Title: Covering Up (Comfort: The Spy's Remix) BtVS: Giles/Jenny
Author: M. Scott Eiland
Summary: Jenny knows a cover up when she hears one.
Rating: T for language, sexuality, and other themes.
Disclaimers: The Buffyverse isn't mine--if it was, I'd have let Jenny live longer, darn it.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Spoilers: Through "Bad Eggs," with occasional references to some secrets revealed later in season 2 BtVS.
Original Story: "Comfort," by Trekker.
My thanks to Trekker for providing a lovely story for me to remix.
She was driving home when she heard the news report, and her jaw dropped slightly in disbelief as she listened to the details of the "near disaster" at Sunnydale High. By the time the report had finished, she was pulling into the parking lot of the school, and—while there were still a few city workers looking around with flashlights in dark corners—she saw no signs of Rupert, Buffy, or any of the others at the library or in the few other places she looked. She frowned. I can start driving around from graveyard to graveyard, or I can head over to Rupert's apartment and hope that he decided to take the rest of the night off. Not a tough call.
She pulled up in front of the apartment building and quickly got out: knowing what lurked in the darkness in this city tended to remove the impulse to dawdle. She slipped silently down the walkway and knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door opened, and she saw Rupert standing there, looking rather bemused and rumpled. She looked him up and down and didn't wait for him to speak:
"A gas leak?"
Rupert blinked, then stared somewhat blearily at Jenny as he visibly tried to compose himself. After a moment he seemed to rally somewhat and managed a brief sentence: "Good, um, evening, Miss—er, Jenny. Are you all right?"
Jenny shook her head in disbelief at the question and barged in with a directness that skirted the edges of even Sunnydale etiquette. Rupert closed the door and turned to look at her, but again Jenny spoke first, "I know that just about everyone in this town is clueless, but I was only at the school for ten minutes tonight and I could tell that it wasn't a gas leak that caused that mess. What happened?"
Rupert hesitated, and Jenny could see the embarrassment on his face as he shifted uneasily and murmured, "To be honest, I really don't know. Xander and Buffy stayed clear of whatever it was, and he promised that they'd brief the rest of us in the morning." He looked at Jenny apologetically and added, "I knew that you hadn't been there, so I suppose that I simply thought that you were safe and didn't consider that you'd worry. I'm sorry."
Jenny made a genuine effort to be annoyed, but the genuineness of the apology combined with the exhaustion she could see on his face made it impossible. She shook her head and commented, "You look dead on your feet, England—were you about to take a shower when I knocked?" Rupert nodded wearily, and Jenny nodded briskly and continued, "Good: you do that and I'll order us some dinner—we can play it by ear after that. Take your time, the food won't be here for half an hour." Rupert hesitated, and Jenny gave him a stern look before ordering, "Get going, Watcher."
Rupert retreated to the bathroom, still looking bemused, and Jenny immediately went to the phone and ordered Chinese. The task only took a few moments, and by the time she had finished she could hear the shower running. She was nervous—this was the first time that she had been in his apartment without either the inconvenience of demonic possession or the aftermath of crossbow wounds for the two of them to deal with: the last time she had been there they had limited themselves to a bit of restrained necking on the couch, and she was more than ready to take things further. Unfortunately, Rupert wasn't going to be in any condition for what she had in mind until he finished the shower and got some food into him, and she was too restless to sit and wait for the deliveryman to come. A smile crossed her face—this would be a perfect time to do a bit of snooping. She hesitated for a moment—there might be a reckoning if he caught her in the act. What the hell; after all, I'm a spy, aren't I?
She started with his desk, and chuckled at the thought of what a burglar might make of what rested on it: a collection of ancient documents written in a dozen different languages, not all of them human. Her magical training allowed her to sense the aura around the desk—a minor protection spell that would guard the priceless scrolls against the more mundane effects of being in a modern apartment where teenagers occasionally visited. Fascinating stuff, but not what she was interested in for the moment.
Next came the kitchen, where she spotted the several bottles of fine single-malt scotch nestled in a corner. With what he has to see in his line of work, I'm amazed he doesn't drink more. She looked around some more and noted that Rupert had what looked like a full collection of cooking ware, along with a few recipe books with copious notes in the margins. He cooks? You're full of surprises, Rupert. She glanced in his refrigerator--noting the contents and considering meals that would require a tad more effort than ordering takeout Chinese—before closing it and heading back into the living room.
She noticed a TV in one corner of the room, but the layer of dust on it suggested that Rupert had not only not turned it on for quite some time, but that he had actually forgotten it existed. She chuckled at the thought and turned her attention to the stereo and the rather large record collection, pulling out some albums and checking the titles. Her mouth curled slightly in a smile. I have to let him know that the musical world didn't cease to exist after 1975. Her eyes fell on the bookcase and the coffee table, both of which were overflowing with works on the occult. She shook her head in mild distaste. Doesn't he ever read anything just for fun?
After a few moments of idling leafing through some of the books on demons, she spotted the large chest next to the couch. Oh, right—he keeps his magic stuff in there. She walked over and was surprised that the lid of the chest opened easily. A neatly folded blanket filled the top of the chest and she removed it gently, knowing the danger that spell components could pose to the unwary.
With the blanket gone, she found an eclectic collection of bottled powders, shining crystals, and stone and metal objects with runes of power etched on them—she only recognized a few of them, but the ones she did know of caused her to raise an impressed eyebrow. Rupert should have this stuff locked up—I'll have a word with him about it. . .later. She looked at the contents of the chest again, and noted some more mundane items in one corner: some candles, a box of matches, and a midnight black raven's feather that glistened from the light above Jenny's shoulder. She grinned and retrieved the candles, matches, and feather before replacing the blanket and shutting the lid of the chest. She listened for a moment, and heard that the shower was still running. She smiled to herself and quietly walked up the stairs to the bedroom.
The room was dimly lit by moonlight coming from the window as she walked in, and was silent except for the soft sound of her steps. She caught just a hint of his scent, and it made her smile again as she placed the items she had brought with her on the nightstand. She hesitated for a moment, then turned on the light beside the bed and opened the drawer of the nightstand.
After a moment, she blinked in surprise and pulled out a bottle of massage oil and placed it on the nightstand. She reached in again and pulled out a pair of padded handcuffs and contemplated them for a long moment before replacing them with a thoughtful chuckle. There were other items that attracted her interest, but she decided to let them be for the moment. We can't do everything tonight, after all. She closed the nightstand drawer, turned off the light and went back downstairs.
She could still hear the shower running, and she took a moment to inspect herself in a convenient mirror on the wall as she walked down the stairs. She wore a simple short-sleeved black top that clung to her figure, and black slacks with flats. Not the outfit that she would have chosen for a seduction, but not bad. She had been meeting with the courier that her family had tasked with bringing her messages to them: she would write her reports by hand while the courier waited, then seal them with a signet ring that only another bearer of the family symbol could open without destroying the message. A bit paranoid, perhaps—but she knew from experience that things had a way of going wrong in Sunnydale, and between Willow's natural curiosity and prodigious ability to crack computer security, she didn't trust her own encryption talents to keep her clandestine activities secret from the others.
She spent the next few minutes idly leafing through a text about summoning rituals until a knock on the door announced the arrival of the food. She paid for the delivery and unpacked the food on the kitchen counter. She heard the shower shut off and contemplated slipping in and surprising Rupert for a moment before dismissing it. You don't want to scare the poor man to death—and he needs some food first. She finished setting the food out and retrieved some plates, then sat and waited for him to come out.
After a few minutes, he emerged, and her breath caught in her throat for a moment when she saw him. He wore a white T-shirt and sweats, and his hair was still damp from the shower. He looked back at her with a more composed expression than he had managed before the shower, then looked over at the food and blinked in what looked like mild surprise.
Jenny smiled. Yep, he definitely needs to eat first. She walked over to Rupert and commented, "It's Chinese food, Rupert. Good for filling you up and making your brain work right after Hellmouth-related weirdness. You should give it a try."
He smiled back at her, nodded, and retrieved a plate. He stacked it high and sat down—Jenny joined him a few moments later. As she did, he looked at her with an amused expression and replied, "I am, um, somewhat familiar with the concept—I believe I read about it somewhere once."
After that, they ate mostly in silence, sitting next to each other on their stools with their knees almost touching. She kept stealing glances at him, marveling at how relaxed he looked even while tired and hungry. She'd never seen him in such an informal setting before, and she was realizing just how much of a mask the dignified librarian and Watcher was for Rupert Giles.
He was visibly enjoying the food and slouching in his chair, and his T-shirt clung to him in a way that caused her tongue to part her lips slightly before she caught it and composed herself. She watched his arm move as he raised the fork to his mouth and saw muscles rippling in a way that she never would have imagined, even after the several times she had seen him fighting for his life and the lives of his charges. She noted that he was sneaking glances at her as well, and he had a soft smile on his face that was making her insides melt.
Their plates were almost empty when Rupert turned slightly and reached behind her, slipping his hand into her hair and staring into her eyes. Jenny shivered as Rupert leaned in and kissed her—he tasted like hot peppers and felt like fire.
He pulled back from her, and she felt delightfully dizzy as she watched him study her with a visible hunger in his eyes. She stood up, took his hand, and tugged him in the direction of the stairs—and he did not resist in the slightest as she led him up to the bedroom.
They kissed again in the doorway for a long moment, and Jenny was startled when Rupert laughed and stepped away from her. She followed his gaze to the nightstand and colored slightly as he murmured, "You were busy while I was in the shower."
"Not as busy as I wanted to be." Jenny's reply was deceptively calm: her heart was beating so hard that she was convinced that he could hear it from where he was standing. She stared at him hungrily and her voice was a harsh whisper: "Off with the clothes, Rupert."
Rupert didn't waste time with a verbal reply: he removed his glasses with a practiced gesture that deposited them on the dresser behind him, and without pausing he peeled off his T-shirt and tossed it into a corner. He watched her quietly as she took in the new view: the lean muscles on his torso—somewhat concealed by a luxuriant growth of chest hair that she had only caught glimpses of before—and more than a few scars, including the angry red one that marked his recent crossbow wound. Her breathing sped up subliminally, and Rupert noted the reaction and silently peeled down the sweats and kicked them away—revealing that he had not bothered to don briefs after his shower. Jenny's eyes widened, and Rupert's mouth quirked at the corners as he stepped over to the bed and sat down, waiting for her to make the next move.
She hesitated, and for a moment she heard her uncle's voice: Remember, Janna—be as polite and helpful as is necessary to maintain pretense, but do not become emotionally entangled with these people: they mean well, and what they do has significance, but it is not as important as your mission. Do not let your heart interfere with what must be. She blinked, and saw Rupert watching her. She smiled at him, but inside she was snarling. Stuff it, Uncle.
She glided over to Rupert and kissed him, running her hands down his arms, then across into the tangle of graying hair on his chest. Her heart started racing, and she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady her. She opened her eyes, and found herself staring directly into Rupert's eyes—they were green and intense and practically glowing with desire. She shivered again, from her own desire and from the other emotions that he had been provoking for her for months now. This moment had been far too long in coming—and she was tired of waiting for it.
As if hearing her last thought, he reached up with his right hand and touched her left side with his fingertips, with a look of wonder on his face. He swallowed hard, and whispered, "Jenny. My Jenny."
She had to close her eyes again—it wouldn't do if she started crying now. After a moment, she opened her eyes, stepped back, and said simply in what she considered to be a rather level tone:
Rupert complied, settling himself onto the center of the bed, his head resting on the pillows. She took a moment to take the entire view in, and she found herself alternately admiring the sights and wincing at the pain that had clearly been inflicted on him over the years. Without taking her eyes off of him, she lit the candles and walked over to close the door to the hallway, leaving them with nothing but candlelight and the glimmering moon outside to see by. She stood next to the bed and slowly peeled off her top and her slacks, watching him for his reaction as she did so. His expression looked thoughtful, but his eyes told a different story. She hesitated for just a moment, then reached back to unsnap her bra, tossing it onto the bed next to Rupert with a flourish—her panties joined the small pile a moment later.
She saw his eyes widen, and she smiled mysteriously as she climbed onto the bed and straddled his chest, leaning down to kiss him again for a moment before reaching over and picking up the black feather. He saw it and laughed, and the sound of it caused Jenny to chuckle low in her throat as she looked down at him and whispered: "Now—where to begin. . .?"
Rupert fell back onto the bed, gasping, and Jenny was equally spent as she looked to her right to view their surroundings. The moon had risen out of view, and the candles had shrunk to fitfully sputtering piles of wax. She smiled and turned back to Rupert. His eyes had closed and he was smiling absently as he tried to catch his breath, and Jenny watched him as she considered the last couple of hours. It hadn't all been sex—though there had been enough of that for her to be thoroughly sated and rather impressed with his performance after what she gathered had been a rather lengthy drought for him.
After the first time—which had been rather frantic and intense once she had spent a few minutes using the feather creatively on him—she had rolled him on his belly and reached for the massage oil. After she had spent the next few minutes kneading the muscles on his back with fingers that were rather stronger than one might expect from a computer jockey, she was surprised to find that he was ready for more. . . and that had been slow and luxurious, as he held her gaze and directed his efforts to making her lose control—it had been half an hour before the dam broke and she screamed in release, followed seconds later by Rupert's own shudder and moan.
By unspoken mutual consent they had padded back downstairs to dig into the leftovers, and Jenny was reaching for the pork-fried rice again for a third plateful when she felt his hand brush her side and close on her breast as he kissed her neck. She turned to him and saw mischief in the eyes that had always looked so serious to her—at least until this night. He had inclined his head at the stairs and she had followed him eagerly, with a bounce in her step. The third time had been even more gentle than the last, with their hands exploring each others bodies with infinite care and patience—discovering new secrets, pressing gentle kisses on a scar, running their fingers through tangled hair. . .and at long last, he moved over her and began the rhythm that was now becoming familiar to both of them, pressing on until finally they both had indeed had enough for the night, as the limitations of their flesh asserted themselves forcefully.
She rested her head on the pillow and thought about the chain of events that had brought them together—an unorthodox Slayer who had lost her first Watcher and forced to move to the Mouth of Hell--a century old curse placed by her people on one of the most vicious vampires ever to walk the Earth—the need of her people to monitor that vampire to avoid. . .what? Uncle Enyos had always been closed-mouthed about that: he had simply warned her to make sure that Angel did not lose the sense of misery that the curse had imposed upon him—and it was becoming clear that while Angel wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs, he was clearly less unhappy than he had been since he had started becoming involved with Buffy. She should tell her uncle—
And then what? Jenny frowned in concern. What would her people do if Buffy's love for Angel did pose some kind of problem? Kill Angel. . .or even try to kill Buffy? She couldn't let that happen: both Angel and Buffy were, she admitted to herself, friends to her now, and Buffy was one of the primary guardians of the entire world against demonic threats. She looked up at the ceiling and set her jaw. I have to tell Rupert everything—he'll know what to do—he'll—
She heard him move, and she turned to see him looking at her affectionately, the fading candlelight striking green sparks in his eyes. Jenny saw the absolute trust in his eyes along with the affection, and her resolve to tell him the truth crumbled into ashes as she felt a pang of fear.
Rupert saw the fleeting terror in her eyes and he whispered, "What's wrong?"
Jenny sat up and forced a smile. "Nothing—I'm just tired." She moved up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes to shut out the questioning look on his face. Exhaustion quickly claimed her, but she had time for one last coherent thought:
Spies shouldn't fall in love—it never ends well.
As always, comments are welcomed and desired.