"I can see," Wesley pointed out stubbornly, holding onto the car as though he were some five year old. "It's just a bit blurry, I can still carry some books." He was about to protest more when 'some books' were pressed into his hands. He glanced up and blinked at the vague outlines he assumed to be Connor.
"Oh, uh..." Clutching the books to his chest, he wondered if Connor was smirking, or had that worried look he hated on the boy. "They'll be fine in a few hours," he felt the need to point out again. He himself was certain of that, because... Well, he couldn't come up with a reason they wouldn't be fine.
He let Giles nudge him into the house, only stumbling over the threshold when they reached the door. Which was pretty stupid, he thought, considering that he *knew* the thing was there in the first place. So much for it going better here because he knew the house. He scolded himself while trying not to use Giles too much as a lead when he tried for the living room.
Once Wesley was inside, Giles leaned in and kissed his partner's forehead, murmuring, "Stubborn," in an affectionate tone. He put Wesley's hand on the couch so that he'd know where it was and went to get another load of books.
"Don't wander off, love," he called back, smiling and shaking his head. Wesley really did make a mule look tractable. Giles separated the last of the books between Connor and himself and then re-locked the car. He was trying to hurry, half worried that Wesley would trip and fall through the coffee table or some such thing.
I'm not stubborn," Wesley muttered under his breath. And where could he possibly wander off to *inside* the house? Well, to the kitchen, obviously. Which was where he was going to put the books he was still clutching down. And from the feeling of the leather, it weren't the most expensive and valuable books.
He had mixed feelings about that, while he felt his way toward the kitchen. He was beaming on one had because Connor knew the difference when it came to books. On the other hand he was frowning, because Connor had probably been expecting him to fall or some such. "Swot," he muttered under his breath.
And then came to a screeching halt when he found door to the kitchen as he walked right into the side of it. "Ow." Ah. Well. At least he'd found what he was looking for. Unless it was the door to Connors room, in which case he might fall down. Carefully, he was sliding one foot around the corner of the door, to make certain there weren't any stairs going down.
"Good God," Giles growled, moving to set down his books and then take Wesley's arm. "How can you say you're not stubborn when you refuse to sit down? You can't see Wesley and as little as you may like it, you can't go bouncing off the walls in search of the kitchen. You're going to hurt yourself."
Quite annoyed by Wesley's stunt, Giles took the books from his partner's hands and moved them to the table.
"I knew where I was going," Wesley pointed out, blinking when the books were removed from his hands. "I even made sure to..." Clearing his throat, he let that particular sentence trail off. Because as reasonable as it sounded to his ears, he didn't think it would to Giles' if he pointed out he'd been feeling with his feet to make certain it wasn't Connor room
( ... )
Giles kept a close eye on Wesley, trying not to worry. "Would you like some tea, love?" Giles put on the kettle and moved to sit at the table, across from Wesley. He reached out to take his lover's hand, brushing his fingers over Wesley's palm.
"This is . . . I'm worried, Wes. You keep insisting it's going to get better, but . . . let me call the doctor at least? I promise not to drag you over there any earlier than tomorrow morning, but he might have a suggestion as to what to do."
The first thing that came to Wesley's mind was to say that it wasn't necessary to call that doctor - he was a doctor and therefore a complete wanker anyway - and his eyes would be fine in a few hours, in the morning at the latest. It was just a small allergic reaction.
But he recalled how worried he might, no would be, if it were Giles in his position. That and the fact that the man thought he didn't much care for his own health. While it was true it never came on the first place, he didn't like the worry in Giles' voice.
"Tea would be lovely," he sighed, feeling a little bit defeated. "And if calling that toss..." he pressed his lips in a thin line to keep some choice words from escaping and took a deep breath, "...would make you feel better then go ahead."
"Thank you, love," Giles said with a smile at Wesley. He reached out and squeezed Wesley's hand and then went to go make the tea. He'd call the doctor after he finished with that. He wasn't sure what we expected to hear, but he hoped Wesley was right and that it was just a small allergic reaction and things would be fine in a few hours.
After handing Wesley his tea and setting his own down on the table, Giles went to find the doctor's number. He called from the kitchen phone so that Wesley could hear him and jump in if he wanted.
When the receptionist answered, Giles asked for the doctor and was told it would take a few moments.
Giving his lover a fleeting smile, Wesley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Mostly because they hurt, and mostly because he couldn't actually see Giles' expression. He had heard the worry in his partner’s voice, but he needed an expression to go with it. And for now, he hadn't.
He let out a small sigh and nodded his thanks when Giles handed him his tea. The cup had been put very nearby, so all Wesley had to do was reach out and...nearly burn his fingers. Biting down a curse, he carefully wrapped his fingers around the cup and sipped his tea.
Giles was up and about, doing...probably looking for the phone number for that blasted doctor. Wanker. The doctor, not Giles. He could hear him pick up the phone, dial the number and the apparently had to wait. As if it was actually that busy there. Letting out another sigh, he sat back in his chair and moved his cup to his lips. Noticing that something one used to be able to do with ones eyes closed, was even difficult now. Weird.
Giles finally got to speak to the doctor. He first had to remind him of their visit and then described Wesley's symptoms. After several "hmm"s, the doctor gave a put upon sigh that made Giles want to drive over there this afternoon, though Wesley wouldn't have to go with him for what he was contemplating.
"Yes, well, it's most likely an allergic reaction and should begin to get better soon. If it doesn't, you'll have to come in tomorrow and I'll take a look. Don't let him use eye drops, but washing them out with water is fine. Is there anything else?"
"No. That's all. Thank you." Giles knew his irritation slipped into his tone, but he didn't much care.
Wesley resisted the urge to smirk. He really did. It was only the tone in Giles voice that actually made him stop and duck behind his tea mug. He was, however, surprised to hear a relieved sigh coming from the direction of Connor. He frowned at that, wondering why on earth no one actually believed him when he said something about his own health. Just when, exactly, had he been downplaying it lately? Before Paris even
( ... )
"Wesley, please don't be aggravated. How would you have reacted in my place? I'm quite glad it's just an allergic reaction, but--"
Giles moved to intercept his lover at once, wrapping an arm around Wesley's waist and moving to prop Wes up when he swayed. "Wesley? Are you all right?" Giles leaned forward kissing his lover's temple as he waited for an answer.
He wanted to turn them both around and sit Wesley right back at the table, but he didn't want Wes to fall over before they got there.
"I'm fine," Wesley sighed, rubbing his forehead. Odd, you'd think the world shouldn't be spinning if on couldn't actually *see* it spin. Yet, he had this strangest feeling that it was doing just that. Spinning that is.
He leaned into Giles' touch, quite glad for supporting arm around his waist. "I just..." his voice trailed off as he pointed to the garden and shrugged. Giles would probably think he was being dramatic again, having such a reaction to just the garden.
But it had been more then that; it had been the implication of that blasted doll. Wesley just didn't know how to tell his partner that, without upsetting the man. The last thing he wanted right now, was to upset Giles. "I suppose I'll have to wait until tomorrow to actually do something in the garden." Right now, he just wanted to crawl back to bed, pull the covers over him and not come out until tomorrow. But...that would just be silly.
"It would certainly be best if you did wait, love," Giles said, though his meaning was double. Wesley couldn't see, he certainly shouldn't be working in the garden, but beyond that, it would give the others time to finish up. Giles hadn't dared look, yet, not with Wesley right there and in such a condition.
Giles tried to get Wesley turned toward the chair, nudging him in that direction and staying close by in case Wesley swayed again.
"The doctor only said that you shouldn't use eye drops and that, you were right, it was probably just an allergic reaction. Promise me you'll tell me if it's not getting better?" Giles wasn't sure he'd believe any such promise, not when it came to Wesley and his health, but he'd feel somewhat better just hearing Wesley's say it.
Well aware of what Giles was trying to do, Wesley was to tired to voice his usual protestations. He wasn't a child that needed taking care off. But he was aware that Giles was just worried. Everything would be find once he'd got his eyesight back. And if this stinging sensation would stop, that would be lovely as well.
With a muttered 'I told you so', Wesley sank down in the chair and rubbed his eyes again. It was an automatism he really ought not do. It only made his eyes sting a bit worse, nor did it actually *improve* his eyesight. He quickly dropped his hand and glanced up at the blurry for that was Giles.
For quite some time.
He was somewhat hurt by the disbelieve he heard in his lover's voice. And just when had been the last time he'd been a little...less then truthful when it came to his own health? Around the time Giles was shot. "Yes, Giles," he sighed. "I'd tell you." He had this...teenage rebellion urge to suddenly not tell Giles anything of the kind. But he quickly pushed it down. Now was not the time. Or ever,
( ... )
"Thank you, love," Giles said on a relieved sigh, feeling a good deal better with that said. "Well, Connor, Wesley and I have some phone calls to make, but other than that we're free for the evening. Perhaps we can come up with something that would keep us all entertained. Although . . . I have to admit, I'm rather up for turning in early, myself."
Now, wouldn't be horrible, he thought. Of course, Wesley and he still had to speak to Buffy, find out if she were willing to let Dawn go to LA. Somehow, Giles thought she might be, especially with whatever was out there. Of course, there was always something out there, so perhaps she'd rather keep Dawn close at hand.
Giles reached out, playing with the hair just above Wesley's neck as he considered the matter.
"Oh, uh..." Clutching the books to his chest, he wondered if Connor was smirking, or had that worried look he hated on the boy. "They'll be fine in a few hours," he felt the need to point out again. He himself was certain of that, because... Well, he couldn't come up with a reason they wouldn't be fine.
He let Giles nudge him into the house, only stumbling over the threshold when they reached the door. Which was pretty stupid, he thought, considering that he *knew* the thing was there in the first place. So much for it going better here because he knew the house. He scolded himself while trying not to use Giles too much as a lead when he tried for the living room.
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"Don't wander off, love," he called back, smiling and shaking his head. Wesley really did make a mule look tractable. Giles separated the last of the books between Connor and himself and then re-locked the car. He was trying to hurry, half worried that Wesley would trip and fall through the coffee table or some such thing.
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He had mixed feelings about that, while he felt his way toward the kitchen. He was beaming on one had because Connor knew the difference when it came to books. On the other hand he was frowning, because Connor had probably been expecting him to fall or some such. "Swot," he muttered under his breath.
And then came to a screeching halt when he found door to the kitchen as he walked right into the side of it. "Ow." Ah. Well. At least he'd found what he was looking for. Unless it was the door to Connors room, in which case he might fall down. Carefully, he was sliding one foot around the corner of the door, to make certain there weren't any stairs going down.
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Quite annoyed by Wesley's stunt, Giles took the books from his partner's hands and moved them to the table.
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"This is . . . I'm worried, Wes. You keep insisting it's going to get better, but . . . let me call the doctor at least? I promise not to drag you over there any earlier than tomorrow morning, but he might have a suggestion as to what to do."
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But he recalled how worried he might, no would be, if it were Giles in his position. That and the fact that the man thought he didn't much care for his own health. While it was true it never came on the first place, he didn't like the worry in Giles' voice.
"Tea would be lovely," he sighed, feeling a little bit defeated. "And if calling that toss..." he pressed his lips in a thin line to keep some choice words from escaping and took a deep breath, "...would make you feel better then go ahead."
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After handing Wesley his tea and setting his own down on the table, Giles went to find the doctor's number. He called from the kitchen phone so that Wesley could hear him and jump in if he wanted.
When the receptionist answered, Giles asked for the doctor and was told it would take a few moments.
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He let out a small sigh and nodded his thanks when Giles handed him his tea. The cup had been put very nearby, so all Wesley had to do was reach out and...nearly burn his fingers. Biting down a curse, he carefully wrapped his fingers around the cup and sipped his tea.
Giles was up and about, doing...probably looking for the phone number for that blasted doctor. Wanker. The doctor, not Giles. He could hear him pick up the phone, dial the number and the apparently had to wait. As if it was actually that busy there. Letting out another sigh, he sat back in his chair and moved his cup to his lips. Noticing that something one used to be able to do with ones eyes closed, was even difficult now. Weird.
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"Yes, well, it's most likely an allergic reaction and should begin to get better soon. If it doesn't, you'll have to come in tomorrow and I'll take a look. Don't let him use eye drops, but washing them out with water is fine. Is there anything else?"
"No. That's all. Thank you." Giles knew his irritation slipped into his tone, but he didn't much care.
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Giles moved to intercept his lover at once, wrapping an arm around Wesley's waist and moving to prop Wes up when he swayed. "Wesley? Are you all right?" Giles leaned forward kissing his lover's temple as he waited for an answer.
He wanted to turn them both around and sit Wesley right back at the table, but he didn't want Wes to fall over before they got there.
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He leaned into Giles' touch, quite glad for supporting arm around his waist. "I just..." his voice trailed off as he pointed to the garden and shrugged. Giles would probably think he was being dramatic again, having such a reaction to just the garden.
But it had been more then that; it had been the implication of that blasted doll. Wesley just didn't know how to tell his partner that, without upsetting the man. The last thing he wanted right now, was to upset Giles. "I suppose I'll have to wait until tomorrow to actually do something in the garden." Right now, he just wanted to crawl back to bed, pull the covers over him and not come out until tomorrow. But...that would just be silly.
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Giles tried to get Wesley turned toward the chair, nudging him in that direction and staying close by in case Wesley swayed again.
"The doctor only said that you shouldn't use eye drops and that, you were right, it was probably just an allergic reaction. Promise me you'll tell me if it's not getting better?" Giles wasn't sure he'd believe any such promise, not when it came to Wesley and his health, but he'd feel somewhat better just hearing Wesley's say it.
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With a muttered 'I told you so', Wesley sank down in the chair and rubbed his eyes again. It was an automatism he really ought not do. It only made his eyes sting a bit worse, nor did it actually *improve* his eyesight. He quickly dropped his hand and glanced up at the blurry for that was Giles.
For quite some time.
He was somewhat hurt by the disbelieve he heard in his lover's voice. And just when had been the last time he'd been a little...less then truthful when it came to his own health? Around the time Giles was shot. "Yes, Giles," he sighed. "I'd tell you." He had this...teenage rebellion urge to suddenly not tell Giles anything of the kind. But he quickly pushed it down. Now was not the time. Or ever, ( ... )
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Now, wouldn't be horrible, he thought. Of course, Wesley and he still had to speak to Buffy, find out if she were willing to let Dawn go to LA. Somehow, Giles thought she might be, especially with whatever was out there. Of course, there was always something out there, so perhaps she'd rather keep Dawn close at hand.
Giles reached out, playing with the hair just above Wesley's neck as he considered the matter.
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