The Wait by the Phone is No One’s Friend
The resulting diatribe takes a good five minutes to subside - Giles gritting his teeth the entire time - before finally allowing the conversation to near its purpose.
“Yes, of course I plan on returning to my position for the next school year.” He injects the appropriate amount of false enthusiasm into his voice. “I’m really not sure how such a rumor could have started, but I assure you that I find myself completely unable to consider being elsewhere at the moment.”
His jaw aches long after the conversation ends.
July 13th
Ring.
In the bathroom shaving, he nicks himself quite badly, blood swelling to tickle down his throat.
“Bloody hell.”
His first attempts to staunch it result in little more than immediately soaked-through toilet tissue, red overwhelming the white as soon as the latter touches his flesh.
Ring.
Grabbing for the cream-colored flannel, he curses nonverbally that he hadn’t persisted to use the dark-burgundy ones he finds prudent for when demon activity is high.
Ring.
The blood continues to well, so he presses the cloth more tightly and runs for the phone, socked feet sliding as he tries to stop too quickly.
Ring.
“Hello?” he pants.
“Hello! Tired of unsightly stains on the carpet? Does your entire house smell like the inside of an ashtray or worse? Worry no longer -”
He slams the receiver into its cradle and returns to the bathroom to spend the next ten minutes trying to halt the bleeding of the annoyingly shallow yet painful wound.
July 30th
Ring.
His dinner omelet needs a bit more time before it will be perfectly done, so Giles justifies temporarily ignoring the phone.
Ring.
When it’s just ready, he turns off the hob and takes two steps left to scrabble in a cupboard.
Ring.
Plate in hand, Giles quickly slips the mixture of cheese, tomato, and egg onto the cool ceramic to prevent the heat of the pan from overcooking it.
Ring.
The walk to the living room is short yet deliberately leisurely as he tosses the dish towel over his shoulder.
Ring.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Giles! It’s Willow.” Voice overly bright, it comes forth in a rush. “Xander and I were thinking of checking out Restfield tonight, and last week you said you didn’t want us going without you, so I thought I’d call and see if you wanted to come with us, though you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Of course I do, Willow.” He glances at his watch. “Why don’t you both come by at a quarter past nine.”
Once plans are made, he returns to a fairly edible omelet.
August 15th
Ring.
Giles unlocks the door and sets his travel case on the floor just inside, allowing his shoulders to slump as he leans against the jam.
Ring.
He looks longingly at the whisky decanter, then rubs a hand over his bewhiskered face - the grime of uncomfortable travel, the smell of repeated defeat clinging to his flesh, rising cloyingly to his nose.
Ring.
Closing the door slowly, he stands facing it, palm resting flat on its surface. And he remains thus, arm raised, barely seeming to breathe.
Ring.
Giles thinks about this small space he considers his and how it’s demarcated from the rest of the world in his mind. He is here, and she is there, but a there almost unbelievably vast.
Ring.
Eventually turning, he stares at the phone, a deep fount of weariness rising from within to make his knees feel unhinged, his hands unsteady.
Ring.
Yet he walks three steps forwards unconsciously and palms the handset with equally mindless familiarity. It is only once he has the receiver raised to his ear that he hesitates, pausing for a stretched moment before speaking.
“Hello?”
“Yes, of course I plan on returning to my position for the next school year.” He injects the appropriate amount of false enthusiasm into his voice. “I’m really not sure how such a rumor could have started, but I assure you that I find myself completely unable to consider being elsewhere at the moment.”
His jaw aches long after the conversation ends.
July 13th
Ring.
In the bathroom shaving, he nicks himself quite badly, blood swelling to tickle down his throat.
“Bloody hell.”
His first attempts to staunch it result in little more than immediately soaked-through toilet tissue, red overwhelming the white as soon as the latter touches his flesh.
Ring.
Grabbing for the cream-colored flannel, he curses nonverbally that he hadn’t persisted to use the dark-burgundy ones he finds prudent for when demon activity is high.
Ring.
The blood continues to well, so he presses the cloth more tightly and runs for the phone, socked feet sliding as he tries to stop too quickly.
Ring.
“Hello?” he pants.
“Hello! Tired of unsightly stains on the carpet? Does your entire house smell like the inside of an ashtray or worse? Worry no longer -”
He slams the receiver into its cradle and returns to the bathroom to spend the next ten minutes trying to halt the bleeding of the annoyingly shallow yet painful wound.
July 30th
Ring.
His dinner omelet needs a bit more time before it will be perfectly done, so Giles justifies temporarily ignoring the phone.
Ring.
When it’s just ready, he turns off the hob and takes two steps left to scrabble in a cupboard.
Ring.
Plate in hand, Giles quickly slips the mixture of cheese, tomato, and egg onto the cool ceramic to prevent the heat of the pan from overcooking it.
Ring.
The walk to the living room is short yet deliberately leisurely as he tosses the dish towel over his shoulder.
Ring.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Giles! It’s Willow.” Voice overly bright, it comes forth in a rush. “Xander and I were thinking of checking out Restfield tonight, and last week you said you didn’t want us going without you, so I thought I’d call and see if you wanted to come with us, though you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Of course I do, Willow.” He glances at his watch. “Why don’t you both come by at a quarter past nine.”
Once plans are made, he returns to a fairly edible omelet.
August 15th
Ring.
Giles unlocks the door and sets his travel case on the floor just inside, allowing his shoulders to slump as he leans against the jam.
Ring.
He looks longingly at the whisky decanter, then rubs a hand over his bewhiskered face - the grime of uncomfortable travel, the smell of repeated defeat clinging to his flesh, rising cloyingly to his nose.
Ring.
Closing the door slowly, he stands facing it, palm resting flat on its surface. And he remains thus, arm raised, barely seeming to breathe.
Ring.
Giles thinks about this small space he considers his and how it’s demarcated from the rest of the world in his mind. He is here, and she is there, but a there almost unbelievably vast.
Ring.
Eventually turning, he stares at the phone, a deep fount of weariness rising from within to make his knees feel unhinged, his hands unsteady.
Ring.
Yet he walks three steps forwards unconsciously and palms the handset with equally mindless familiarity. It is only once he has the receiver raised to his ear that he hesitates, pausing for a stretched moment before speaking.
“Hello?”