Title: Tea For Two
Author: kbk
Disclaimer: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", "Angel" and all characters are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and various other people and companies. Not me. I make no money from this.
Rating: G
Notes: For voleuse - requested MTV and skepticism, no severe angst.
Notes 2: Lara looked at this for me, did beta stuff. Also gave me the only feedback I've had in the five days since I posted. Ah well.
Notes 3: I'm afraid there was a distinct lack of inspiration, here, which is part of why it's late, and just... meh. Anyway.

Returning from his kitchen with a cup of tea in each hand, Giles wasn't particularly surprised to see that Oz had left the pile of books and gravitated to the television. He was, however, surprised to find out that he apparently received MTV.

"Is there some reason," he asked, handing milk-and-three-sugars to Oz when the boy twisted to receive it, "that you are inflicting that so-called music on me, when there is a perfectly decent record collection within reach?"

"It's not that bad, you know," Oz smiled up at him. "But this is research. I think Britney's made a pact with a demon." His voice was matter-of-fact as always, and the light in his eyes wasn't that associated with joking.

Giles gazed at the screen, and thought about it. "Doubtful," he eventually decided. "Most of the deal-makers are still rigidly misogynistic." The information he had wasn't all up-to-date, though, Giles mused, and it had been decades since the last dedicated Watcher investigation of demonic society; but if he started worrying about that he would never get anything done.

"Not to mention the research, the effort, the risks..." Oz sighed slightly, thinking of his explorations of that avenue in attempting to rid himself of his too-literal inner beast.

"It could be magic of some sort," Giles offered, carefully setting his milk-one-sugar on his desk before lowering himself to the floor beside Oz.

"Deal-makers aren't magic?" Oz asked, innocence personified.

Giles looked at him scornfully, and jabbed an elbow gently into his side.

Oz sighed, set his tea aside and rose gracefully, leaning first towards the television to switch it off. Giles wouldn't have minded extending this break, sitting quiet and close, though he didn't know how long he could have tolerated the sorry excuse for entertainment that had been on display. He sighed slightly, preparing to haul himself off the floor and get back to work, but Oz picked his mug off the desk and passed it to him, then sat again, marginally closer than before.

Giles sipped at his tea, wrapping both hands around the mug and feeling the warmth seep into his fingers. He was amused to see Oz follow suit, copying the gesture almost exactly. Oz set the mug down, and moved again, rolling his head from side to side and shrugging his shoulders.

"How do you do so much of this without getting stiff?" Oz asked, rubbing at his neck with one hand.

"It's mostly good posture," Giles said, "that, and frequent tea breaks." He smiled at the boy, and took another drink. Oz sighed, and arched backward, the hem of his T-shirt riding up to expose a slice of pale skin.

"Tend to forget it's not just a societal thing," he said, voice slightly breathy from the strain of the stretch. "Straight-laced upper-class tweed-wearing Englishmen," he added, slanting a mischievous glance at Giles.

Giles sniffed primly, hard-pressed to keep a smirk from his face. He took another drink, and considered.

"Odd," he said thoughtfully, "I would have expected you to think more towards Tai Chi or yoga, perhaps one of the martial arts, with their emphasis on control of the body, but in a more fluid way than the formalised rigidity of, well, tweedy Englishness."

"Meditation in motion?" Oz said, sitting straight again and stretching out his arms. "Not really my thing. Meditation at all, really, the babbling doesn't... ow." His exclamation sounded surprised. He clutched at his shoulder with one hand, wincing.

"Babbling?" Giles asked, feigning a lack of concern for Oz's discomfort - it was the boy's own fault, after all - and always interested in the possibility of finding out a little more about what made Oz tick.

"Yeah, there's a reason I don't... talk much... shit." Oz gasped in pain, then glanced up at Giles with a chagrined look. Both of them had tolerated far more serious injuries, after all.

"Come here," Giles said, setting his half-empty mug carefully out of the way, "I'll take care of that for you."

Oz turned his back towards Giles with a grateful, "Thanks."

Giles flexed his fingers, then pushed Oz's hand away and started to massage at that point.

"So..." Oz said, just a little too brightly, "non-demonic magic?"

Giles pressed knuckles into unforgiving flesh. "It's possible, but... have you heard of the principle of Occam's Razor?" He rocked his fist towards the pale neck displayed in front of him, which bent to the pressure.

"Mm," Oz murmured, part assertion and part pleasure. "Simplest explanation, right?"

Giles felt his mouth curve into a proud smile, and was glad Oz didn't see. Oz's intelligence and knowledge reflected on Oz himself, and nobody else. "That fits the given facts, exactly," Giles said, completing the definition in a bland voice. "And the simplest explanation in this case?"

Oz pushed back slightly into the palms rubbing at his knotted shoulders. He exhaled slowly, contemplative, then drew a quick breath to say, "People really are that stupid."

"Not kind," Giles said, half-amused and half-chiding.

Oz reached up and covered Giles' hands with his own. "You don't have to teach me manners," he said softly.

"Sometimes I think you're the one who teaches me," Giles replied, leaving his hands where they were until Oz nodded and dropped his own hands once more. He resumed the massage, slow and rhythmic over the thin material of Oz's T-shirt, trying to find the words to explain. He didn't think of Oz, the individual, as a child, but he mentally grouped Oz with the rest of the Scoobies, and he did think of them as children, most of the time. But that wasn't even the relevant neurosis, here, it was probably more to do with his overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Giles decided just to stay quiet.

Oz sighed under his hands, tension draining from his shoulders. He shivered a little as Giles rubbed his neck, then straightened resolutely. "Tea'll be getting cold," he said, and reached for his mug. "Thanks for that," he added, not looking at Giles.

Giles picked up his own mug, and drank down half the remaining contents - it was still acceptably warm. He clenched and stretched his right hand, feeling the strain of his weakened hand.

"Shit," Oz said, "does it hurt? I was all right, really." He put down his tea and grabbed Giles' hand with both his own, pushing at the muscles and tendons of the slightly larger hand and not lingering over any of the scars.

Giles, taken by surprise, simply watched for long moments.

Oz dropped a kiss on Giles' palm, then self-consciously dropped his hand and stood. "Better get back to it, huh?" he said, picking up the book he'd been scanning.

Giles stood and stepped closer to Oz. He bent to lightly kiss Oz on the lips, then turned away and picked both mugs off the floor. "Here," he said, holding out one. "Finish this first."

Oz smiled at him, and they drank their tea.