tarnished -- part one -- trekker |
Chapter Two | |
Old Friends Or Something To That Effect |
The Royal Watcher's Council branch office in Bath was down a set of stairs, tucked up underneath a building. Some oh-so-clever child had at some point spray-painted over the "R" in the RWC on the sign at the head of the stairs, and apparently, no one had bothered to fix it in the month or so Giles had been back in Sunnydale.
There were four offices here, a reception area, and a small library, which mostly consisted of duplicates or reprintings of the books housed at the main office in London.
Giles' office was still in the process of being reverted back into an office. During the years he'd been gone, it had become something of a storage / filing room for the others, and just a general catchall. So now, much like in his flat, he had to navigate around stacked boxes and scattered junk to reach his desk, which cowered in the corner of the small room like a chastised puppy.
Currently, Giles was sitting at it and sorting through huge stacks of files, trying to recall which were his own, and which were just general files. It was really quite dull, and the florescent light seemed to be flickering, and his eyes ached.
He tossed aside the file he'd been working through and pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, he was struck, suddenly, by the dreariness of this room. Four bare white walls, one flickering florescent lamp, loads of grey filing cabinets, and the ever-present cardboard boxes.
It actually made him miss the Sunnydale library.
Demons aside, it had been a beautiful place, full of sunlight and dark, polished wood. And books, of course.
Books were, without a doubt, a thousand times more exciting than files. A million times more exciting than files. Books were too good, in fact, to even be used in an analogy with files.
He grunted in listless disgust, nudged the file folder a bit further away and decided, 10:45 AM or not, that it was absolutely time for lunch.
So he stepped carefully over boxes and books and around filing cabinets out into the dim hallway between the four offices that smelled of plaster and dust and a bit of mildew. He nodded at John, the receptionist, and stepped out into the morning.
Sweet air. As he climbed the steps to the street, his mind made some maudlin allusion to escaping from Hades, and he had to laugh at himself. Though, truly, it was a relief. Butter-yellow sunlight slanted across the stone fronts of the buildings, and the whole city seemed to glow. The sunlight also mellowed the tang of chill in the air, and he found himself relaxing and breathing easier than he had in... he really wasn't sure how long. Possibly since Buffy had taken her... well, yes. Or even before then. Heaven only knew.
And that... that was simply a terrible phrase to use now, it seemed.
He shook off those thoughts, and bought a paper from a corner vendor. During the rest of the walk to the cafe he favored, he deliberately thought of nothing more weighty than pigeons.
Which worked well until the jangle of the bell over the door brought back in sudden and perfect clarity his abandoned shop back home. Back in Sunnydale.
And, damn it, he'd gone and called Sunnydale "home" again.
He sighed and made his way to the counter.
"Good morning, Mr. Giles," the young man at the counter said. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes," Giles said, distractedly. Small talk came easy. "How are you this morning, Ron?"
"Doing just grand. What'll it be?"
He realized then that, though he'd desperately wanted his lunch break, food itself was not quite so appealing at this early hour. He'd eaten breakfast at his desk only about an hour ago. He scanned the menu, and then went with, "Just a medium coffee and a turkey sandwich."
Oddly, he had a brief craving for peanut butter and jelly. He mentally rolled his eyes and blamed Xander entirely.
"All right. It'll be out in a moment, sir."
"Thanks, Ron," Giles said, and went to sit down at his usual table near the window in the back. He skimmed the paper until the food came.
It seemed so quiet here. No homicides at all, where in Sunnydale, they got their own page, as did missing persons. In general, vampires preferred large cities, where they could simply blend in. Bath rarely got anything more than small gangs passing through on their way somewhere else, usually Bristol.
So why the hell was he here? Why had he left a handful of children alone to face god knew what?
But they weren't children. Not children. And they needed to figure that out. As did he, apparently.
He turned the page and focused instead on figuring out how the rugby season was playing out this year, sports being one of the many things he'd lost touch with while off in that other world. He lost himself in scores and stats until Ron brought out his lunch. Then, just as the boy was heading back behind the counter, the bell jingled again, and habit drew Giles' eye to the door, and he froze, napkin still in hand.
The man at the door was similarly motionless, still holding the door open, practically in mid-step.
Ethan.
Still tall and lank, but not completely the same. Goatee'd, now, and with his hair grown out just long enough to curl. Ethan's eyes widened, looking at Giles over dark glasses. Then he cursed and turned and left the shop in a swirl of grey overcoat and a clamor of the bell.
And some primal chase instinct kicked in and Giles was up out of his chair and to the door almost before he knew what he'd done. He pounded out into the street, and caught a glimpse of grey vanishing around a corner. Followed, heart pounding, with some kind of rage heating in his chest. Wasn't even sure quite *why* he was so angry, but he didn't spare it a thought.
Didn't run, just walked, a long stride.
He couldn't deny there was a powerful, primal thrill in catching the shoulder of Ethan's coat, yanking him back, turning him and knocking him into the nearest wall.
"You," he growled.
"Yes. Me," Ethan said, one hand raised up in a placating manner between them. He turned his eyes down to Giles' hand, still knotted in his coat.
"What are you doing here?"
Rather than looking cowed, Ethan merely looked annoyed, and said, "What business is it of yours?"
Giles unhanded him roughly, but didn't step back, letting his body and nearness maintain the threat. Feeling Ethan's presence through the scant space between them.
"You're supposed to be locked away somewhere. Being 'rehabilitated.'"
There was another flicker of something in Ethan's eyes, then he purred, "Well, perhaps I have been."
Nothing was intrinsically sexual about the words, but the way they were spoken sent a small unwelcome tingle through Giles' groin nonetheless. He grabbed Ethan's coat and knocked him back against the wall again.
"Ah, well, then perhaps I should just give the Initiative a call, hmm? Thank them for their hard work," Giles said, pleasantly.
"Not necessary, I'm sure," Ethan said, with the same mock-cheer. "Now, I'm as much an exhibitionist as the next rather kinky man, but we are drawing stares, love. Shall we perhaps move this to a less public venue?"
"You haven't answered my question yet."
"Ah, yes. That. Well, you see, I actually live here."
Giles released him abruptly.
"Hell."
***
So, they ended up back in the cafe. Giles picked up his things and relocated them to a small nook in the nearly-empty second floor area. He couldn't help but think how badly sharing a table with Ethan had ended up going the last time around. With that in mind, he kept an uneasy eye on him, and kept his drink well away from him.
"How did you get away?"
Ethan just leaned back in his chair and said, dismissively, "Oh, you know me. Always someone who owes me a favor or two."
"Of course," Giles said. Ethan wasn't going to tell him and he really was most likely better off not knowing anyhow.
Ethan had taken off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair, and was dressed in his usual red silk shirt and charcoal slacks. In spite of everything, in spite of himself, Giles couldn't help flicking his gaze over him, taking in those long legs crossed at the ankles, the sensual ease of Ethan's pose. He only looked for a fraction of a second, but it was more than enough. Enough, that was, to send his pulse skittering a little faster, and enough, unfortunately, for Ethan to catch that glance.
He saw the other man's eyes narrow just a bit in speculation, and possibly in interest, and that, too, was enough to nudge his heart rate up a tad more.
Giles forced his gaze down to his sandwich, cursing himself and his idiotic body, and said, "So you just happened to end up here, then? In Bath."
The 'in *my* town' he left unspoken.
"I like the quiet," Ethan said.
The only response Giles could think of for that was a rather indelicate snort.
His turkey sandwich was not doing an adequate job of pushing away that lingering buzz of arousal.
"And what brings you out here? Slayer problems?"
Anger, on the other hand, did a bit to lessen that buzz. He glared, but Ethan merely smiled mildly and said, "Just making conversation. No need to get glowery."
"Why?" Giles said, and now he was truly wondering, why the hell they were here. Why he'd all but invited Ethan to join him. What had he been thinking? Had he had any sensible reason for this?
"Why what?" Ethan said.
"Why make conversation?"
Ethan seemed confused by the question, as though it were perfectly natural for an almost-evil Chaos sorcerer and a Watcher to be chatting over tea. "Why not? We are old friends. Or possibly mortal enemies. Depending on the day, apparently. Perhaps we should work out a schedule. Just for the edification of all involved, you know."
It occurred to Giles then, though it wasn't precisely a revelation, just one of those moments when something known becomes obvious again, that he did not like Ethan. Everything about the man grated on him, from that devil-may-care sprawl, to that earring catching the overhead lights, to that smarmy smile. His clothes, his hair, his attitude.
And his insistence that they had some sort of relationship.
"What makes you think we're anything at all?" Giles said.
Ethan blinked, and sat up. He even leaned forward a bit and for the first time his eyes lost that casual disinterest and gain some focus.
"Because we are, Rupert."
But they weren't. They hadn't been anything for ages, not for years.
"You know, that's where you've always been wrong," Giles said, his voice cool.
Ethan settled back again, as though to hear a good joke. "Oh? Well, then what is this, then? Enlighten me."
Giles gathered his sandwich and coffee and stood, tired of this already.
"You... are my ex--" He paused over the word, then spat, "my ex-*boyfriend* who still hasn't figured out that I haven't given a damn about you in twenty years. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a life to get back to and I'd prefer you stay out of it."
He stalked out without another word. Anger still echoed through him as he shut his office door behind him, alone again with the filing cabinets.
tarnished -- part one -- trekker |