Soda (Soft Drink Remix)
Remix Author: Meg
Original Story: Cuppa by S.J. Smith
Summary: Giles thinks about Buffy.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Spoilers: Only for Sharon Jane's lovely story - read hers first!
Giles opened the door to his favourite café and stopped, breathing in the delightful aromas of tea, home-made cake, and milkshakes. It wasn't his favourite café because of the food, though that was quite exquisite at times. It was his favourite because of the light.
It was too cold at this time of year to sit in the outdoor area, but the indoor area was glass on three sides. Glass with a delicate tracery of wrought iron and ivy. Each corner of each wall was decorated with stained glass, so on sunny days walking into the café was like walking into a rainbow. The chairs were tasteful, more wrought iron with padded seats and padded back support. The tables were glass, which the staff managed to keep clean in spite of the sticky fingers of the café patrons, both adult and child.
The fact that the owner was a bookworm, who kept roughly a hundred books on a set of bookshelves next to the counter for anyone to borrow, didn't hurt.
Giles sighed, and felt his shoulders relax at last. His briefcase didn't feel quite so heavy.
It had been a horrendous day; trying to track down a Calvash demon based on its psychic residue on nearby walls. The Calvashi weren't dangerous, exactly, but when they spun their webs and went into hibernation, the cumulative mental emanations affected the emotions of people for miles around.
The bell jingled, and someone banged into the door from behind, pushing it into his shoulder. "ExCUSE me," a female voice said gruffly.
"Oh - sorry," Giles said. He shook his head and moved into the café, letting the woman push her way past him to the counter. She ordered a cappuccino with soy milk, and a slice of cheesecake in the same angry, impatient tones.
Giles took his time looking at the menu, although he knew it by heart. He smiled at the girl behind the counter, when it was his turn. "Hello."
Her name was Katie. She was studying English at the local community college. He'd helped her with an essay on 'The Merchant of Venice'.
"What would you like?"
"Mudcake with whipped cream, please," he said decisively.
"Anything to drink?"
"No - perhaps later."
"All right, Mr Giles, I'll bring it over to you shortly."
"Thank you."
Giles made his way to his usual seat in the corner, and placed his briefcase on the table. He opened it, removed his book - Jennifer Dowling's latest on Yiddish demons, a fascinating study - and reluctantly took out his notebook as well. "I should record today's efforts," he muttered to himself. It was only for his own reference, but he needed things written down. Tangible. So he knew the events had really happened.
He took his favourite fountain pen from his shirt pocket and dutifully began to write.
Spent most of the day searching for a Calvash demon down Bowden Street, following a police report of unusual disturbances in the area. I had to work alone as the effects can be amplified with more than one person in a confined space.
I began outside no. 87, the residence of Mr and Mrs Bennett. Last Friday the police were called to a domestic disturbance at this address, but when they arrived found the Bennetts sitting in a room full of broken furniture, both covered in cuts and bruises, sobbing in each other's arms. I was able to see the Calvash's psychic residue on the corner of the front steps.
Giles paused for a moment, thinking back. The psychic residue could only be seen under very specific conditions, which meant that Giles had spent most of his day with a teaspoon of cocoa under his nose, squinting through a child's bubble wand.
It had been rather embarrassing to be caught by a grubby neighbourhood child. Faced with the boy's refusal to go away, Giles had been forced to resort to the feeble rejoinder of, "At least *I* don't have my finger up my nose."
The boy hadn't cared. He'd raced off happily to tell his friends about the weirdo.
Giles sighed.
The scent of warm mudcake and whipped cream filled his nostrils. "Here you go," said Katie, placing his cake on the table.
He blinked. The slice was enormous; nearly too big for the plate. "I'm sorry, I only ordered one piece," he said, apologising in spite of the mistake being hers.
"On the house, Mr Giles," she said gently. "Enjoy."
He nodded his thanks, picked up the spoon, and took a bite. The cake was light and soft, and the cream melted delightfully in his mouth. Obviously satisfied with his reaction, Katie went back to the counter.
As the residue was significantly faded -- I estimated it was at least three days old -- I moved onto the next property. No. 96, the home of three students. Oddly, the police report had stated that the number of noise complaints from neighbouring properties had dropped dramatically in previous days. I knocked on the door, pretending to work in real estate, and was able to engage one of the students, Ms Monica Terr, in conversation.
She told me that she had spent almost all of the previous week in bed, even though she was not sick. I at first assumed this to be typical student behaviour, but she confided in me that she was worried about her state of mind as she did not have exams and she usually went out every night. Apparently, I reminded her of her grandfather. I ignored that and asked if she had seen any other odd behaviour in the area, as it might deter potential buyers. She stated that her fellow students had argued and neither had come home in days.
I found residue in the back garden, when Ms Terr went inside for a moment.
I made my excuses and left hurriedly. I was able to track the residue to a nearby alley. The Calvash had set up its web behind a large pile of garbage bags, which had seemingly been there for some months, judging by the smell. I had to force myself to pass them, which was possibly partly due to the effects of the demon as much as the stench.
The demon was not happy about being roused. It tried to attack me, but I stood my ground, and it soon backed down. With a show of bravado, I was able to persuade it to leave the area and find an unpopulated area for its hibernation. The Calvashi all know better than to try to take up residence in a populated area, but some still try it now and then.
Not a pleasant day, but on the whole a successful one.
Giles took another bite of his cake. His eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned in appreciation, but quickly stifled it.
A waitress, a delicate young woman with long, blonde hair, stopped at his table.
For a moment he thought she was Buffy. The same 'I can take on anything' veneer over a core of fragility. The same carefully styled hair. The same grin. The pang of *missing* struck him so hard he had to stare at her for an instant, mouth open, gaping like a fool.
She gave him an odd look. "Are you all right, sir? Would you like something to drink?"
He shook himself, feeling the embarrassed flush climb his face. "Um, a cup of Earl- actually, no. Could I please have a soda- a soft drink. Coke."
Still uncomprehending, she smiled gamely and made her way towards the counter. He watched her, marvelling at the resemblance, and the sudden, stupid need to take her in his arms and look after her. Just as a father. Nothing else.
Maybe he needed to go back to see Buffy. And the others.
"No," he said under his breath. "They're adults. I have to move on with my life and let them live theirs."
The waitress returned with his Coke. He sipped it slowly, having no taste for it, and tried not to think of Buffy.
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