.” A hand tightened around his wrist.
He glanced down to where his fingers trailed over his chest, trying to dig into the skin. Andrew held him still.
“Could you… please?” Giles whispered. “Just my chest. And my back. The part that no one sees. I don’t mind if it’s scarred. Already have so many. What’s one more? Please.”
“One more is one more. Those couldn’t be prevented. These can.”
“What do you know?”
Andrew pointed to some faint marks on his arms. “Chicken pox. Chicken pox. Chicken pox. Cat bite. Actually that last one’s kinda interesting because…”
Giles cut him off. “Do you have anything that’s going to help me?”
“Actually…”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Andrew carefully dabbed calamine lotion over Giles’ chest.
“It’s pink.”
“Yes it is.”
“It’ll get over the sheets.”
“More than likely.”
“You just cleaned them.”
“I can clean them again.”
“It’s smelly.”
“Giles.”
“What?”
“Are you itchy?”
“No,” replied Giles and smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Andrew answered.
Author: cmk418
Rating/Characters: FRC, Giles & Andrew
Word Count: 1192
Disclaimer: They’re all Joss’
Prompt: post-Chosen; Giles suffers some minor-to-moderate illness. Scoobies of your choice rally to help him, much to his chagrin.
Author’s Notes: Comics canon is completely ignored. Thanks to everyone who has already written something for the ficathon for inspiring me to jump in at the last minute and write this. Feedback is appreciated.
It started out like any other morning until he looked at himself in the mirror. “Oh dear Lord,” he whispered. This wasn’t as bad as being turned into a Fyarl, but it was close. He couldn’t go into work, of course, couldn’t run the risk of any of the Slayers coming down with this. Not to mention that he looked bloody awful.
Maybe this was just his body’s way of telling him he needed a break.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Andrew came through the door of Giles’ flat precisely at 9:26 AM. The workday started officially at 9:00 AM and twenty-five minutes was the exact amount of time it took to walk from Council headquarters to Giles’ home. “Mister Giles, are you all right? Everyone is worried.”
“I sincerely doubt anyone else knows.”
“Well, Dawn was worried. But she’s got that meeting with…” Andrew looked up at Giles and took a step back. “Yow! What attacked you? Should I call someone to do some research? Should we send out a patrol?”
“No, there’s no need. Unless you want to harm Elizabeth.”
“Little Elizabeth who came to visit a couple weeks ago? But she was so cute. I suppose five-year-olds can be possessed, but…”
“Oh, do stop. She wasn’t possessed. She had the chicken pox.”
“Oh.” Andrew paused, and then it sunk in. “Oh! I’ve had that. I can help you.”
“I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”
“No, no, no. Just let me call Dawn and tell her that I’m taking care of you.”
“Really, there’s no need,” Giles protested weakly, but Andrew waved him off with one hand while dialing the Council with the other.
“Hey Dawn. I’m here with Mister Giles. He’s got the chicken pox.” Andrew ignored the muttered ‘oh dear Lord’ behind him. “Hold on, let me check.”
In the next moment, Andrew had slapped a hand over Giles’ forehead. He continued talking into the phone. “You’re right, he is a little warm. Right. The Tylenol stuff, not aspirin. He’s probably going to be out for a few days, but I’ll make sure he gets the best of care. I had it before. Yeah. I was six. Funny story. I… oh, you’ve got to go. All right, I’ll see you soon.” Andrew turned off the phone and looked at Giles. “Let’s see about making you better.”
“Paracetamol.”
“God bless you.”
“The Tylenol stuff, as you call it. There are tablets by the sofa. I can get them.”
“Let me get you some water.”
“If you insist.” Giles took a seat on the sofa and shook three tablets out of the bottle. Andrew busied himself filling up a glass of water. “Would you rather have tea? I could start a pot.”
“No, thank you, Andrew. Water will be fine.”
Andrew brought him the glass. He glanced around the room. “Where’s your medicine cabinet?”
“I keep it cleverly hidden in the bathroom.” Giles stated and watched Andrew disappear through the bathroom door.
“Man, do you got a lot of drugs in here!”
“I find the painkillers come in handy after a day of training.”
There were sounds of falling plastic bottles and general knocking around from the bathroom. Giles started to move from the sofa when Andrew said, “What we need isn’t here. Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Several. Under the kitchen sink. One in the bedroom. One in the hall closet.”
Andrew tore through the apartment, rummaging through them all, like a chaos demon hell-bent on as much destruction as possible. Maybe the Fyarl would have been easier than dealing with Andrew.
He found Andrew pulling apart the first-aid kit in his bedroom and muttering to himself. “All this stuff… can’t believe… Aha! There you are.” He pulled out a pink bottle from the kit and set it on the nightstand.
“What on earth is that? And why are my sheets on the floor?”
“The sheets are all chicken-pox-y and need to be cleaned. You can take a nap in the guest room if you want.”
“If I want? Andrew, it’s my house!”
“Poor, sweet, soon-to-be-itchy Mister Giles. You really need to get some rest.” Andrew slung an arm over his shoulders and steered Giles in the direction of the guest room. Giles allowed himself to be tucked into bed without complaint, but mentally vowed to have a talk with Andrew as soon as this was over.
Yes, being a Fyarl was much, much easier than this.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
“Andrew!” he bellowed.
Footsteps approached at a run. Andrew came through the door of the guest room.
“Why, may I ask, am I trussed to the bedposts?”
“I was worried that you would scratch. You’re not supposed to.”
“Andrew.” Giles stated in that deadly quiet voice that struck more fear in Andrew’s heart than a whole legion of demons. “Untie me. Now.”
Andrew loosened the bonds, stepping back from the bed quickly after untying the last one.
“Come here,” whispered Giles. Again with the quiet and deadly.
“Are you itching yet? I could start a bath.”
The suggestion seemed to do its work in distracting Giles from wanting to strangle Andrew. Good Lord, did he itch. He rolled against the bedcovers, wanting to find some bunch of fabric or the edge of a pillow that he could rub up against to alleviate the discomfort.
“You’re not supposed to scratch,” admonished Andrew. “If you do the…” he gestured “…sores will break open and there’ll be oozing and then scarring and it won’t be at all pretty.”
“That’s a lovely picture.”
“Wait there. I’m going to start a bath. And don’t scratch.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Giles stuck his foot into the tub. “Why is it all gritty?”
Andrew answered from the other side of the door. “That’s the baking soda.”
“Am I part of some grand cosmic cooking experiment?”
“It’s supposed to be soothing. Just get in. And don’t scratch!”
Giles sighed. Why couldn’t he have caught this at six like all the other children had?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
He was having the nicest dream. The Ukodu demon with claws as sharp as razors was tearing into his flesh. Scratch upon scratch down his arms, over his chest. He knew he should be afraid, but it just felt so…
“Stop that.” A hand tightened around his wrist.
He glanced down to where his fingers trailed over his chest, trying to dig into the skin. Andrew held him still.
“Could you… please?” Giles whispered. “Just my chest. And my back. The part that no one sees. I don’t mind if it’s scarred. Already have so many. What’s one more? Please.”
“One more is one more. Those couldn’t be prevented. These can.”
“What do you know?”
Andrew pointed to some faint marks on his arms. “Chicken pox. Chicken pox. Chicken pox. Cat bite. Actually that last one’s kinda interesting because…”
Giles cut him off. “Do you have anything that’s going to help me?”
“Actually…”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Andrew carefully dabbed calamine lotion over Giles’ chest.
“It’s pink.”
“Yes it is.”
“It’ll get over the sheets.”
“More than likely.”
“You just cleaned them.”
“I can clean them again.”
“It’s smelly.”
“Giles.”
“What?”
“Are you itchy?”
“No,” replied Giles and smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Andrew answered.