At Mister Giles' remark about public places, Wesley immediately went on the defensive. They certainly were not in a public place as the gallery was closed, and he had made sure that no one was around. Besides that, just what exactly was he trying to imply about him being Roger Wyndam-Pryce's son with his tone? From what his father had said, this man certainly had no room to be talking about the standards of Council members.
Before he could say anything, though, Giles was telling him to come into his office. Wesley didn't want to go into his office. There was no reason to go into his office. The Council needed Giles, and that was all there was too it. Nothing about it to discuss.
But it seemed that he wasn't going to come until they had this talk.
Sighing deeply, Wesley followed him into the office. "I don't see what there is to discuss, Mister Giles," he said, crossing his arms and standing inside the doors. "I was sent to fetch you as you're needed. I wasn't told why, and it wasn't my place to ask. I have a translation that I need to get back to, so I don't really have time to stick around. Shall I tell my father and the others that you'll be on your way shortly?"
Giles stepped into his office and over to his desk before leaning against the edge of it. When Wesley didn't walk all the way in, and just stood there, Giles had to resist the urge to throttle him. He was Roger's offspring all right - even had the air of thinking he was superior around him. The apple didn't seem to fall far from the tree, and Giles was going to treat the younger Wyndam-Pryce much like he treated Roger.
"Good on you," he merely said as he stared at Wesley. "And, I have paperwork here to finish and an interview to conduct. I'm not at the Council's beckon and call. If they refuse to allow me to work at the headquarters, then they're going to have to wait for me." He pushed off the edge of the desk and circled it before sitting down behind it.
"Tell your father and Travers I'll be there when I see fit," Giles said as he started to look through his books. He sensed Wesley was still standing there so he looked at him over the top of his glasses. Shaking his head, he stood again and went over to one of the cabinet and pulled out a small weapon to compare with the one in the book.
"How long has the Council been allowing their errand boys do translations?" Giles asked as he continued to study the weapon.
Wesley was definitely starting to understand why the Council preferred that Mister Giles didn't actually work at the Council headquarters unless he was needed. He couldn't imagine anyone speaking about it the way they did. And he couldn't imagine keeping the board waiting the way Giles seemed wont to do.
Although by insisting that they have this discussion, he was causing Wesley to keep the board waiting. And he was fairly sure his father wasn't going to like that. Especially when he told him to tell the board that he'd be there when he felt like it. Wesley opened his mouth, wanting to tell him that he had been told to bring him back, but then he closed it again, quite sure this man didn't care. Why should he care what happened to Wesley when he returned to the Council without the person that he had been sent to fetch - it was quite obvious he didn't have any real respect for anyone on the Council.
He was trying to think of something to say to possibly sway Mister Giles' mind or at least something that he could say to his father to placate the anger he knew he would bear the brunt of when he heard the question. Frowning, Wesley straightened up, staring at him. Errand boy? He thought he was an errand boy?
"I'm not an Initiate," he told him, suddenly feeling the way he did when he was trying to justify the quality of his work to his father. "I've been a full member of the Council going on a year now. My specialty is languages, so I'm currently working in the research library on translations. I have no idea why my father wanted me to come get you; I simply did as he asked."
He stopped for a moment, wondering why he was justifying himself to this man who obviously had no interest in him. In fact, he was far more interested in the weapon he was holding, which, if wasn't mistaken... "I'm sorry - that looks like Roman pugio given its shape; however, the blade appears too small and the inlay is too intricate. That looks like..."
He suddenly stopped and remembered how Mister Giles had berated him, so he took a few more steps into the office to the edge of the desk and dropped his voice.
"That looks more like it would be a Pugliato of the Sentio demons. I recall reading that the demons were cursed Centurions that adapted the weapons of their human selves to their demon forms. The inlay is actually a symbol in the language the demons developed, used to curse whoever was cut by the blade."
When Wesley said he was a language expert, Giles looked up from the weapon. Language experts were usually regarded highly within the Council. Without them, the organization would be lost and have no one to translate ancient scrolls and texts. Why would they be sending a language expert to fetch him? The last time they had needed him, they had sent an intern. Then it dawned on him...
"Your father sent you because he's a git," Giles merely said as he went back to the weapon. It was rather obvious. Giles never remembered Roger having much to say about his son. Most Council fathers were proud of their sons, especially the ones that were following in their footsteps. Roger never said a word about Wesley. Perhaps the younger man was a black sheep like him, or Roger just hated him. Giles was banking on the latter since Roger hardly liked anyone.
Suddenly, Wesley was going on about the weapon and Giles furrowed his brow as he stared at it. "Of course!" He said as he shoved the weapon into Wesley's hand and went to shut the door. He then went to his private book collection and pulled out one of the texts. He quickly flipped through it and stopped on one of the pages.
"You're right. It is a Pugliato of the Sentio demons. I found a local 'dealer' that was about to sell it to a clan of demons in Oxford. I can only imagine what they would want with it so I outbid the clan and have been researching it ever since," he explained before he reached out and placed his hand on Wesley's shoulder. "Brilliant job!"
Mister Giles calling his father a git made Wesley start a little, his brow furrowing. No one dared ever called Roger Wyndam-Pryce anything of the sort, especially not if they valued their position within the Council. He might not now or ever be the Chairman, but he still had considerable clout. For Giles to get away with the things he said and did, his own family's influence had to be quite great indeed.
Of course, now that Wesley thought about it, he realized that was probably true. His father had mentioned Giles' grandmother and father - that had to be Enid Giles and Richard Giles, both two of the most respected Chairmen in recent Watcher history. But would the Council brook such attitude even from their progeny? Something told Wesley that Rupert Giles must have something to offer himself if he was still a member and if his father was so insistent that he fetch him, whatever the reason.
When he finished talking about the weapon the other man had been looking at, he wondered if he was going to be thrown out of the office for good now. He hadn't meant to speak out like that, but he had wanted to know, having never seen an actual Pugliato before, having only read about it. So when Giles shouted and shoved the weapon into his hand, Wesley's eyes widened. He almost dropped the dagger, but managed to hold onto it, silently cursing his clumsiness. That would have been a wonderful scene. Giles standing there with the book in his hand, and his precious demon weapon on the floor.
He found himself smiling when Giles told him he was right, telling him how he had come to have the weapon in his possession. What really surprised him, however, was his effusive compliment. His father had never even said anything like that before, and the instructors at the Academy had always been withholding with their praise of all students, so it was a bit strange to hear a stranger say it.
"Erm, thank you," Wesley said with a slight blush, sucking in his breath softly at the Giles' touch on his shoulder. He froze for a moment before remembering why he was there. "Glad to help. Although, I really should be getting back to the Council headquarters. You...I'm to tell them that you'll be along when you're able?"
Giles was so excited that he'd finally figured out what the weapon was, he'd almost forgotten his hand was still on Wesley's shoulder. When he saw the slight blush rising on Wesley's cheeks, Giles removed his hand and cleared his throat. He looked rather handsome with a blush to his face - it seemed to bring out the blueness of his eyes. "Right. The Council." He really didn't want to go but if they needed him, it had to be important. "We could take my auto and go back to the headquarters together."
Reaching over, he picked up the phone and pressed one of the buttons. "Thomas? Could you reschedule my interview for a few days? Some business has came up and I might be out of the office for a few days. Make sure Daniel is informed since he'll be in charge of the museum while I'm gone."
Once he was finished with the call, Giles placed the books and weapon away, making sure everything was locked up. He'd noticed a few of the patrons had came in with umbrellas so retrieved his jacket and slipped it on before he put his things in his briefcase. "I believe that's everything," he said as he looked up at Wesley. "My car is parked in the back."
He stepped out of his office, and once Wesley was out also, he locked the door and started for the back of the museum. Once they were at the backdoor, Giles pushed it open and motioned toward his car and started walking toward it, making sure to unlock the passenger side first so Wesley wouldn't have to stand in the drizzle.
It seemed to be an afternoon for surprises as Mister Giles didn't refuse a second time when Wesley mentioned the Council again. In fact, he was offering to drive both of them back there, and while Wesley hadn't expected that, he was most grateful as he hasn't been looking forward to walk back down Great Russell Street to the Underground. Not only was it still raining but it was also getting later, and that meant the Picadilly line would be a zoo.
Standing back after setting the weapon down on the desk for Giles to put away, Wesley clasped his hands behind his back to wait while he made his phone call and got everything squared away. He actually was clearing his schedule now, figuring that whatever the Council wanted, he was going to be tied up for days. He wondered what the Council had called him in to do before.
Once Giles was ready to go, Wesley followed him out through the back of the museum. The rain had got a bit harder but still wasn't much more than a drizzle. Still enough, though, that it would have made walking back to the tube quite miserable. So when Giles unlocked the passenger door for him, he smiled gratefully before sliding in.
"Thank you," he said before shutting the door.
As Giles circled around to get in the driver's side, Wesley realized that they really had got off on a bad foot. He didn't know anything really about this man other than an off-handed remark from his father. Of course, he had been taught that things at the Council were to be done by the book, so it was a bit strange to meet someone who so obviously flaunted that book yet was still regarded as so important as to necessitate calling in to help the board.
Grabbing the seatbelt, he buckled himself in while Giles got into the car. "Mister Giles, I'd...erm...I'm sorry for the way I approached you. I wasn't terribly thrilled to get pulled off my work, and...well, I thought that we were in a private enough area, but still...anyway, I appreciate you driving us back. Thank you."
Giles slipped into the car as he glared at the rain. It was one thing he'd never gotten used to, even though he'd lived in England all his life. Pulling his seatbelt over his chest, he glanced at Wesley as he apologized. "It's quite all right, Wesley," he said as he started the car. "I'm rather sure you've heard things about me from our colleagues." Giles left it at that, not wanting to get into a rant about Wesley's father and Travers.
However, he was sure they'd probably told Wesley enough about him, and most of it was probably lies. Giles hated having to explain himself but he found he often did when it came to his co-workers. "I'm not as evil as some at the Council paints me," he said as he started to drive toward the Council building. "When I was twenty, I made a mistake and walked away from Oxford, and the Council. I came here to London and fell into the wrong crowd, and honed my magic skills. When it became too much, I went home and my mother was worried I'd not amount to anything and I couldn't do that to her. So I begged my father to let me back into the Council."
He shrugged a little, not knowing if Wesley believed him or not. Giles wasn't sure what the other man had been told about him. "I suppose it was my time to rebel. I'd spent my entire life being made to study all the time. And then, I found out I had the destiny of becoming a Watcher," he said.
When the Council building came into view, he slowed and pulled into parking space. Once he was parked, they got out and went toward the building. They were barely inside when Roger came storming around the corner.
"It's about time," he scoffed as he looked at the two. "It doesn't take that long to get from here to the museum." He eyed Giles before shoving a stack of papers into his hands. "We want to know what sort of magic this clan is doing. It's of great importance. You know where the library is at and I expect it done by morning. Oh, and Wesley, you'll be assisting Rupert to make sure he doesn't ruin anything. Your translations will wait for another day."
Without saying another word, Roger turned on his heel and walked off. Giles looked over at Wesley, trying hard not to groan. He really wasn't looking forward to working with Roger's son.
Wesley had to fight to keep a shocked look from crossing his face with Giles started telling him about what had happened to cause him to originally leave the Council. The way his father had talked about it, it had sounded as though the Council had thrown him out, not that he had left in a fit of rebellion.
Wesley couldn't imagine doing that, though - he had known since he had been five that he was going to go the Watchers Academy and was expected to follow his father's footsteps into the Council. He could never have gone against those wishes, no matter how difficult it had been sometimes. He had always felt that the destiny to be a Watcher was important and not something that could be cast aside, no matter what.
He wanted to say something, wanted to know how he had been able to go what had been expected of him, but he couldn't bring himself to. He didn't know why. Normally, he would never have hold his tongue about such a thing as shirking one's duty for personal and selfish reasons, but for some reason, there was something about Giles that caused him to hold back. Something in his voice. Something that told him there was so much more.
And he had to admit that the comment about honing his magic skills intrigued him. The instructors at the Academy only taught the barest minimum of magic that they felt was needed for Watchers to do their job. Beyond that, magic was considered verboten, especially by his father. He still remembered how he had reacted the day he had discovered him using one of his books to try to resurrect a bird he had seen smack into a window and die, how he had burnt the pages from the book and then held his hand over the flame, telling him that the pain of magic addiction was even worse. And that there were forces that were never to be trifled with.
Instead, he just nodded, and when they reached Council, he sighed in silent relief. Giles could see the others about whatever they needed him for.
But as he had feared, he hadn't been fast enough as his father was accosting them before they had ever finished walking through the main doors. Wesley tried to explain that they had been detained by Mister Giles' work, but before he could, he was shoving paper at Giles and telling Wesley that he'd be assisting.
"But...I was...the translation is...I tried to..." he tried to protest, only to have his father leave without paying him any heed. Standing there for a moment, he just stared at the retreating back of his father before looking over at Giles. He didn't look any more thrilled that he was. "I...I suppose we should heard to the library and get started. The faster we get this done, the faster we can both get back to our own work."
As they walked to the library, Giles read the file that was given to him and ignored the whispers he heard as they passed other people. When he'd first came back to the Council, all the whispering bothered him but, over the years, he'd learned to just ignore it. The Council rarely called on him anymore, which meant he didn't have to deal with the wankers all the time.
When they arrived at the library, Giles went straight to the section he knew where he'd find the texts he needed. Once he had everything, he motioned for Wesley to follow him. "I rather like working in the backrooms. More privacy," he explained as he continued to walk through the stacks.
"Rupert Giles. Never thought I'd see you here."
Giles looked up and sighed when he saw William Travers, Quentin's nephew, standing there. The boy was a disgrace but was kept around because of his uncle. "I'm only doing a small assignment," he merely said.
William snorted and looked at Wesley. "Be careful of this one, Pryce. He'll either pick your pocket, kill you with magic, or try to get in your trousers," he said as he barked out a laugh. "When you're finish babysitting him, come by the lounge and I'll tell you some interesting stories about this one."
Giles cleared his throat and looked toward one of the back rooms. "We should start soon," he murmured as he walked off and went into the room. He sat the books and file down on the table and sat down. If he had his way, he'd be throttling William at the moment but he had to behave, and pretend it didn't bother him.
Wesley wished he had hidden himself better in the library while he had been working on his translation so his father couldn't have found him. Then he would have sent one of the Initiates to fetch Giles, and he wouldn't have had to delay his own work. As it was, he could hear the people talking as they headed through the corridors to library, saw the way the others were looking at them - no, looking at Giles. He wanted to tell them that he had just been assigned to help, but then he'd look over at the other man and stay quiet. Better not to draw any more attention to this, he decided.
He knew that he was being punished for not moving fast enough. He should have insisted that Giles not dally at the museum. He shouldn't have even said anything about Pugliato. Damn his curiosity.
They were almost to the safety of one of the back workroom - which Wesley had no problem with them using as it would keep them out of sight of the others, so he wouldn't have to explain himself to as many people later - when William Travers appeared. Wesley listened to the exchange between him and Giles, then felt his eyes widening at William warning to him. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether to be mortified or worried or...what. It wasn't as though he was planning on spending much time with this man - he was going to help him with this assignment and then get back to his own translations. At least that was the plan.
Giles didn't say anything to William's remark, instead excusing himself to the backroom. Wesley watched him for a moment, not knowing what to say. "I should...he's right. We need to get to work," he said.
"Just remember what I said, Pryce," William said with a laugh. Wesley felt himself reddening, feeling as though he had just spoken down to. Straightening up, he turned and walked into the room, sitting down across the table from Giles. He was going to keep them on track and make sure this was done quickly.
"May I see the folder my father gave you?" he asked, holding out his hand. "It would help if I knew exactly what clan he's having you look into."
Before he could say anything, though, Giles was telling him to come into his office. Wesley didn't want to go into his office. There was no reason to go into his office. The Council needed Giles, and that was all there was too it. Nothing about it to discuss.
But it seemed that he wasn't going to come until they had this talk.
Sighing deeply, Wesley followed him into the office. "I don't see what there is to discuss, Mister Giles," he said, crossing his arms and standing inside the doors. "I was sent to fetch you as you're needed. I wasn't told why, and it wasn't my place to ask. I have a translation that I need to get back to, so I don't really have time to stick around. Shall I tell my father and the others that you'll be on your way shortly?"
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"Good on you," he merely said as he stared at Wesley. "And, I have paperwork here to finish and an interview to conduct. I'm not at the Council's beckon and call. If they refuse to allow me to work at the headquarters, then they're going to have to wait for me." He pushed off the edge of the desk and circled it before sitting down behind it.
"Tell your father and Travers I'll be there when I see fit," Giles said as he started to look through his books. He sensed Wesley was still standing there so he looked at him over the top of his glasses. Shaking his head, he stood again and went over to one of the cabinet and pulled out a small weapon to compare with the one in the book.
"How long has the Council been allowing their errand boys do translations?" Giles asked as he continued to study the weapon.
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Although by insisting that they have this discussion, he was causing Wesley to keep the board waiting. And he was fairly sure his father wasn't going to like that. Especially when he told him to tell the board that he'd be there when he felt like it. Wesley opened his mouth, wanting to tell him that he had been told to bring him back, but then he closed it again, quite sure this man didn't care. Why should he care what happened to Wesley when he returned to the Council without the person that he had been sent to fetch - it was quite obvious he didn't have any real respect for anyone on the Council.
He was trying to think of something to say to possibly sway Mister Giles' mind or at least something that he could say to his father to placate the anger he knew he would bear the brunt of when he heard the question. Frowning, Wesley straightened up, staring at him. Errand boy? He thought he was an errand boy?
"I'm not an Initiate," he told him, suddenly feeling the way he did when he was trying to justify the quality of his work to his father. "I've been a full member of the Council going on a year now. My specialty is languages, so I'm currently working in the research library on translations. I have no idea why my father wanted me to come get you; I simply did as he asked."
He stopped for a moment, wondering why he was justifying himself to this man who obviously had no interest in him. In fact, he was far more interested in the weapon he was holding, which, if wasn't mistaken... "I'm sorry - that looks like Roman pugio given its shape; however, the blade appears too small and the inlay is too intricate. That looks like..."
He suddenly stopped and remembered how Mister Giles had berated him, so he took a few more steps into the office to the edge of the desk and dropped his voice.
"That looks more like it would be a Pugliato of the Sentio demons. I recall reading that the demons were cursed Centurions that adapted the weapons of their human selves to their demon forms. The inlay is actually a symbol in the language the demons developed, used to curse whoever was cut by the blade."
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"Your father sent you because he's a git," Giles merely said as he went back to the weapon. It was rather obvious. Giles never remembered Roger having much to say about his son. Most Council fathers were proud of their sons, especially the ones that were following in their footsteps. Roger never said a word about Wesley. Perhaps the younger man was a black sheep like him, or Roger just hated him. Giles was banking on the latter since Roger hardly liked anyone.
Suddenly, Wesley was going on about the weapon and Giles furrowed his brow as he stared at it. "Of course!" He said as he shoved the weapon into Wesley's hand and went to shut the door. He then went to his private book collection and pulled out one of the texts. He quickly flipped through it and stopped on one of the pages.
"You're right. It is a Pugliato of the Sentio demons. I found a local 'dealer' that was about to sell it to a clan of demons in Oxford. I can only imagine what they would want with it so I outbid the clan and have been researching it ever since," he explained before he reached out and placed his hand on Wesley's shoulder. "Brilliant job!"
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Of course, now that Wesley thought about it, he realized that was probably true. His father had mentioned Giles' grandmother and father - that had to be Enid Giles and Richard Giles, both two of the most respected Chairmen in recent Watcher history. But would the Council brook such attitude even from their progeny? Something told Wesley that Rupert Giles must have something to offer himself if he was still a member and if his father was so insistent that he fetch him, whatever the reason.
When he finished talking about the weapon the other man had been looking at, he wondered if he was going to be thrown out of the office for good now. He hadn't meant to speak out like that, but he had wanted to know, having never seen an actual Pugliato before, having only read about it. So when Giles shouted and shoved the weapon into his hand, Wesley's eyes widened. He almost dropped the dagger, but managed to hold onto it, silently cursing his clumsiness. That would have been a wonderful scene. Giles standing there with the book in his hand, and his precious demon weapon on the floor.
He found himself smiling when Giles told him he was right, telling him how he had come to have the weapon in his possession. What really surprised him, however, was his effusive compliment. His father had never even said anything like that before, and the instructors at the Academy had always been withholding with their praise of all students, so it was a bit strange to hear a stranger say it.
"Erm, thank you," Wesley said with a slight blush, sucking in his breath softly at the Giles' touch on his shoulder. He froze for a moment before remembering why he was there. "Glad to help. Although, I really should be getting back to the Council headquarters. You...I'm to tell them that you'll be along when you're able?"
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Reaching over, he picked up the phone and pressed one of the buttons. "Thomas? Could you reschedule my interview for a few days? Some business has came up and I might be out of the office for a few days. Make sure Daniel is informed since he'll be in charge of the museum while I'm gone."
Once he was finished with the call, Giles placed the books and weapon away, making sure everything was locked up. He'd noticed a few of the patrons had came in with umbrellas so retrieved his jacket and slipped it on before he put his things in his briefcase. "I believe that's everything," he said as he looked up at Wesley. "My car is parked in the back."
He stepped out of his office, and once Wesley was out also, he locked the door and started for the back of the museum. Once they were at the backdoor, Giles pushed it open and motioned toward his car and started walking toward it, making sure to unlock the passenger side first so Wesley wouldn't have to stand in the drizzle.
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Standing back after setting the weapon down on the desk for Giles to put away, Wesley clasped his hands behind his back to wait while he made his phone call and got everything squared away. He actually was clearing his schedule now, figuring that whatever the Council wanted, he was going to be tied up for days. He wondered what the Council had called him in to do before.
Once Giles was ready to go, Wesley followed him out through the back of the museum. The rain had got a bit harder but still wasn't much more than a drizzle. Still enough, though, that it would have made walking back to the tube quite miserable. So when Giles unlocked the passenger door for him, he smiled gratefully before sliding in.
"Thank you," he said before shutting the door.
As Giles circled around to get in the driver's side, Wesley realized that they really had got off on a bad foot. He didn't know anything really about this man other than an off-handed remark from his father. Of course, he had been taught that things at the Council were to be done by the book, so it was a bit strange to meet someone who so obviously flaunted that book yet was still regarded as so important as to necessitate calling in to help the board.
Grabbing the seatbelt, he buckled himself in while Giles got into the car. "Mister Giles, I'd...erm...I'm sorry for the way I approached you. I wasn't terribly thrilled to get pulled off my work, and...well, I thought that we were in a private enough area, but still...anyway, I appreciate you driving us back. Thank you."
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However, he was sure they'd probably told Wesley enough about him, and most of it was probably lies. Giles hated having to explain himself but he found he often did when it came to his co-workers. "I'm not as evil as some at the Council paints me," he said as he started to drive toward the Council building. "When I was twenty, I made a mistake and walked away from Oxford, and the Council. I came here to London and fell into the wrong crowd, and honed my magic skills. When it became too much, I went home and my mother was worried I'd not amount to anything and I couldn't do that to her. So I begged my father to let me back into the Council."
He shrugged a little, not knowing if Wesley believed him or not. Giles wasn't sure what the other man had been told about him. "I suppose it was my time to rebel. I'd spent my entire life being made to study all the time. And then, I found out I had the destiny of becoming a Watcher," he said.
When the Council building came into view, he slowed and pulled into parking space. Once he was parked, they got out and went toward the building. They were barely inside when Roger came storming around the corner.
"It's about time," he scoffed as he looked at the two. "It doesn't take that long to get from here to the museum." He eyed Giles before shoving a stack of papers into his hands. "We want to know what sort of magic this clan is doing. It's of great importance. You know where the library is at and I expect it done by morning. Oh, and Wesley, you'll be assisting Rupert to make sure he doesn't ruin anything. Your translations will wait for another day."
Without saying another word, Roger turned on his heel and walked off. Giles looked over at Wesley, trying hard not to groan. He really wasn't looking forward to working with Roger's son.
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Wesley couldn't imagine doing that, though - he had known since he had been five that he was going to go the Watchers Academy and was expected to follow his father's footsteps into the Council. He could never have gone against those wishes, no matter how difficult it had been sometimes. He had always felt that the destiny to be a Watcher was important and not something that could be cast aside, no matter what.
He wanted to say something, wanted to know how he had been able to go what had been expected of him, but he couldn't bring himself to. He didn't know why. Normally, he would never have hold his tongue about such a thing as shirking one's duty for personal and selfish reasons, but for some reason, there was something about Giles that caused him to hold back. Something in his voice. Something that told him there was so much more.
And he had to admit that the comment about honing his magic skills intrigued him. The instructors at the Academy only taught the barest minimum of magic that they felt was needed for Watchers to do their job. Beyond that, magic was considered verboten, especially by his father. He still remembered how he had reacted the day he had discovered him using one of his books to try to resurrect a bird he had seen smack into a window and die, how he had burnt the pages from the book and then held his hand over the flame, telling him that the pain of magic addiction was even worse. And that there were forces that were never to be trifled with.
Instead, he just nodded, and when they reached Council, he sighed in silent relief. Giles could see the others about whatever they needed him for.
But as he had feared, he hadn't been fast enough as his father was accosting them before they had ever finished walking through the main doors. Wesley tried to explain that they had been detained by Mister Giles' work, but before he could, he was shoving paper at Giles and telling Wesley that he'd be assisting.
"But...I was...the translation is...I tried to..." he tried to protest, only to have his father leave without paying him any heed. Standing there for a moment, he just stared at the retreating back of his father before looking over at Giles. He didn't look any more thrilled that he was. "I...I suppose we should heard to the library and get started. The faster we get this done, the faster we can both get back to our own work."
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When they arrived at the library, Giles went straight to the section he knew where he'd find the texts he needed. Once he had everything, he motioned for Wesley to follow him. "I rather like working in the backrooms. More privacy," he explained as he continued to walk through the stacks.
"Rupert Giles. Never thought I'd see you here."
Giles looked up and sighed when he saw William Travers, Quentin's nephew, standing there. The boy was a disgrace but was kept around because of his uncle. "I'm only doing a small assignment," he merely said.
William snorted and looked at Wesley. "Be careful of this one, Pryce. He'll either pick your pocket, kill you with magic, or try to get in your trousers," he said as he barked out a laugh. "When you're finish babysitting him, come by the lounge and I'll tell you some interesting stories about this one."
Giles cleared his throat and looked toward one of the back rooms. "We should start soon," he murmured as he walked off and went into the room. He sat the books and file down on the table and sat down. If he had his way, he'd be throttling William at the moment but he had to behave, and pretend it didn't bother him.
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He knew that he was being punished for not moving fast enough. He should have insisted that Giles not dally at the museum. He shouldn't have even said anything about Pugliato. Damn his curiosity.
They were almost to the safety of one of the back workroom - which Wesley had no problem with them using as it would keep them out of sight of the others, so he wouldn't have to explain himself to as many people later - when William Travers appeared. Wesley listened to the exchange between him and Giles, then felt his eyes widening at William warning to him. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether to be mortified or worried or...what. It wasn't as though he was planning on spending much time with this man - he was going to help him with this assignment and then get back to his own translations. At least that was the plan.
Giles didn't say anything to William's remark, instead excusing himself to the backroom. Wesley watched him for a moment, not knowing what to say. "I should...he's right. We need to get to work," he said.
"Just remember what I said, Pryce," William said with a laugh. Wesley felt himself reddening, feeling as though he had just spoken down to. Straightening up, he turned and walked into the room, sitting down across the table from Giles. He was going to keep them on track and make sure this was done quickly.
"May I see the folder my father gave you?" he asked, holding out his hand. "It would help if I knew exactly what clan he's having you look into."
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