"Hmmm. Yes, I suppose that would be a lot for anyone to digest so quickly. And, Wesley? The key word is 'thought'. I know what you've done since Sunnydale and I am not a fool." Giles' voice was soft with understanding and that bloody sympathy again. "As for the shower, if you think you can stand on your own, then I'll help you get to the shower."
Wesley raised an eyebrow, not enjoying that idea at all. "Er, I . . . was hoping to manage on my own."
"Wesley, you've spent two weeks in bed with only the limited muscles exercises you would perform while half out of your mind with fever. If you can manage on your own, I'll eat my tie." Giles' voice was dry and somehow that helped a little. Casual, as if it were in no way odd for a grown man to need help getting to the shower.
It didn't help enough, of course.
"Well, I'm sure my meal was the better, but if you insist on eating silk than who am I to tell you no?" With that, Wesley scooted his legs off the bed and stood. Just as he was looking up to smirk at Giles, however, his knees gave out, landing him on his arse back on the bed.
"I don't think I'll be having silk tonight. Maybe in a few weeks," Giles replied, offering him a hand.
Giles wasn't sure Wesley would take the hand, for a moment. He sat and stared at the it until Giles began to feel the need to check what he knew was a perfectly clean hand.
Having Wes lucid seemed like they were starting all over again. He'd helped Wes dozens of times - granted some quite interesting times for both of them - but they'd weathered through it, nonetheless. Giles bit back a sigh. Starting over at a disadvantage - Wes was now a bit uncomfortable around him. He wondered why.
Finally, with a look both stubborn and minutely fearful, Wes took his hand. Giles braced himself, and said, "Now, try it again. This is not how we've been doing it, but let's see what you've got, hm? Don't worry, you won't fall."
Weathering the slight glare Wesley gave him for the last bit, Giles let the man lean on him as much as Wes was comfortable with. In truth, he wished the man would just let him help, but he did understand. He wouldn't have enjoyed being in Wesley's position himself.
Still, he was used to this. He'd spent the last two weeks practically at the man's bedside. His secretary re-directed all his calls, his paperwork was delivered daily, he fixed his meals in the kitchen. For the last two weeks he hand Wesley had been together nearly twenty four hours a day. Of course, that was delusional Wesley, who hadn't exactly been a pleasure, but had been at least more likely to accept his help.
Wesley was leaning more on his now, and clearly not likely it one bit. Ignoring that, Giles readjusted them both, pulling Wes' arm over his shoulder and wrapping his own around Wes' waist.
He glared at Wes when the man made to comment. Sighing, when they finally reached the bathroom, slightly annoyed that Wes refused to look at him and seemed further put out when Giles turned on the water and adjusted the temperature, he felt no compunction about hopping up onto the counter and motioning for the other man to have at it.
Wesley stared at him, blinking.
"You don't actually expect me to . . . with you right . . ."
Realization dawned as he stood and glared at Giles. This was not the first shower he'd been helped with, and if going by his quaking knees was a barometer for the coming days, it would not be the last.
Wesley turned his back and stood in front of the shower door, grateful for it's frosted glass. Giles' proximity during the trip to the bathroom had been far from unbearable, yet, he couldn't wait to be able to do this unaided. He decided not to think about that until he had some privacy.
Privacy which he definately did not have at the moment. Giles' scent of Earl Gray and aftershave lingered in his nose, he could almost feel the weight of Giles' arm around his waist, and he could certainly feel the weight of the man's stare at his back. Damn.
Hissing at the stiffness of his muscles, he fumbled with the snaps of his hospital gown. Hopefully there would be something else for him to wear. He gingerly steped over the lip of the walk in shower, and shut the door. Alone at last.
Gratefully discovering a built in seat in the shower, Wesley sank down and tilted his face to the warm spray of water. He was exhausted. and he hadn't even washed his hair yet.
While Wesley showered, Giles moved about getting what would be needed afterwards. So far it had been impossible to get the man to put on the sweats they'd made sure to get for him, but Giles thought that might be different today. Retrieving them from the small dresser under the sink, he also laid out a towel, an electric razor, toothbrush and toothpaste.
He was, at least, looking forward to not having to explain what they were this time. Sighing, Giles retook his seat on the counter and waited, listening in case Wesley needed his help. He was sure the man wouldn't ask for it after all.
Wesley, for his part, sat on the bench for a long moment, trying desperately to remember the past few weeks. Giles seemed very familiar, his presence, his smell, even the weight of his hands on his forehead or arm. Still, he found it impossible to dredge up anything but vague impressions of safety and comfort.
Shaking his head, Wes began to wash up, hurrying with the task and pushing away the questions. Things like, if he'd been so very delirious and yet taken showers, who had helped him wash . . . and, oh good lord, he most certainly should not think about that.
Wesley raised an eyebrow, not enjoying that idea at all. "Er, I . . . was hoping to manage on my own."
"Wesley, you've spent two weeks in bed with only the limited muscles exercises you would perform while half out of your mind with fever. If you can manage on your own, I'll eat my tie." Giles' voice was dry and somehow that helped a little. Casual, as if it were in no way odd for a grown man to need help getting to the shower.
It didn't help enough, of course.
"Well, I'm sure my meal was the better, but if you insist on eating silk than who am I to tell you no?" With that, Wesley scooted his legs off the bed and stood. Just as he was looking up to smirk at Giles, however, his knees gave out, landing him on his arse back on the bed.
"I don't think I'll be having silk tonight. Maybe in a few weeks," Giles replied, offering him a hand.
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Having Wes lucid seemed like they were starting all over again. He'd helped Wes dozens of times - granted some quite interesting times for both of them - but they'd weathered through it, nonetheless. Giles bit back a sigh. Starting over at a disadvantage - Wes was now a bit uncomfortable around him. He wondered why.
Finally, with a look both stubborn and minutely fearful, Wes took his hand. Giles braced himself, and said, "Now, try it again. This is not how we've been doing it, but let's see what you've got, hm? Don't worry, you won't fall."
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Still, he was used to this. He'd spent the last two weeks practically at the man's bedside. His secretary re-directed all his calls, his paperwork was delivered daily, he fixed his meals in the kitchen. For the last two weeks he hand Wesley had been together nearly twenty four hours a day. Of course, that was delusional Wesley, who hadn't exactly been a pleasure, but had been at least more likely to accept his help.
Wesley was leaning more on his now, and clearly not likely it one bit. Ignoring that, Giles readjusted them both, pulling Wes' arm over his shoulder and wrapping his own around Wes' waist.
He glared at Wes when the man made to comment. Sighing, when they finally reached the bathroom, slightly annoyed that Wes refused to look at him and seemed further put out when Giles turned on the water and adjusted the temperature, he felt no compunction about hopping up onto the counter and motioning for the other man to have at it.
Wesley stared at him, blinking.
"You don't actually expect me to . . . with you right . . ."
Giles only raised an eyebrow, waiting.
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Wesley turned his back and stood in front of the shower door, grateful for it's frosted glass. Giles' proximity during the trip to the bathroom had been far from unbearable, yet, he couldn't wait to be able to do this unaided. He decided not to think about that until he had some privacy.
Privacy which he definately did not have at the moment. Giles' scent of Earl Gray and aftershave lingered in his nose, he could almost feel the weight of Giles' arm around his waist, and he could certainly feel the weight of the man's stare at his back. Damn.
Hissing at the stiffness of his muscles, he fumbled with the snaps of his hospital gown. Hopefully there would be something else for him to wear. He gingerly steped over the lip of the walk in shower, and shut the door. Alone at last.
Gratefully discovering a built in seat in the shower, Wesley sank down and tilted his face to the warm spray of water. He was exhausted. and he hadn't even washed his hair yet.
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He was, at least, looking forward to not having to explain what they were this time. Sighing, Giles retook his seat on the counter and waited, listening in case Wesley needed his help. He was sure the man wouldn't ask for it after all.
Wesley, for his part, sat on the bench for a long moment, trying desperately to remember the past few weeks. Giles seemed very familiar, his presence, his smell, even the weight of his hands on his forehead or arm. Still, he found it impossible to dredge up anything but vague impressions of safety and comfort.
Shaking his head, Wes began to wash up, hurrying with the task and pushing away the questions. Things like, if he'd been so very delirious and yet taken showers, who had helped him wash . . . and, oh good lord, he most certainly should not think about that.
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