This is in honor of Write About Socks Day, with a side of Rupertus Domesticus. Just to get y'all fired up and ready.
Title: Socks
Rating: FRC
Pairing: B/G friendship
Set early in S5
Giles was putting the final stitches in place when he heard Buffy’s tap on the door. It had gotten later than he realized. She settled herself beside him on the couch, watching him work the needle carefully over and under to secure the last row before tying off.
“Why are you sewing a light bulb into a sock?” she asked.
“I’m not. The bulb is just in there to hold the shape of the heel while I darn it.”
“Darn? Y’know, you could just say ‘damn’ like a normal person.”
“No, ‘darn’ as in mend. These are some of my favorite socks, and I’d rather take a few minutes to repair them than throw them away.” She reached over and stroked the area he’d already mended.
“Wow. These are so soft.”
“Cashmere blend. My aunt made me a dozen pairs when she found out I was being shipped off to the colonies.”
“She thought your feet would freeze in California?”
“Not exactly,” Giles said softly as he snugged down the knot and snipped the end neatly. “More that she remembered how my father was, um, well after –“ he stopped abruptly.
“Oh.” Buffy’s small fingers slid from the sock to rest on his larger hand. She gave him a slight squeeze then released him. Giles busied himself with slipping the bulb out, folding the sock together with its mate, and setting it on the pile of neatly folded laundry beside him.
“She sent hugs for your feet,” Buffy said quietly, her tone so pragmatic that it made his breath catch.
“Yes,” he answered, “that’s it exactly.” Setting aside the darning needle and yarn, he sorted carefully through the stack of fresh clothes and found a pair of cheerful yellow tube socks with pink cuffs.
“These are yours. From last week, when you stepped into that nest of Skokill eggs under the dock.” He handed them to her.
“Giles, how’d you get that stuff out? I figured they were goners.” She took them happily.
“Vinegar soak, followed by a cold wash and air dry. Then you shake out the remaining dust and there they are.”
“Whoa! Stain-removal secrets from the Watcher’s Handbook!”
“Not really. Just a guess about the protein content of the eggs, and the pH of the natural pigments.”
“You’re kidding.” she eyed him narrowly. He gave her his best scholarly eyebrows. “You asked Anya, didn’t you?”
Giles coughed, then grinned at her.
“Guilty as charged. But I had to suffer through the most amazing catalog of demonic laundry secrets before she got to the one I wanted. Apparently being the, uh, patroness of scorned women does bring one an encyclopedic knowledge of domestic disasters.”
“Next time I’ve got to get that sticky snot from those Trocha-whatsits out of my favorite shirt I’m going straight to her. Not that the Council would ever consider providing a clothing allowance, even if we were actually talking to them, which we are so not.” Buffy stroked her restored socks and found the tidy row of stitches across one heel. She turned the sock over and inspected it more closely.
“You did the lightbulb thing with this, didn’t you?”
“The egg shell cut it there, so yes, I did.”
She tried to catch his eye but he was settling the large end of the bulb into the heel of the last sock that needed his attention.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
