Fic: Across the Void (Giles/Simon, FRT)

[bookishwench]

Author: Meltha
Rating: FRT
Feedback: Yes, thank you.
Spoilers: Through BtVS, Angel, and Firefly. Very vague spoilers for Serenity.
Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and Fanfiction.net. If you’re interested, please let me know.
Summary: Wesley has sent Giles a most interesting set of books.
Author’s Note: Written for the maleslashminis Simon ficathon for noelia_g, who requested Giles/Simon, no character death or fluff, rain, and an Earth setting.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.

Across the Void

The books Wesley had sent Giles before Wolfram & Hart collapsed were sitting on his desk now, collecting dust as they had been for the last six months. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day to do everything what with dozens of new Slayers arriving every week and the constant trauma of having to deal with Andrew. They were, after all, nothing but a set of encyclopedias, or at least that’s what they appeared to be.

It wasn’t until Giles took the time at 3:00 a.m. one very rainy night that he realized what a treasure trove he had stumbled upon. Source books, templates of every known written book that Wolfram & Hart had access to in this reality or beyond: he’d heard rumors of their existence, but he was nearly giddy at the realization of what this could mean. Over the next hour, he called up missing volumes of the Watchers Diaries that had been lost in the Blitz, three arcane texts from a tribe in the Andes that had been extinct for five centuries, and scrolls from the library of Alexandria, including the complete works of Plato in their original form.

It was dizzying, and yet, as he stared at the pages of Greek text until his eyes began to blur, he had a sense of nagging discontent. There was not a single person who would understand this immense treasure, save perhaps Willow, and even now he guiltily realized he wasn’t sure he trusted her enough to let her know they now had access to every book ever written, even the darkest and most dangerous texts. The books would need to be kept safe and, above all, secret. With a sigh, he realized his brief respite from the clattering chaos of his daily life would end soon. In a few hours at most, either Buffy would knock on the door with a new Slayer in tow whose language no one understood, or the phone would ring with ever increasingly rude calls from bill collectors, and there was still no money to be had.

“If only,” Giles said with a sigh, fondly stroking the aged leather binding, “this book could bring me serenity.”

The text on the page changed before his eyes, blurring and smearing like ink left out in a rainstorm, and what resolved itself on the page was a thin, elegant bit of handwriting done in a soft, golden-brown ink. It might have been written with a quill pen, Giles thought absently, but the lines lacked the ink splotches so common with old documents. In fact, the writing was almost as clear as that of a computer screen as he read it.

May 23, 2517

Surely that had to be a mistake, he thought. Perhaps 1725 or 1572 was meant instead, or the source book was, what was the word Willow sometimes used? Glitching. And yet, he thought, was it possible that the book could access documents that had not yet been written? It was an almost horrifying thought. Some things no one should know before they happen. Still, he read on.

River seems better today. At least she hasn’t spread jam all over the kitchen walls again. Still, I know Inara’s departure has upset her greatly, and Book’s decision to leave soon is causing her grief. I wish they could have stayed aboard Serenity, but they are probably safer on their own.

Giles stared at the word “Serenity” and realized his off-hand wish had made the diary of this person appear.

“Apparently, Xander isn’t the only one who shouldn’t speak around the books,” Giles said aloud, though his mind was still reeling with the implications of his discovery.

Until well past daybreak, Giles read the diary of this young man and his trials against the Alliance to free his sister, who sounded suspiciously as though she might be some future version of a Slayer. He found himself admiring this Simon’s kindness, loyalty, and wit. Phrases leaped off the page to him, making him feel as though he actually knew this person.

I haven’t had time to write in a few days. Jayne insisted he needed to stop on one of the rim planets for “highly important personal reasons.” This involved a visit to a particularly seedy bordello, specializing in, and I loathe to say I am quoting this from the sign over the door, “extry companionable bumpin’” . Regardless, River took the opportunity to run off again, and I spent the better part of two days tracking her down. I love her dearly, but she exhausts me…

The Captain has taken on a job near Hera. Apparently, we will be stealing shoes. No, I have no idea why. However, as this should be a step up from the fertilizer heist of last month, at least in terms of smell alone, I have no reason to complain…

Alas. The shoes are second-hand. I believe I preferred the fertilizer…

Giles found himself becoming quite fond of this person, whoever he might be. A well-educated man of refined tastes in the middle of group of well-meaning but less sophisticated people, he often felt ashamed or frustrated that things he took as simple commonplaces were regarded with derision or even open insults by the others. Giles could identify only too readily. Still, the wonderful tales of his exploits before he had to go into hiding with his sister smacked of Giles’s own youth. Hanging naked off the statue of Hippocrates while roaring drunk, or the story of the two days he’d spent in a particularly lavish orgy sounded entirely like they might have been pages from Ripper’s own diary.

Giles stopped reading for the day, and yet he came back to the book that night, and the next, and the next. He found Simon sometimes drew sketches, nothing especially gifted but enough to give the basic idea of what things looked like. He learned the wide grin of Wash (and heavens, Xander would be so thrilled to learn that Hawaiian shirts had survived the Earth’s apocalypse and were still being worn by the fashion unconscious five centuries hence). He saw the steady gaze of Malcolm Reynolds. He smiled over the picture of Kaylee, sweet and innocent in spite of a life of crime, drawn with especial fondness, along with the caption below it.

Kaylee, a fine girl, the most warm-hearted I have ever met, and I know her feelings for me. I’m a coward. I can’t bear to tell her I could never feel the same for her.

Giles had read between the lines, and sometimes directly in the lines, enough to know that Simon was gay. His finger stoked the lines of the self-portrait Simon had scrawled in a margin. Dark eyes, dark hair, a slightly sad smile twisting the corner of his lips, and Giles knew that he was finding this man beautiful. Hundreds of years and thousands upon thousands of miles separated the two of them, but he couldn’t help wondering what it might feel like to run his fingers over the real lines of his face. He was slowly but surely, yet inexorably, losing his heart to him. He was certain of it by the time he came to the last page of the diary and the crew planning for a bank robbery, Simon worrying about his sister’s upcoming role in it.

“Rupert, you stupid fool,” he said aloud, disgusted with himself. “Of all the idiotic, self-torturing, quixotic daydreams!”

I must be more full of anxiety than I thought. For a moment, I thought I heard a voice saying something like “idiotic, self-torturing, quixotic daydreams.” I’m quite sure no one aboard even knows the word quixotic, though.

Giles watched, stunned, as the words appeared on the page. It wasn’t possible.

It was angry, and yet it sounded so warm, alive, with an accent from Londinium. Sensual, with a note of yearning in it. Almost… sexy.

I really need a vacation.

Giles blinked. With a shaking hand, he put the book back on his shelf. He wasn’t quite ready to deal with this yet. He had a suspicion, though, that the book would not remain unopened for long.