Title: A Shark Tale of a Different Kind 4/4
Author: Gail Christison
Rating: PG-15 for mild nudity, sexual references; sharks
Summary: You take Rupert with you on a shark diving expedition
Timeline: Post-Chosen. A few references to the seventh season.
Disclaimer: S'all Joss's. Just playing with Rupert for a while
Feedback: Would be lovely chriscln@iinet.net.au
Distribution: All those who have permission feel free :-) Anyone else wants it...ask and it's yours.
Author's Note: The ship is fictional though inspired by a real one. No I haven't been shark diving. Yes, I've watched way too many documentaries <g> Yes I have been diving and snorkelling and yes I've been sailing on an 81 foot ketch, and yes I know the area I'm describing ...some more, some less, but it is my home state :-)
Dedication: This is for Kim, who loves sharks and Giles...not necessarily in that order <g>
Pairing: ABH; G/OC
"You could go on deck like that, but I daresay you'd cause a stir," he points out.
You've been too preoccupied with the photographs and the distraction that he is, to have done anything about dressing. You got as far as discarding your robe once in your cabin, but you're still sitting there stark naked, loading your day's shooting into your laptop.
He doesn't help by sitting next to you after you put the laptop down to finish the loading by itself, and massaging your back in that bone-melting way of his. You groan as his magic hands start finding places that will get him anywhere but outside the cabin.
You are both late for dinner, and no one comments on your rosy cheeks or the fact that you look entirely too pleased with yourselves, and possibly like you could curl up and go to sleep in the blink of an eye. After the meal, everyone takes his or her drinks on deck. It's a balmy summer night, and they are all upbeat after their first real interface with the objects of this particular exercise.
Klaus, an Austrian thirty-something, with a deep tan and bleached hair down to his shoulders, has brought a guitar and is strumming it lightly while some of the other men argue about the size of the big shark; several of the women content themselves with their glasses of wine, or in some cases, stubbies, while one woman and two men are enthusiastically attempting some night fishing. Somebody shines a light out across the water when some noises, probably birds, momentarily attract everyone's attention.
You are fascinated by the activity in the darkness. Tiny shrimp flick back and forth, skimming along the top of the water, and here and there the light picks up flashes of iridescent blue, where garfish lay just below the surface, and, unexpectedly, a big pink cloud billows out, having just passed under the boat. The huge, diaphanous, pink and blue jellyfish is quite stunning in the spotlight. Rupert smiles at you when you look up at him with that childishly rapt look on your face.
When you return to the others, Klaus is playing something pretty and you hear a couple of people prompting him to sing for them. He makes it quite clear, in his heavily accented baritone, that he's not a singer, declining their requests in good spirit, but quite definitively. Both of you find somewhere to sit on the deck and listen to the sound of the acoustic guitar amid the silence of the southern ocean. Klaus changes from the soulful instrumental he's playing to a more familiar tune, picking out the opening chords, but rolling his eyes and shaking his head when he's again cajoled in a good-natured way by his companions to sing.
It's no surprise therefore, that all heads turn toward Rupert when he unexpectedly takes up the challenge. You listen, transfixed, as he handles the Clapton number with ease, smiles and does a request for, of all things, 'My Way' when Klaus begins to play it, and then puts himself right into the classic arrangement of the Goo Goo Dolls song, 'Iris.' The words, and the power he puts into them, hold you, captivated, your breath held, until he turns to look at you as he sings:
'...I just want you to know who I am."
His eyes are intent, and his heart is in them. And suddenly you know he's telling you that he'll understand if you can't be a part of his world... It makes a hard knot of tears form in your throat, but you don't look away. You can't.
When he's done, a young girl asks him to sing Imagine because it's her favourite song. He smiles a little self-consciously at you, then looks across at Klaus who shrugs and begins to play.
You can tell that Rupert is only doing it for the nervous teen, much as he only attempted 'My Way' for the jovial Texan with the expensive camera equipment. Once again, he keeps everybody entranced until the last notes of the guitar fade into the silent blackness beyond the boat.
When the silence lingers, people begin to say goodnight and start to filter away. Even Klaus finally raises a hand in response to a gesture by a couple of crew on the foredeck, nods smilingly to Rupert and heads off. When the American decides to join Klaus, you are left alone.
"I've never kept anything from you," he says quietly, after a long silence.
"I know," you whisper back matter-of-factly and smile. "And yet...here I am."
Though tender, his eyes grow more pained. "Nobody else must die because of me."
"Not part of my long term itinerary," you tease, trying to make him laugh. You know where this is coming from. You just don't know why, or more accurately, why *now*.
Your heart is beating very fast and your palms are sweaty, but you aren't going to make this difficult for him. You know how much he's been through and you just can't. If he needs it to end, then you'll let him end it. It will tear you into little pieces but you love him too much to hate him for it, or hurt him for it...
His eyes are searching yours and you see them darken with pain when he realizes how much he's hurting you.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
Internally you kick yourself for not realizing your real feelings were leaking out through those traitorous windows to your soul. Externally you smile in spite of yourself.
"It's okay," you manage with remarkable calm given that your insides are in meltdown. "I understand. I mean how hard could it be to find another impossibly sexy British demon hunter with great taste in music?"
You've finally made him chuckle, but his eyes are even darker...and a little too bright, and you notice his colour is way too high for the damp chill of the air rising from the ocean. It takes him a moment to speak.
"I think we've got our wires crossed," he tells you tenderly. "I intended to ask you something tonight, but a number of things made me feel that I was wrong...that it was too selfish to even considering asking..." He stopped, annoyed with himself and drew something from his pocket instead.
You're too stunned to do anything except to accept the tiny red velvet box.
The contents are breathtaking.
"It's not really that old...Edwardian, actually," he says when you haven't spoken for several moments. "It was my grandmother's. It passed to my father when she died and he gave it to my mother. If you would rather choose something more modern..."
You try to gather your wits while still staring at the matched set of antique engagement and wedding rings. The diamond is round cut, brilliant and sparkling, even in just the deck lighting...and there's a lot of it. The bands of both rings are fully engraved with an elegant leaf pattern below shoulders bead set with more small but fiery diamonds. You don't want to guess whether it's platinum or white gold...and you don't really care. It's almost too precious for you to even be holding in your hand on a deck gently rising and falling on the swell of the southern ocean. You don't take them out of the box.
"I wouldn't want anything else," you manage, swallowing for the third time. "Rupert, they're the most beautiful rings I've ever seen." And it's the truth. You aren't really inclined to browse jewellery as a rule, but what you'd seen of modern rings in store windows had never exactly impressed you. Not even when your best friend had once squealed about the three thousand dollar price tag on a diamond and emerald ring she'd fallen in love with on the eve of her engagement...and which her boyfriend could never have afforded. You'd looked at it and wondered what the fuss was about; the setting all sharp-angled sculpture with what were to you, bulky square stones in an ugly setting on a plain gold band. Not for the first time had you wondered if you were born in the right era.
Finally you're able to focus, your wits settled again on their perches and behaving nicely. You smile at the man you love so very dearly and who is looking clearly worried now.
"I thought you were trying to tell me you wanted to stop seeing me," you tell him and thank goodness it's night since your cheeks are burning. Then you remember the deck lights.
His eyes widen alarmingly. "God, no," he says. "I've been clumsy. I've not had much experience with...with love." He realises how that must sound and you see, even in the bad light, the telltale red creep up to his ears. "That is to say...I've had many friendships and spent as much time as any man my age with women I've cared about. But...but apart from Jenny, I've never been in love...until now. A-and I was just as ham-fisted then as I am now," he admits, that crooked grin finally emerging.
Your heart is hammering. It's true. It's real. Oh, God...You clutch the ring box tight so you won't drop it now that your hands suddenly feel more like cow's hooves.
"Yes," you finally manage, too overwhelmed to come up with anything more articulate.
"Yes, I'm ham-fisted...or yes, you'll marry me?"
"Yes," you say again, starry eyed, and hold up the tiny box.
He grins widely then, his colour even higher and puts the ring box back in his pocket before drawing you into his arms to kiss you, gently at first, and then with a fire that takes your breath. His eyes are tender and filled with joy when you part again.
You're almost too happy to speak. You've known for a long time that you wanted to spend your life with him, but you knew equally that Rupert's future was mortgaged to the Slayers and the new Council...that your changes were slim to none that you'd ever be more than sometime lovers. Finally, you smile back.
"We can do this, can't we?" you ask in a surprisingly faint voice.
He inclines his head, eyes twinkling. "Depends. My place or yours...?"
You consider your pokey little London studio and his extremely large estate home, with it's antiques and horses and gorgeous garden for about two minutes. "Yours," you concede a little too easily.
His grin widens. "Then we can do this. You already know just about everything there is to know about my life. There was a reason for that..."
"No secrets?" you ask breathlessly.
He nods again. "No secrets. I've had enough of not being able to share my life with the people I love...and you've proved over and over that you can deal with everything that my life will throw at you in the future, except perhaps..."
His voice darkened a little at the last and you guess why. "Except that," you agree. "But if it happened tomorrow, whether a heart attack or a double-decker bus...I'd feel exactly the same way. I want to be with you because I love you, Rupert. And loving you means that whether you choke on a chop bone or get bitten by a vampire I would grieve just the same..."
He colours a little and smiles sheepishly. "I didn't mean to get us onto such a dark topic. Do you want a big wedding?"
You can tell that the idea appals him but that he would do it in a minute for you if he thought that was what you wanted.
"What if I said I'd be happy with a wedding in the church in your village...with just your closest friends and mine? Neither of us has family to speak of, and we're, neither of us, social butterflies obliged to invite hundreds of people...lets just have a quiet ceremony...and a long honeymoon," you add mischievously. "I like you like this." He chuckles but looks pleased. "I'd like that too. I think we could even arrange the honeymoon, now that I've got some reliable people working with me. Robson, Davies and Zabuto are all perfectly able to keep the wheels oiled and everything running smoothly in my absence."
You suspected as much. There's no way he'd have been as relaxed as he has been on this trip if he wasn't confident his people could take care of things in his absence.
"Blossom time," he says unexpectedly as the breeze changes and the reefed sails begin to flap.
"Blossom time?"
"I'd like to be married in the spring," he says, and you can tell he can't believe he's actually talking about his own wedding.
Spring is more than fine with you. *Today* would be fine with you. "As long as it's late spring. Spring rain is only romantic when it's not a wedding," you point out dryly, trying not to look too blissful.
He leans down and kisses you again. "It wouldn't matter to me," he says softly. "I'd marry you if it was raining vampires and hailing demons."
You approve so wholeheartedly you feel moved to show him, and kiss him back to prove it...and then kiss him a whole lot more just because he's so damned kissable...
...And because he doesn't seem to want to stop kissing you either...which is just fine by you...
The End