A Dropped Stitch
"But what melody will lead my lover from his bed?/
What melody will see him in my arms again?"
Faith didn't ask a lot of questions.
Giles never offered many answers, so it worked well for both of them.
She never asked what Buffy had said, and he never explained why he had picked her.
But this was just different.
Neither had received mail at the new apartment, but when the first package arrived, Faith remembered the joy that seeing her name on a letter brought before she had run from the prison. But this was made out to Giles' new alias.
"Mr. Harker!" she sang out from the doorway, "Your secret admirer has written."
Giles took the box from her and looked curiously at it.
"Um, Giles? Aren't aliases and our location supposed to be secret?" she asked suspiciously.
He glared before retreating back to his room to open it.
That night, he left the house with a new scarf, navy blue with grey threading through in a braid. As they walked, he fingered the scarf delicately, stroking the soft edges with an odd knowing smile.
Faith didn't ask, it didn't seem like her business.
But then the next box arrived.
She opened this one while he was getting groceries.
It seemed easier to just look, then ask. As if she was doing the best for both of them, avoiding the conversation and allowing for confrontation instead
This time it was a sweater, soft brown with an argyle along the front. It didn't just remind her of Giles, but this was Giles as a sweater, woven with care and knowing. She slipped it on, soft wool and the smell of sage, and waited.
The apartment was dark when she woke up, curled tight underneath the sweater, a similarly knit shawl covering her legs. There was dinner sitting cold on the table, and light shining from Giles' door.
She padded across to his door, opening it and perching herself on his desk.
He sat up in bed, putting his book down and looking directly at her.
Faith never realized how rarely they looked right at each other.
He sighed softly and rubbed his temples, "You shouldn't have taken my package."
"You should trust me enough to tell me who is sending you things," she frowned, "I know that you aren't very happy with me, but you can still trust me."
He shook his head, "What makes you think that my silence on the topic has anything to do with you?"
"I know you are angry at me because of what happened with everyone," she folded her arms defensively.
"It's Oz and it was my choice to work with you," he answered, slouching back down in the bed, reaching for his book.
She smiled, bouncing off the desk, landing on the edge of his bed, "You want to work with me?"
He looked up again, cocking his head slightly.
She sat with the silence for a moment.
"Wait, what, Oz?" she asked, wide-eyed, "Oz knits?
He smiled softly, "He knits, he sings, he grows herbs."
"And he's your..."
"Partner."
She frowned at the word, "Then don't you want to be with him?"
"We are adults, we don't always get what we want," he answered plainly.
She nodded, and moved up the bed, tucking herself on the other side beside him.
"Do you think one day we will?"
The next week another package arrived.
Two plane tickets and a note.
Dear Mr. Harker,
Maybe its been long enough.
Maybe you need a break.
Maybe I'm done missing you.
Sincerely,
Mr. Van Helsing
Faith didn't ask any questions when Giles told her to pack.
She decided maybe he was done waiting.