The title is an homage to one of my favourite sixties films, which starred Sidney Poitier and Rod Steiger; wish they'd not made a sequel, as wonderful a character as Virgil Tibbs was.
Anyway, here it is. Hopefully someone reading it at giles_shorts will be able to identify where my image of Giles and Olivia seeing each other post-apocalyptic-Sunnydale originated. I'd love to credit story and writer.
TITLE: In the Still of the Night (written for giles_shorts august theme: Disappearance and Return)
FANDOM: BtVS; post-series.
WORD COUNT: 500
SUMMARY: There's more than one of my buffyverses this could fit in; certainly not canon, as all of mine have Sunnydale, right next to the Pacific Ocean, filled with water and not a dry hole in the middle of the desert. If I decide to fix it into one of those I shall mention the re-assignment.
Lagavulin comes from here http://www.discovering-distilleries.com/lagavulin/
Olivia couldn't actually recall hearing about Sunnydale; though she wished she knew where she'd been when he... it had happened.
She'd been in the air asleep when news had reached her inbox.
The sinkhole was already being called Lake Sunnydale; though by report it was still filling up and experts could not be sure that it would not rejoin the Pacific at some future time.
Somehow, though she'd worked long and hard at getting Rupert Giles out of her mind, he'd stayed exactly where he'd been for more than twenty years; nearly twenty-five now.
She was forty-five in the morning; statistically halfway through her life, if the female side of the family tree was any measure.
She'd planned to spend it walking... hills; somewhere, not to be anywhere, just to be still.
Her brain had failed to message her that she'd want to be with him.
And now, of course, just as he always was at times like these; he was nowhere to be found. No trace of the existence of Rupert Giles anywhere.
She put down her whisky tumbler; turned down the Muddy Waters on the turntable and went to the window to see if she really had heard a knock at the door, and who bloody knocked these days; she had a buzzer with an inter...
She was remarkably calm as she walked down the short stairwell; managed not to adjust her appearance as if she was a schoolgirl either, before she opened the door.
Somehow she managed to not make it into a question.
Dropping his small carryall onto the ground, he removed his glasses and stepped up to her threshold.
"I need to get some new boots."
He still had an infuritatingly schoolboyish smile on his face. No bloody explanation of where he'd been; why no-one could find him; just a smile, and an open invitation back into her life.
Which she never seemed to revoke.
"No room tonight?”
He cleaned his glasses, put them back on and... almost seemed to shrug with his face.
And this incarnation of Peter Pan was back in her soul; Pink Floyd, or no; scary heart-stealing demons, or no. Where he had apparently never left.
"Fancy a walk?”
She gestured inside, turned her back on him and walked upstairs; hearing him step inside, drop the carryall, and close the door behind him.
One of them would be gone again in a few days; neither know when they'd see each other again.
, They were magnets.
Ever since that party at Oxford; she'd just started, and he was nearly done.
They'd still spent less than a year together, but they hardly ever seemed to have been apart.
Smirking at how little that all mattered now they were both here, she poured another glass of the Lagavulin; turned to place it into the hand she knew would be waiting, and gestured at the couch.
They sipped their drinks; both leaning against the other.
Goddess watch over us all,