There wasn't even that small shiver which usually went through him at Giles touch. This had nothing to do with his partner, however. It had anything to do with Wesley himself. When had been the last time he'd been so effected... Oh, right. Not all that long ago, now that he thought about it. It would appear he'd not changed that much after all
( ... )
Giles found it almost physically painful to let Wesley go that way, so upset, his voice so flat. Still, he had to make his calls and it would be easier if Wesley weren't there. He only hoped that what he had planned might restore some of the garden's charm. They'd been married there, after all, and Giles wasn't about to let the place go.
It went quickly. He called Xander first, since he knew he could catch him at home on the weekend. Xander listened intently and then thought for a moment before saying he thought the job could be done in about four hours, if he had enough help. Giles thanked him profusely, especially for volunteering to call the others, and then quickly hung up and went to find Wesley.
Wesley had slowly made his way up the stairs and into the library where he'd have the best chance of finding a box. He tried to drag his mind away from the garden for now. Part of him wanted to run, just to make certain that Giles wasn't alone for a minute. But a larger part of him knew this was ridiculous. They were in their own bloody home for gods sake.
That didn't stop your father from shooting him, now did it?Suddenly feeling incredibly cold, something in his chest tightening, Wesley sped up his pace. That though only made his headache, his worry worse. Storming into the library, - and he half expected to find it utterly destroyed as well, which was a stupid thought -, he didn't pause for a second and started to look for a box
( ... )
Giles met Wesley as he was coming out of the library. There was an expression on Wesley's face that was close to panic and Giles didn't pause, or even slow his pace, as he took the box from Wes, tossed it aside, and wrapped his arms around Wes.
"I hope you don't mind," he said in a soft tone, laying his forehead on Wesley's shoulder. "But I don't think I can let you leave my sight for the rest of the day, at least" He tried to make it sound funny and failed, because it wasn't. On the way upstairs he'd thought of nothing but another time he'd climbed those stairs, of what he'd found at the top.
The image of Roger Wyndam-Pryce, pointing a gun at Wes . . . It was still too vivid not to knot his stomach, to push his heart into his throat.
As Wesley came out of the library and nearly ran into Giles, he automatically smiled at the man. It was something he had no power over most of the time. He saw Giles and he had to smile. It faded quickly however when his partner took the box out of his hands, tossed it aside and wrapped his arms around him
( ... )
Knowing he was likely being silly and still unable to get that image out of his mind, Giles snorted and pulled away from his partner. "I'm sorry, love, I know I'm . . . I just can't stand the thought of anything happening to you." Raising his hand to Wesley's cheek, Giles rubbed his thumb gently along Wes' skin.
"We should go." Picking up the box, Giles nodded back toward the stairs, looking at Wesley for a moment longer before turning and heading down them. He hoped having the others redo the garden for Wesley would make it special again, a gift from friends.
Why on earth Giles was worried about him, Wesley had no idea. It wasn't as if all of this was aimed at him. He didn't think it was Ethan; the man was far more subtle. Or his parents. They may be cunning and...aimed low, but they'd not be *this* subtle. They had after all little to no imagination. Great, now he was thinking about his parents again. He was never going to get rid of them was he
( ... )
Giles didn't move to interfere with Wesley's packing the doll away, even though he didn't particularly want Wes to have to do it. He saw his lover shiver and was in complete agreement. The damned doll was beyond unsettling. When Wesley went to the kitchen, Giles took the moment to quickly check the locks on all the windows in the living room before putting the lid on the box and going to join Wes.
He found his lover washing his hands rather vigorously. Knowing he'd have been doing the same thing had he been the one to touch the doll, Giles found himself checking the lock on the backdoor before he could stop himself. He tried not to draw attention to that fact, though, going to the table and getting together the books they might need from there.
"We should call Willow and ask her to drop Connor by the Magic Shop."
Trying very hard not to look at what was left of his garden, their garden, Wesley locked the kitchen door. Then he turned around and moved toward the sink. He felt dirty since he'd touched that doll. What he wanted to do was just take a shower, but washing his hands was going to have to be enough for now
( ... )
Giles sighed softly at Wesley's tone, frustrated because he could think of nothing that would relieve the tension there. Once this was settled . . . Well, he was fairly sure there would be something else to throw a wrench into the workings, there always was. He, however, was going to do his best not to let that rule all aspects of their lives. Otherwise, they'd never relax again.
Trying to shrug off his own mood, Giles finished with the books and went to Wesley, turning off the hot water in the sink and wrapping his arms around Wes from behind. "I've gathered what books we'll need. I'll call Willow, if you'll start loading the car."
Blinking down at his hands and noticing how red they were, Wesley looked fascinated at the blood nearly bursting to the surface. What the bloody hell was he doing? He slowly let go of the brush, watching it fall down in the sink as though it was going in slow motion.
He closed his eyes and leaned into Giles embrace. Both ashamed and grateful for it. Ashamed because he shouldn't be needing the man's reassurance, grateful because he got it anyway. Wesley thought he'd been over that, that he didn't need that anymore. God, how wrong he was, again, he thought bitterly.
"Alright," he mumbled, reaching for the towel. Drying his hands, he tossed it away without looking where it went, without folding it up or hanging it out and turned in his lover’s arms. For a long moment he looked into Giles' eyes before leaning in for a soft kiss. Then he stepped out of the embrace and started to gather the books in his arms. He couldn't even get excited about the new car they'd just gotten anymore.
Giles watched Wesley for a moment, glancing back to the towel on the counter. It was hardest to know there was nothing he could do for Wesley. Given what the man had born up under before . . . Giles supposed there was a limit for everyone, but he was worried about his lover's reaction to all of this. It seemed . . . it seemed as if there were something more going on and it was frustrating not to know what.
"Wesley? This isn't the end of the world, love. It's not good, but . . . we've gotten through worse. Talk to me?"
Stacking the books so they wouldn't fall from his arms as he took then to the car, he paused and gave his lover a confused look. Talk? About what? What was there to talk about? Was he doing something wrong again? Wesley thought he had a pretty good grip on his emotions. There had been no outbursts of hysteria as far as he knew
( ... )
Giles sighed, reaching out to lay a hand on Wesley's shoulder before he'd gone too far. "We've had some calm as well, love. Our lives . . . they were never going to be easy, but at least . . . at least neither of us is doing this alone. That's worth something, I think."
Especially when he thought back, thought about Wesley with a gun pointed at him, thought about how quickly he could have lost his partner then. Giles was determined not to let either of them get put in that position again.
Giving Wesley a bit of a smile, Giles took a large book off the top of the pile. "Let me get the door for you," he said with a glance at the books.
Mustering up a slightly bigger smile for Giles, Wesley nodded at that. At least he wasn't alone. Not this time, or ever since he and Giles gotten together. Except for that dreadful period when Giles had been at the hospital. But even then, Wesley had Giles to worry about, keeping his mind busy.
God, he didn't want to think about that. About how afraid he'd been then. About how frightened he was now that he was going to loose Giles again. Which only made his determination of not letting his lover out of his sight stronger.
"Thank you," Wesley murmured, shifting the book in his arms. He nodded at Giles as the man opened the door and kept one eye on him as he walked to the car. Opening the trunk, he deposited the book as Giles walked back into the house. Wesley had this odd feeling that this time, they were save inside the house.
It was outside, even in their own bloody garden, that they had to be careful. Now if only he know *why* he seemed to think so, and couldn't seem to shake that thought.
Once he was back in the house, Giles used the phone in the living room, stretching its cord to the limit so that he could keep an eye on Wesley through the window. He knew it might see silly, but he didn't think he could not do it. Not after everything they'd gone through
( ... )
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It went quickly. He called Xander first, since he knew he could catch him at home on the weekend. Xander listened intently and then thought for a moment before saying he thought the job could be done in about four hours, if he had enough help. Giles thanked him profusely, especially for volunteering to call the others, and then quickly hung up and went to find Wesley.
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That didn't stop your father from shooting him, now did it?Suddenly feeling incredibly cold, something in his chest tightening, Wesley sped up his pace. That though only made his headache, his worry worse. Storming into the library, - and he half expected to find it utterly destroyed as well, which was a stupid thought -, he didn't pause for a second and started to look for a box ( ... )
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"I hope you don't mind," he said in a soft tone, laying his forehead on Wesley's shoulder. "But I don't think I can let you leave my sight for the rest of the day, at least" He tried to make it sound funny and failed, because it wasn't. On the way upstairs he'd thought of nothing but another time he'd climbed those stairs, of what he'd found at the top.
The image of Roger Wyndam-Pryce, pointing a gun at Wes . . . It was still too vivid not to knot his stomach, to push his heart into his throat.
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"We should go." Picking up the box, Giles nodded back toward the stairs, looking at Wesley for a moment longer before turning and heading down them. He hoped having the others redo the garden for Wesley would make it special again, a gift from friends.
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He found his lover washing his hands rather vigorously. Knowing he'd have been doing the same thing had he been the one to touch the doll, Giles found himself checking the lock on the backdoor before he could stop himself. He tried not to draw attention to that fact, though, going to the table and getting together the books they might need from there.
"We should call Willow and ask her to drop Connor by the Magic Shop."
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Trying to shrug off his own mood, Giles finished with the books and went to Wesley, turning off the hot water in the sink and wrapping his arms around Wes from behind. "I've gathered what books we'll need. I'll call Willow, if you'll start loading the car."
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He closed his eyes and leaned into Giles embrace. Both ashamed and grateful for it. Ashamed because he shouldn't be needing the man's reassurance, grateful because he got it anyway. Wesley thought he'd been over that, that he didn't need that anymore. God, how wrong he was, again, he thought bitterly.
"Alright," he mumbled, reaching for the towel. Drying his hands, he tossed it away without looking where it went, without folding it up or hanging it out and turned in his lover’s arms. For a long moment he looked into Giles' eyes before leaning in for a soft kiss. Then he stepped out of the embrace and started to gather the books in his arms. He couldn't even get excited about the new car they'd just gotten anymore.
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"Wesley? This isn't the end of the world, love. It's not good, but . . . we've gotten through worse. Talk to me?"
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Especially when he thought back, thought about Wesley with a gun pointed at him, thought about how quickly he could have lost his partner then. Giles was determined not to let either of them get put in that position again.
Giving Wesley a bit of a smile, Giles took a large book off the top of the pile. "Let me get the door for you," he said with a glance at the books.
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God, he didn't want to think about that. About how afraid he'd been then. About how frightened he was now that he was going to loose Giles again. Which only made his determination of not letting his lover out of his sight stronger.
"Thank you," Wesley murmured, shifting the book in his arms. He nodded at Giles as the man opened the door and kept one eye on him as he walked to the car. Opening the trunk, he deposited the book as Giles walked back into the house. Wesley had this odd feeling that this time, they were save inside the house.
It was outside, even in their own bloody garden, that they had to be careful. Now if only he know *why* he seemed to think so, and couldn't seem to shake that thought.
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