A short bit that occurred to me while thinking of summer movies. Set in what is turning out to be a series of post-everything stories I'm calling Afterwards. The only thing non-canon (though I can dream) is Ethan reconciled with Giles and helping the good guys for the laughs and nookie
Appointments
One of Andrew's greatest contributions to the Watcher's Council was his phenomenal organizational ability. At least, he considered it phenomenal, and Rupert Giles had, on more than one occasion, said in front of witnesses, "Andrew knows my schedule better than I do."
Really, though, organizing the logistics of a school for mystic warriors against the supernatural was simple for a man who had the major Klingon clans and their alliances by blood and marriage memorized, including the cross-ties that came from Worf marrying Jadzia Dax, who had inherited the various alliances arranged by Dax's previous host, Curzon.
It was the usual mid-month meeting to check progress and arrange the future. Andrew had his laptop set up on the edge of Giles' desk while Giles shoved bits of paper around, checked various notebooks, and consulted with Ethan, who was lounging on the sofa reading one of the Watchers' Diaries and snickering.
"And that takes us to the beginning of May," Giles said, pushing a pile of notes to one side. "What do we have scheduled?"
"The Quarterly Review on the 20th," Andrew said, consulting the calendar software.
"Blessed gods," Giles muttered.
"I'm planning to be out of town that week," Ethan said. "In case you were wondering."
"I just wish I could join you--don't start, you know I can't." Giles flipped a page on his notebook. "Oh, lovely. Sir Grenville will be coming in early, you'll need to pick him up at Heathrow the evening of the 16th, Andrew, and make sure he gets settled in."
Andrew stiffened. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to do this, but in his heart he'd known he'd have to face this test. "I can't do that, Rupert."
Giles blinked at him. "What?"
"I've already made plans for the 16th, I can't do anything else."
"What plans?"
"Plans, sir. I made them weeks ago, and I'd really rather not change them."
Giles sighed. "Sir Grenville does not like us much, Andrew. We need to make every effort to make sure he's in a good mood when he meets the others. All of us are going to have to do inconvenient things during the review."
Andrew took a deep breath and whispered a few calming mantras. "I understand that, sir, and I'll do whatever it takes the rest of the time. But not the 16th."
"What is so bloody important about the 16th? Do you have a date?"
"Of a sort. I've been planning it a long time."
Ethan chuckled. "Tell her that your boss is an unreasonable slave driver and you can't make it that night, then take her to a fancy restaurant on the Watcher's account."
"It's not that kind of date."
"Then what?" Giles asked impatiently.
When forced to the wall, claim the truth proudly, even in the face of ridicule. "Star Wars."
Giles stared at him for several moments. "You want to brush off an important member of the Council to go to a movie?"
Emotions were the enemy of logic, but Andrew had been pushed to the brink. "The theatre where I saw all the others is now at the bottom of a sinkhole, and I can't be in LA on the 12th, and I can't go to Cannes for the world premiere, but as God is my witness, you shall not make me miss the London premiere of Revenge of the Sith. Sir."
Giles blinked in disbelief. He was just taking a breath when Ethan interrupted. "Rupert. Led Zeppelin. Wembley."
Giles stared at Ethan, then smiled very faintly. "Indeed." He nodded, then looked at Andrew sternly. "I'm going to need you here on the 17th ready to work, which will include being polite to gits, all right?"
Andrew felt light headed. "Yes, sir. And Sir Grenville?"
"Make Spike do it," Ethan suggested.
"I'd rather not have to explain the exsanguinated (continued...)
( continues...) corpse of a Scots Member of Parliament to the Prime Minister, thank you. I'll pick him up. The old bastard will enjoy that."
"Thank you, sir," Andrew said humbly.
Giles glared at him. "Stop calling me sir. Now, are there any prophecies due in May?"
Andrew clicked on one of the tabs in the calendar. "Just the migration of an eastern band of skelpie through Kent on the 12th. I've already sent an email to the local office."
"Excellent."
Anyone out there willing to do a quick and dirty beta on a partially done Firefly fic? It's about 3/4 done, and before I spend too much more time on it, I want to know if it's beyond help.
Okay. Also, would a Word file be okay, or would you rather I cut-n-paste the text into the body of the email?
Anyhow, now that Dana's seen it (happy birthday!) here's the finished Firefly fic:
Eight First Kisses
River often wonders about her first kiss.
She wonders about who, and when, and where, and--obviously--what it will be like.
She's been kissed before, of course. There were kisses to the forehead and cheek when she was younger, but her parents and brother don't count. Those were more like hugs, in her mind. Gestures of comfort and familiarity. Gestures that stopped once she reached a certain age. Her parents didn't want to coddle her, and her brother...
Well, he still gives her a peck on the cheek now and then, but there is something guilty and furtive about it, as if he is afraid of letting his lips linger too long so that it turns from an almost-hug into something else. Something like a real kiss, maybe.
Intellectually, she knows that a kiss is nothing more than a modified nursing instinct that has become part of human mating protocol. The fact that her lips tingle when she thinks about kisses is an autonomic response driven by hormones and neural pathways in the few parts of her brain that she can't control.
It has nothing to do with romance.
Romance is nothing but a pretty fiction, designed to add a veneer of civility and mystery to a basic human function. Romance is not necessary, and neither are kisses. The fact that she can't stop thinking about them is an irritant, both because it is horribly distracting and because it reminds her that kisses should have happened years ago. But, the Academy got in the way of kisses, just like it got in the way of so many other things, like dances, and sunshine, and being able to have her mind to herself.
But now she's here on Serenity, free in ways she had never imagined; yet at the same time almost as trapped as she was at the Academy, except for those rare times she can suit up and go out into the black. Then, she's free, or something close to it. Most of the time, though, it's nothing but the same eight people, all the gorram time, leaning up against her mind so much that she feels like they're pressing up against her flesh. When it's like that, she can't feel Serenity. She can't feel herself.
It's almost certain that her first kiss will be with someone on Serenity. Logic dictates this, and fantasy encourages it.
One thing she's sure of is that it won't be Book.
She's long since figured out that she isn't really scared of his hair, let down and sticking out like thousands of microwire probes going into his brain. What really scares her is what she sees hiding beneath that hair, and what it will be like if it is let loose.
No, she doesn't kiss Book. Just the thought of it makes her stomach feel squiggly, and not in a good way.
Sometimes, especially those times when everyone is so busy that they pretend she doesn't exist, she thinks she might just up and kiss Simon one of these days, just to see what happens. The thought of it makes her giggle--he'd be so upset with her, and at himself, too. It might be worth the inevitable lecture on proper behavior just to see the expression on his face.
To be honest, she is also curious to know if he'd kiss her back. He wants to and he doesn't want to, all at the same time, and that intrigues her. One either wants something or doesn't want something. The two should not coexist in one brain.
Well, not in the brains of sane people, anyway.
Then there is Mal.
She knows how it starts. He stands there for a few minutes with his hands on her shoulders, staring down at her almost angrily, jaw working as he tells himself not to do this because she's too gorram young, not to mention crazy in the bargain. Even in her imaginings, River hears his thoughts as if he's standing right there in front of her. He's imagined this, too, and she's not sure if it's her imaginings or his that she sees.
Once he's done thinking, he leans down and kisses her, mouth closed but still rough, like he's trying to tell her that she doesn't want this, not really, (continued...)
