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jadesfireDon't say I don't listen to the reading public. You wanted Jack and Giles? You got it. No problem. The trouble is, you're stuck with a 'Gen' writer's interpretation. *grin* Be careful what you wish for...
Earlier
Giles was pulling books off shelves when Buffy and Jack came out of the training room. He couldn't help but notice the slight redness in Buffy's face, and he watched as she deliberately took a book from the table and retreated to the stairs, effectively preventing anyone from sitting next to her.
In contrast, Jack somehow managed to insinuate himself onto the bench next to Willow, pointing out things on the screen and oh-so-accidentally ending up with his arm behind Tara. Only for balance, of course. Smiling to himself, Giles turned back to the books.
Some time later, making a mental note of some useful observations in this particular volume, he realised the conversation in the room had more or less died. Willow and Tara were sitting close together now, reading from the laptop, Anya and Xander were behind the main counter with a large pile of books, while Buffy was still half-curled up on the stairs. And Jack?
Giles found him at one of the bookshelves near the counter, running his fingers along the spines and stopping occasionally to peer at titles.
"Have you read any of them?" Pleased to note that he'd managed to make the unflappable Captain jump, Giles nodded to the books. "I don't suppose there are many of these in your office."
"Some, but not nearly enough. I don't get much time for reading nowadays." Regaining his composure, Jack gently pulled a book out. From the careful movement and the way he cradled the tome, Giles could tell that he knew what he was doing, although where someone like Jack got experience with antique books was yet another question to add to the list.
Jack turned the book in his hands, caressing the cover and lifting it to his face. He sniffed. "Computers just don't smell the same," he said appreciatively, "and nothing feels like leather under your skin." His palm moved over the binding, in a gesture that Giles guessed wasn't entirely for the benefit of the book. But Jack's words had resonated somewhere, distracting him sharply.
"I know just what you mean," he said, looking down. "I had a friend. She-" He stopped, clearing his throat. "I told her that computers couldn't replace the book, not really. They just don't smell the same." He watched Jack's hand moving over the red leather, apparently transfixed. When the hand stopped moving, he looked up into Jack's gently sympathetic face.
"I'm sorry. Were you-"
"We were close." Giles said simply, cutting off the rest of the sentence. "She was killed, three years ago."
"I'm sorry," Jack repeated, reaching out and giving Giles' arm a gentle squeeze. "It never goes away, does it?"
"No." Meeting Jack's warm, concerned eyes, he smiled sadly. "You just learn to live with it."
Jack let go of his arm, gesturing at the shelves. "Mostly, I'd say you live with books. You've got to have hundreds here."
"And more at home." Dragging his mind back to the subject, Giles smiled. "We generally find they have what we need."
"Really?" The look this time wasn't gentle, and it wasn't sympathetic. It was sharp and shrewd, and maybe just a little bit playful. "A cup of Ovaltine and a good book. That really does it for you?"
"I prefer Bovril," Giles said, earning him a broad, genuine smile.
"You English and your Bovril." Jack shook his head. "Some things you just can't get used to."
Taking the opening, Giles asked, "Get used to? Do you live in England?"
"Nope. But I love the accent." Grinning, Jack opened the book he was holding, running his finger down the page. "There's something about a really good, polished English accent; it's so authoritative, so certain, so-"
"Cultured?" Giles suggested and Jack frowned, tilting his head from side to side, apparently weighing the word.
"I was going to say sexy, but I guess yours works too."
There was no mistaking the playfulness this time. They were speaking in low voices, probably out of hearing-range of the others, but Giles was aware of the occasional glance that Anya was throwing in their direction. Buffy looked to be lost in thought or just struggling with her book, and Willow and Tara were occupied with the computer screen. No real audience, then.
And he wasn't about to let Jack think that he was the only one who could play this game. Raising his eyebrows, he said, "I suppose that would be in the ear of the beholder. Or listener, I should say."
"Beholder will do just fine." To punctuate the remark, Jack's eyes flicked up and down, coming back to meet Giles' again. He shut the book. "I don't like to leave anything out."
"You believe in being thorough."
"Very." Jack moved forwards, until they were only a book's width apart. "It's what I do best?"
"Really? You do surprise me." They were more or less of a height, and Giles met Jack's clear, knowing stare on an equal level, feeling the book's spine pressing into him. "I'm sure there are other things that you do well."
"Several." Jack leaned forwards, until his mouth was by Giles' ear, breath warm and gentle against his skin. "I could give you the list, but that would take all the fun out of your guesses. Thanks for playing, though." He stepped back again, standing a more normal distance away and giving Giles a slight nod and an obviously amused grin. Game over.
Returning the nod and the smile, Giles gestured to the book Jack was still holding. "I don't think you'll find what you need in there."
"Maybe not. I guess I'll have to try elsewhere." Slotting it back onto the shelf, Jack gave Giles a last, knowing look before sauntering off. He pulled a book from the top of the pile on the counter, leaning against it as he asked Xander something.
Suppressing his grin, Giles turned to the shelves, selecting a book for himself before going to see how Buffy was getting on.
And see what happened when Jack met Spike...here
Earlier
Giles was pulling books off shelves when Buffy and Jack came out of the training room. He couldn't help but notice the slight redness in Buffy's face, and he watched as she deliberately took a book from the table and retreated to the stairs, effectively preventing anyone from sitting next to her.
In contrast, Jack somehow managed to insinuate himself onto the bench next to Willow, pointing out things on the screen and oh-so-accidentally ending up with his arm behind Tara. Only for balance, of course. Smiling to himself, Giles turned back to the books.
Some time later, making a mental note of some useful observations in this particular volume, he realised the conversation in the room had more or less died. Willow and Tara were sitting close together now, reading from the laptop, Anya and Xander were behind the main counter with a large pile of books, while Buffy was still half-curled up on the stairs. And Jack?
Giles found him at one of the bookshelves near the counter, running his fingers along the spines and stopping occasionally to peer at titles.
"Have you read any of them?" Pleased to note that he'd managed to make the unflappable Captain jump, Giles nodded to the books. "I don't suppose there are many of these in your office."
"Some, but not nearly enough. I don't get much time for reading nowadays." Regaining his composure, Jack gently pulled a book out. From the careful movement and the way he cradled the tome, Giles could tell that he knew what he was doing, although where someone like Jack got experience with antique books was yet another question to add to the list.
Jack turned the book in his hands, caressing the cover and lifting it to his face. He sniffed. "Computers just don't smell the same," he said appreciatively, "and nothing feels like leather under your skin." His palm moved over the binding, in a gesture that Giles guessed wasn't entirely for the benefit of the book. But Jack's words had resonated somewhere, distracting him sharply.
"I know just what you mean," he said, looking down. "I had a friend. She-" He stopped, clearing his throat. "I told her that computers couldn't replace the book, not really. They just don't smell the same." He watched Jack's hand moving over the red leather, apparently transfixed. When the hand stopped moving, he looked up into Jack's gently sympathetic face.
"I'm sorry. Were you-"
"We were close." Giles said simply, cutting off the rest of the sentence. "She was killed, three years ago."
"I'm sorry," Jack repeated, reaching out and giving Giles' arm a gentle squeeze. "It never goes away, does it?"
"No." Meeting Jack's warm, concerned eyes, he smiled sadly. "You just learn to live with it."
Jack let go of his arm, gesturing at the shelves. "Mostly, I'd say you live with books. You've got to have hundreds here."
"And more at home." Dragging his mind back to the subject, Giles smiled. "We generally find they have what we need."
"Really?" The look this time wasn't gentle, and it wasn't sympathetic. It was sharp and shrewd, and maybe just a little bit playful. "A cup of Ovaltine and a good book. That really does it for you?"
"I prefer Bovril," Giles said, earning him a broad, genuine smile.
"You English and your Bovril." Jack shook his head. "Some things you just can't get used to."
Taking the opening, Giles asked, "Get used to? Do you live in England?"
"Nope. But I love the accent." Grinning, Jack opened the book he was holding, running his finger down the page. "There's something about a really good, polished English accent; it's so authoritative, so certain, so-"
"Cultured?" Giles suggested and Jack frowned, tilting his head from side to side, apparently weighing the word.
"I was going to say sexy, but I guess yours works too."
There was no mistaking the playfulness this time. They were speaking in low voices, probably out of hearing-range of the others, but Giles was aware of the occasional glance that Anya was throwing in their direction. Buffy looked to be lost in thought or just struggling with her book, and Willow and Tara were occupied with the computer screen. No real audience, then.
And he wasn't about to let Jack think that he was the only one who could play this game. Raising his eyebrows, he said, "I suppose that would be in the ear of the beholder. Or listener, I should say."
"Beholder will do just fine." To punctuate the remark, Jack's eyes flicked up and down, coming back to meet Giles' again. He shut the book. "I don't like to leave anything out."
"You believe in being thorough."
"Very." Jack moved forwards, until they were only a book's width apart. "It's what I do best?"
"Really? You do surprise me." They were more or less of a height, and Giles met Jack's clear, knowing stare on an equal level, feeling the book's spine pressing into him. "I'm sure there are other things that you do well."
"Several." Jack leaned forwards, until his mouth was by Giles' ear, breath warm and gentle against his skin. "I could give you the list, but that would take all the fun out of your guesses. Thanks for playing, though." He stepped back again, standing a more normal distance away and giving Giles a slight nod and an obviously amused grin. Game over.
Returning the nod and the smile, Giles gestured to the book Jack was still holding. "I don't think you'll find what you need in there."
"Maybe not. I guess I'll have to try elsewhere." Slotting it back onto the shelf, Jack gave Giles a last, knowing look before sauntering off. He pulled a book from the top of the pile on the counter, leaning against it as he asked Xander something.
Suppressing his grin, Giles turned to the shelves, selecting a book for himself before going to see how Buffy was getting on.
And see what happened when Jack met Spike...here