Author:
Beta: _elektra and shakegirl.
For: lm.
Pairing: Giles/Tara.
Rating: R.
Setting: Wishverse S4.
Notes: For the mini!Giles Ficathon and requests Giles/Tara, England and snow, no Willow or violence.
Her hands tremble as she pulls the crossbow back. Despite the shaking, her arrow hits her target, causing it to explode into dust. "Got him." Once upon a time, she might've stumbled over her words, but not anymore; they couldn't afford it.
She slams the van door shut after they're both inside. Her fingers reach for the crystal around her neck as she whispers a prayer. At the low hum of the engine starting, she allows herself to close her eyes.
Sitting in the passenger's seat, she prefers that Giles drives. The road on the Oregon coast, Highway 101, makes her slightly nauseous as it curves around the coastline. They've been lucky that it hasn't washed out in the winter rainstorms.
"Tara," Giles' voice draws her out of her thoughts, "are you hungry?" He places his hand on her shoulder.
She looks up; her eyes linger on the mark on his throat. The one that he never talks about and she doesn't ask about. "I'm fine. Thanks."
All she can see are pine trees lining the road, which seems more comforting than deserted towns. A few miles ago, they passed sign for Yachats, population 617; but they haven't seen another human for days. She imagines children riding in cars, eagerly waiting for elusive peeks of the ocean as she did during her family's few trips to the beach. Her hand touches her stomach.
As they turn another corner, she wishes for a pharmacy, any sign of civilization, active human life. Rumors tell them that the north is clear. Everything, but ice demons. Hellmouths seem to feed on heat and concrete.
When she met Giles, their hands came together. A recognition of a shared power. She wiped his forehead with a damp cloth, beads of emotional repression forming on his brow. Tara's mother once told her that she'd know when she met another like her. And this Englishman, old enough to be her father, stepped into her life.
"Tell me about England?" Tara asks. "What we would be doing if we were there."
"It'd be snowing about now. The rain having long gone away." His gaze remains on the road and hers on him. "On Christmas Eve, we'd have to make a stop at my mother's. She'd feed us and coddle you."
"You really think she'd like me?" Tara turns in her seat to face him. She stretches her legs out.
Giles smiles softly, the way he does when she gets him to talk of England. "Yes. You remind me of her. I think she'd be pleasantly surprised. Though she wouldn't be the only one." He yawns. "After stuffing ourselves on the finest English cuisine, I'd take you to small cabin in the countryside. Where we could curl up by a roaring fire, watch the snow drift over the land, and make love in the warmth."
Tara watches him. He's become sentimental lately; ever since she found out. That's when he started talking about England, taking them away from danger. He barely lets her fight anymore. "That sounds nice."
"There's a campground a mile ahead. I think we'll pull in to rest." He shifts the car into a lower gear.
Nodding, she thinks of Berkley, camping outside under the stars. She used to study art history at the university there until the Master's armies moved northward, taking the towns along the way for themselves. Another vampire factory, another town, practically unstoppable after taking over San Francisco and Giles alone in his van. Gravel crinkles under the tires of the van, and she watches as the sun begins to rise.
Giles parks close to the beach, fully in the sunlight. Solar rays that offer protection from their enemies. Climbing in the back, he rolls out of their sleeping bundle.
Slowly, she strips. Somewhere between Shasta and Ashland she lost her pajamas; so she sleeps naked - all but the crystal - next to him.
Giles rolls her on her back, his mouth finding hers. His hands caress her body, lingering over her stomach. Moving down her body, his mouth seeks her tender flesh, to taste her.
Groaning, her eyes draw down, watching him move. She relaxes as his thumb rolls her clit, fingers feeling inside of her. "Need you." Shivering, she feels a tendril of magic creeping from his body and into hers. They've been practicing together, but she knows that tonight, it's instinct over experimentation.
"Are you sure you're ready?" Sitting up, he leans down to kiss her.
Tara nods. The first month they'd coupled, it'd been angry fucking; all the repression and the people they'd lost. But these days, he was soft with her, making love, being a gentleman. She gasps at the initial shock of him pushing inside of her.
Giles thrusts slowly, lifting her legs for her comfort and tending to her needs.
Tilting her head, she moans. Her hand runs over his arm, her body trembling. Tightening, she comes and feels his release soon after.
Tucking his head down, his finger trace her hair line, smiling. Pulling out, he settles down next to her. "I love you." He kisses her forehead and adjusts his pillow.
"Love you too." Her head finds the curve of his shoulder to rest on; legs tangle with his, listening to his heartbeat.
She wakes before him when the rain stops. Wrapping an orange sarong around her body, she tucks a stake in it for protection. As she steps out, the wind whips through her hair and pulls at her covering. Despite its harshness, she takes a deep breath of salty air. Pebbles and grass wink between her toes as she moves out onto the beach. Gulls fly around her, slender and athletic since the fishermen have left. She moves over rocks and driftwood.
Reaching down, she picks up an intact sand dollar. It's rough in her hand, her eyes gazing over the ocean as she moves toward the water. The pebbles shrink, turning into sand grains; they stick between her toes.
She turns her head when she hears her name being called. Giles stumbles down the hill, his shoes slipping over driftwood and empty crab shells. In his arms, he carries a thick brown wool blanket. When he reaches her, he's panting. He wraps the blanket around her shoulders. "It's too chilly out here. We don't have time to be sick. You can't afford it."
Tara smiles at the sentiment and kisses his cheek. "You shouldn't worry, Rupert. The van's close by and so were you." She shifts the blanket so it covers him as well. Her head rests on his strong chest, arms around her. Standing with him, she continues to watch the waves splash against the shore, letting grain by grain wash away.