(no subject)
Two weeks ago, Alcuin had awoken to find Joscelin gone. The stillness that permeated their home after that was even more pronounced than when Phedre had disappeared, and Alcuin had hardly set foot there since then. It was not that he had intended to move in with Giles permanently, but at the time it had seemed for the best, to go to sleep each night with someone who would still be there in the morning.
Until three days ago, when he had not been.
It had now been three days since Giles had disappeared from the island, long enough for Alcuin to be certain that he was truly gone, long enough, perhaps, that he was beginning to settle into numb resolve. This was not the first time he had been through this, of course. James, Giacomo, Will, Mohinder, Scotty... though he knew that in truth, it was worse this time. In the four and a half years since he had seen Anafiel die, since he had found himself here on the island, he had given his heart to no one so completely as Rupert Giles. And coming on the heels of Joscelin's disappearance - leaving him the last D'Angeline on the entire island - was almost too much to bear.
But bear it he did, because what else was there for it? Only, the two nights spent thusfar alone had yielded hardly any sleep at all, once in Giles' empty bed, and then his own. There were things he needed to do, he knew - he needed to tell Buffy, and Xander, and see to the disposition of Giles' belongings. He needed to decide what to do about his house, that was now far too large for one person, and find out about the care of Joscelin's hawks which had been left behind. He should tell the people who cared about him as well, but he could not help but think that they were becoming few and far between.
This morning he had gone to the Compound for tea, and had begun to make a list, sitting on the couch in the rec room. Lists were concrete, and helped him to consider what had to be done without so much emotion. At the end of his list he wrote in careful script, Do not fall to pieces. And it was right about this time that his head became heavy with exhaustion and he curled up near involuntarily onto the couch and fell asleep.
He woke only to the sound of footfalls, and scrambled up to a sitting position, reaching for the scattered pages of his list that had fallen around him.
Until three days ago, when he had not been.
It had now been three days since Giles had disappeared from the island, long enough for Alcuin to be certain that he was truly gone, long enough, perhaps, that he was beginning to settle into numb resolve. This was not the first time he had been through this, of course. James, Giacomo, Will, Mohinder, Scotty... though he knew that in truth, it was worse this time. In the four and a half years since he had seen Anafiel die, since he had found himself here on the island, he had given his heart to no one so completely as Rupert Giles. And coming on the heels of Joscelin's disappearance - leaving him the last D'Angeline on the entire island - was almost too much to bear.
But bear it he did, because what else was there for it? Only, the two nights spent thusfar alone had yielded hardly any sleep at all, once in Giles' empty bed, and then his own. There were things he needed to do, he knew - he needed to tell Buffy, and Xander, and see to the disposition of Giles' belongings. He needed to decide what to do about his house, that was now far too large for one person, and find out about the care of Joscelin's hawks which had been left behind. He should tell the people who cared about him as well, but he could not help but think that they were becoming few and far between.
This morning he had gone to the Compound for tea, and had begun to make a list, sitting on the couch in the rec room. Lists were concrete, and helped him to consider what had to be done without so much emotion. At the end of his list he wrote in careful script, Do not fall to pieces. And it was right about this time that his head became heavy with exhaustion and he curled up near involuntarily onto the couch and fell asleep.
He woke only to the sound of footfalls, and scrambled up to a sitting position, reaching for the scattered pages of his list that had fallen around him.