"Come, my love, I'll tell you a tale..."
Dec. 11th, 2003 05:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeWes/Giles, "All they did was offer me tea."
“Wesley, sit still.”
It wasn’t making Giles’ job any easier, the way Wesley was moving around and trying to evade the thermometer. Not that he could evade very much, bundled up in blankets as he was. But he could still move his head, and that was making Giles’ treatment of Wesley’s illness very hard.
“Wesley, if you continue to act like a baby, I will have no choice but to treat you like a baby.”
Wesley stopped moving. “You mean…”
“Yes.”
“… you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you.”
“Possibly.”
Wesley closed his mouth, his eyes adorably wide in a childlike panic from the thought of having a thermometer shoved up his
“I’ll be good.”
Giles sighed. Wesley’s fever wasn’t climbing any, but it wasn’t going down either. He’d have to try more aggressive measures to treat the virus. And he still didn’t know why Wesley had been so stupid as to go into the lair of a known sorcerer without backup or at least telling someone… “You could have told me where you were going,” he said. And he was whining, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. Or he did care, he cared too much, and thus the whining. “You could have … let me know, something. And maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”
“All they did was offer me tea,” Wesley protested, but it was weak. He knew it had been stupid.
“Tea that was laced with the Bertyllium virus, Wesley, you know better than to accept strange drinks from … from men with pointy hats.”
Wesley blinked.
“You know damn well what I mean.”
“Men with pointy hats?” Giles was rapidly losing this argument, and he knew it. “Are you sure you aren’t coming down with the…”
“I’m quite sure…” Giles sat down next to Wesley and began polishing his glasses in a habitual gesture of frustration and worry. “Honestly, Wesley, if you were in Wonderland and faced with that bottle labeled ‘Drink Me’ you’d have the whole bottle down and be off before you could say ‘Curiouser.’”
“You’re awfully darling when you worry,” Wesley smirked. Giles just shifted uncomfortably, blushing. “All right, will it make you feel better if I promise to behave myself in the future?”
There was a quiet moment, companionship and affection and quiet concern filling the space between them. There was a little holding of hands, a little stroking of fingertips, nothing to be remarked upon later when they were both being as macho as staid British men could be. But for the moment, while neither of them were being watched, they could indulge. They could be worried, and ill, and baby each other with all the freedom in the world.
“It was only tea…”
“So they said,” And Giles was off again. “But you didn’t see them prepare it, you don’t know what was in…”
Juli/Griffin, "But I can see you, Dr. Griffin."
Griffin had dreamed of many things in his lifetime, most of them unpleasant since his conscription into the League. This garden, however, was new. Enclosed within the walls of several houses that smelled as though they were in a better area of London, it afforded a kind of private beauty that had to belong to someone of at least some money. The gardener … a woman, Griffin saw with surprise… was kneeling down at the edge of a flowerbed and doing something arcane to some plants that seemed to involve some cutters, sticks, and twine. He moved closer to the woman in white, curious.
“Pass me that spade, would you?”
Griffin jumped, but remembered just in time not to reply, not to move. He had to stay very, very still. If she knew he was there, she might be able to hear him moving around… invisibility was supposed to make him be able to sneak about without being detected, dammit! But at least she couldn’t see him if she turned around.
“But I can see you, Dr. Griffin.”
That almost got a blurted response. Not only could she see him, could she read his very thoughts? How had she know that was what he had been wondering… she finished tying off whatever it was she had been tying and stood up, turning, hands smoothing down her skirt in front of her and leaving faint smudges of dark brown sod.
“I’m not like other people,” she said, looking directly at him despite that he’d never moved a muscle, smiling. It was… a kind smile, a gentle smile, the sort of expression that was never turned on Griffin, ever. “I see things others don’t. I know things that most couldn’t possibly understand. Of course I can see you, and I can hear you as well. And… well, I think it’s time we had a talk, you and I.” She went over to a chair, part of the centerpiece of the garden, a little covered area with chairs and a table.
“But…” Griffin followed, helpless against his own curiosity. “You couldn’t know I was there. You couldn’t see me, I’m invisible…” and then, on the heels of that and completely without knowing that he’d meant to. “And you couldn’t possibly understand, anyway.”
She smiled. Gentle, rebuking, reminding. “But I can see you, Dr. Griffin.”
Dhali/Wiggins, "You are afraid of the truth. Good. The truth is something you should fear."
Afterwards, Wiggins just stared across the bed.
Dhali was going to kill him. There was no question of that, not now, not after what he’d seen. What he’d seen, what no man was ever meant to see… Did Dakkar know? He must… and did he know when had it all started? Wiggins didn’t have the slightest idea, except that it must predate his presence, but surely Dakkar would have to know. This couldn’t have gone on long enough for Dakkar not to know. And so maybe, if the elder told the younger exactly what had been done, maybe Dakkar would understand what Wiggins now understood, the inevitability of his own demise. Wiggins didn’t like it, but he certainly understood that it would now be necessary. He understood it in Dhali’s eyes.
“You understand, then,” Dhali said, in what were almost gentle tones. Dhali was never gentle with someone unless education, teaching was involved. Or the torture that passed for it in the twisted creature’s mind.
“I …” It was hard to speak around the thick wet wool taste in his mouth, but Wiggins managed. “I understand.”
“Good. It is better this way, you see? For Dakkar’s good.” Still gentle, and Wiggins wanted to retort. He wanted to say that it wasn’t for Dakkar’s good, not at all. It was for Dhali’s good, for the mad Emperor’s twisted mind. He didn’t dare, though, and in a strange sense of pity he didn’t want to shatter Dhali’s illusions either. Best that it be left as ‘for Dakkar’s good.’ Better that way. “Are you afraid to die?”
“Of course…” Wiggins couldn’t look away, but he could nod. “Of course I’m afraid to die.”
“But now you know why you have to. Now you know everything.”
Wiggins nodded again. “Now I know.”
“You’re afraid of the truth.” Dhali nodded with a certain satisfaction. “Good. The truth is something you should fear.”
Dhali was afraid of everything, Wiggins thought. Afraid of everything and angry at everything because of it. Again, though, he kept his silence.
“Was there anything you wished to say?” Dhali gave him the one last courtesy even while reaching under the pillow for a knife. It was a bizarre sort of talk, but then again the last few hours had been a bizarre sort of… whatever it was. Wiggins didn’t delude himself that this was anything but the manifestation of Dhali’s jealousy over Dakkar. He’d known, despite that there hadn’t been anything between the two men, that it would come about somehow. He’d never expected this. “No?” Wiggins shook his head mutely, no.
The knife slid across his jugular vein in a move that was as much of a lover’s caress as anything previous. As Wiggins’ blood sprayed the bandages, sprayed Dhali’s naked flesh, even then his final thoughts were to wonder why Dhali had revealed the truth to him. Was it simply so he would understand everything that had been going on, the reasons, the whys and wherefores? Or was it
Dhali/Juli, "Education is the highest form of love."
“Why?”
Dhali’s voice held so many things. Despair, grief, and horror rang clear and tore at Julianna’s heart, but there was longing and possibly even a little hope underneath. Hope was good, or so she held true. Hope would keep him alive long enough to heal.
“Because…” she shrugged, helpless and yet for her that one gesture said everything. “I love you.”
The Emperor of Laputa hunched over, clenching the topmost stems and blossoms of the bush till they crumpled in his hands. When he opened them again the palms and petals were stained with blood. “Then why do you continue to resist me?”
“I’m not resisting you,” there was a smile in her voice, and tears. He didn’t know how she managed to express both, so deeply, in four words.
“You deny my teachings, you resist my efforts to better you, you refute my every attempt to bring you up from the depths of… don’t you understand? I do this for your own good, you stupid English whore!” The shout must have echoed to every building that bordered the garden, and she didn’t move a muscle. “You say…” the emperor swallowed. “You say you love me. Education is the highest form of love.”
“Love is the highest form of love. Love, in itself.”
Dhali crashed to the ground so solidly that his knees split open a little upon the impact. There were still thorns, pricks embedded in the skin of his palms. He clenched his hands and drove them in further, until she knelt down beside him and covered his hands with hers. Whatever else he might have intended, his fists uncurled at her touch and enabled her to pluck the thorns out, brush away the blood. “Why?” he whispered, crying. “Why?” She didn’t respond and after a minute he turned to face her, saw that she was weeping also. He brushed the tears away with bloodstained fingertips and kissing her in a gesture that, even now, neither of them understood.
“Wesley, sit still.”
It wasn’t making Giles’ job any easier, the way Wesley was moving around and trying to evade the thermometer. Not that he could evade very much, bundled up in blankets as he was. But he could still move his head, and that was making Giles’ treatment of Wesley’s illness very hard.
“Wesley, if you continue to act like a baby, I will have no choice but to treat you like a baby.”
Wesley stopped moving. “You mean…”
“Yes.”
“… you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you.”
“Possibly.”
Wesley closed his mouth, his eyes adorably wide in a childlike panic from the thought of having a thermometer shoved up his
“I’ll be good.”
Giles sighed. Wesley’s fever wasn’t climbing any, but it wasn’t going down either. He’d have to try more aggressive measures to treat the virus. And he still didn’t know why Wesley had been so stupid as to go into the lair of a known sorcerer without backup or at least telling someone… “You could have told me where you were going,” he said. And he was whining, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. Or he did care, he cared too much, and thus the whining. “You could have … let me know, something. And maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”
“All they did was offer me tea,” Wesley protested, but it was weak. He knew it had been stupid.
“Tea that was laced with the Bertyllium virus, Wesley, you know better than to accept strange drinks from … from men with pointy hats.”
Wesley blinked.
“You know damn well what I mean.”
“Men with pointy hats?” Giles was rapidly losing this argument, and he knew it. “Are you sure you aren’t coming down with the…”
“I’m quite sure…” Giles sat down next to Wesley and began polishing his glasses in a habitual gesture of frustration and worry. “Honestly, Wesley, if you were in Wonderland and faced with that bottle labeled ‘Drink Me’ you’d have the whole bottle down and be off before you could say ‘Curiouser.’”
“You’re awfully darling when you worry,” Wesley smirked. Giles just shifted uncomfortably, blushing. “All right, will it make you feel better if I promise to behave myself in the future?”
There was a quiet moment, companionship and affection and quiet concern filling the space between them. There was a little holding of hands, a little stroking of fingertips, nothing to be remarked upon later when they were both being as macho as staid British men could be. But for the moment, while neither of them were being watched, they could indulge. They could be worried, and ill, and baby each other with all the freedom in the world.
“It was only tea…”
“So they said,” And Giles was off again. “But you didn’t see them prepare it, you don’t know what was in…”
Juli/Griffin, "But I can see you, Dr. Griffin."
Griffin had dreamed of many things in his lifetime, most of them unpleasant since his conscription into the League. This garden, however, was new. Enclosed within the walls of several houses that smelled as though they were in a better area of London, it afforded a kind of private beauty that had to belong to someone of at least some money. The gardener … a woman, Griffin saw with surprise… was kneeling down at the edge of a flowerbed and doing something arcane to some plants that seemed to involve some cutters, sticks, and twine. He moved closer to the woman in white, curious.
“Pass me that spade, would you?”
Griffin jumped, but remembered just in time not to reply, not to move. He had to stay very, very still. If she knew he was there, she might be able to hear him moving around… invisibility was supposed to make him be able to sneak about without being detected, dammit! But at least she couldn’t see him if she turned around.
“But I can see you, Dr. Griffin.”
That almost got a blurted response. Not only could she see him, could she read his very thoughts? How had she know that was what he had been wondering… she finished tying off whatever it was she had been tying and stood up, turning, hands smoothing down her skirt in front of her and leaving faint smudges of dark brown sod.
“I’m not like other people,” she said, looking directly at him despite that he’d never moved a muscle, smiling. It was… a kind smile, a gentle smile, the sort of expression that was never turned on Griffin, ever. “I see things others don’t. I know things that most couldn’t possibly understand. Of course I can see you, and I can hear you as well. And… well, I think it’s time we had a talk, you and I.” She went over to a chair, part of the centerpiece of the garden, a little covered area with chairs and a table.
“But…” Griffin followed, helpless against his own curiosity. “You couldn’t know I was there. You couldn’t see me, I’m invisible…” and then, on the heels of that and completely without knowing that he’d meant to. “And you couldn’t possibly understand, anyway.”
She smiled. Gentle, rebuking, reminding. “But I can see you, Dr. Griffin.”
Dhali/Wiggins, "You are afraid of the truth. Good. The truth is something you should fear."
Afterwards, Wiggins just stared across the bed.
Dhali was going to kill him. There was no question of that, not now, not after what he’d seen. What he’d seen, what no man was ever meant to see… Did Dakkar know? He must… and did he know when had it all started? Wiggins didn’t have the slightest idea, except that it must predate his presence, but surely Dakkar would have to know. This couldn’t have gone on long enough for Dakkar not to know. And so maybe, if the elder told the younger exactly what had been done, maybe Dakkar would understand what Wiggins now understood, the inevitability of his own demise. Wiggins didn’t like it, but he certainly understood that it would now be necessary. He understood it in Dhali’s eyes.
“You understand, then,” Dhali said, in what were almost gentle tones. Dhali was never gentle with someone unless education, teaching was involved. Or the torture that passed for it in the twisted creature’s mind.
“I …” It was hard to speak around the thick wet wool taste in his mouth, but Wiggins managed. “I understand.”
“Good. It is better this way, you see? For Dakkar’s good.” Still gentle, and Wiggins wanted to retort. He wanted to say that it wasn’t for Dakkar’s good, not at all. It was for Dhali’s good, for the mad Emperor’s twisted mind. He didn’t dare, though, and in a strange sense of pity he didn’t want to shatter Dhali’s illusions either. Best that it be left as ‘for Dakkar’s good.’ Better that way. “Are you afraid to die?”
“Of course…” Wiggins couldn’t look away, but he could nod. “Of course I’m afraid to die.”
“But now you know why you have to. Now you know everything.”
Wiggins nodded again. “Now I know.”
“You’re afraid of the truth.” Dhali nodded with a certain satisfaction. “Good. The truth is something you should fear.”
Dhali was afraid of everything, Wiggins thought. Afraid of everything and angry at everything because of it. Again, though, he kept his silence.
“Was there anything you wished to say?” Dhali gave him the one last courtesy even while reaching under the pillow for a knife. It was a bizarre sort of talk, but then again the last few hours had been a bizarre sort of… whatever it was. Wiggins didn’t delude himself that this was anything but the manifestation of Dhali’s jealousy over Dakkar. He’d known, despite that there hadn’t been anything between the two men, that it would come about somehow. He’d never expected this. “No?” Wiggins shook his head mutely, no.
The knife slid across his jugular vein in a move that was as much of a lover’s caress as anything previous. As Wiggins’ blood sprayed the bandages, sprayed Dhali’s naked flesh, even then his final thoughts were to wonder why Dhali had revealed the truth to him. Was it simply so he would understand everything that had been going on, the reasons, the whys and wherefores? Or was it
Dhali/Juli, "Education is the highest form of love."
“Why?”
Dhali’s voice held so many things. Despair, grief, and horror rang clear and tore at Julianna’s heart, but there was longing and possibly even a little hope underneath. Hope was good, or so she held true. Hope would keep him alive long enough to heal.
“Because…” she shrugged, helpless and yet for her that one gesture said everything. “I love you.”
The Emperor of Laputa hunched over, clenching the topmost stems and blossoms of the bush till they crumpled in his hands. When he opened them again the palms and petals were stained with blood. “Then why do you continue to resist me?”
“I’m not resisting you,” there was a smile in her voice, and tears. He didn’t know how she managed to express both, so deeply, in four words.
“You deny my teachings, you resist my efforts to better you, you refute my every attempt to bring you up from the depths of… don’t you understand? I do this for your own good, you stupid English whore!” The shout must have echoed to every building that bordered the garden, and she didn’t move a muscle. “You say…” the emperor swallowed. “You say you love me. Education is the highest form of love.”
“Love is the highest form of love. Love, in itself.”
Dhali crashed to the ground so solidly that his knees split open a little upon the impact. There were still thorns, pricks embedded in the skin of his palms. He clenched his hands and drove them in further, until she knelt down beside him and covered his hands with hers. Whatever else he might have intended, his fists uncurled at her touch and enabled her to pluck the thorns out, brush away the blood. “Why?” he whispered, crying. “Why?” She didn’t respond and after a minute he turned to face her, saw that she was weeping also. He brushed the tears away with bloodstained fingertips and kissing her in a gesture that, even now, neither of them understood.
