Giles reached down and brushed his fingertips along Wesley's cheek. "It does, and you, my love, are getting a nice massage as well. You're as tense as . . . I'm too tired to think of an appropriate simile," Giles said with a snort of laughter at himself. "I do need to call Buffy first, though. The sooner everything in that arena is settled . . . I think we'll both feel better."
Thought not by as much as I will once your eyes clear up, Giles thought, his fingers brushing up Wesley's nose and over first one of Wes' eyebrows and then the other.
With a kiss to Wesley's forehead, Giles reluctantly went to call Buffy. She answered her own phone for once, sounding cheerful enough that it made GIles smile wearily. "Buffy, yes. We, uh, were planning on Connor going to LA to see . . . his father and I wondered if you'd be willing to let Dawn go along? I haven't even mentioned it to her, of course, but I thought she'd probably like to go."
Giles paused as Buffy began to speak rapidly. His smile even grew a bit wider. "Oh? Wonderful. You'll tell Dawn? Thank you. I'll let Connor know and if he decides to go, I'll tell him to call you to arrange it."
Eyes fluttering closed, Wesley leaned into the gentle touch for a moment. It was impossible not to close his eyes when Giles' fingers brushed over his face like this. Though he did almost frown when the man mentioned he was going to massage Wesley.
A brief wonder flashed through Wesley's mind, about the fact if his poor eyesight now would also exclude him from *giving* a massage. Then he decided he didn't really care and he was too tired to fight it. He just wanted to be in a soft, warm bed, with Giles, hold onto the man and possibly get some sleep.
"Alright," he muttered as Giles mentioned calling Buffy. He...watched, the blurry form of his lover move over to the telephone and felt useless right away. Blinking, he glanced at the table and then carefully moved his hand over the table surface until they hit the two cups. Wesley grabbed them as best he could and shuffled to the sink while his lover called Buffy.
Giles hung up, keeping an eye on Wesley as his lover washed the cups. He didn't interfere, didn't plan to unless it was needed. From where he stood, Giles knew he could there before Wesley fell, should he sway, and if a cup looked as if it was going to get dropped, he was fairly certain he could get there in time to stop it. Even if he didn't, who cared? He knew Wesley had to be feeling completely helpless. If washing cups made him feel better . . . Giles wasn't going to quibble.
"Dawn can go. In fact, Tara has offered to drive them. She's going to pick up a book she bought. They don't want to ship it through the mail, so . . . Regardless, she's going tomorrow, so we should ask Connor tonight."
"Ask me what?" Connor said, coming through the door to his room and heading straight to the icebox. He immediately began making himself a sandwich that was clearly too big to fit his mouth around.
Gathering as much from what he had overheard from the call, Wesley nodded. "That's good," he muttered, cursing a bit when one of the cups slipped out of his hand. It fell into the sink with a loud clang, making Wesley sigh deeply after he winced. Since he hadn't heard it shatter, he reached out for it and started to wash it again.
He nearly jumped when he heard Connor's voice so nearby. Where in the bloody blazes had that boy come from? This was getting ridiculous. He was concentrating so hard on actually seeing something, not that he was, that he was forgetting the rest around him. Such as hearing things. Apparently.
Annoyed, he felt around for the second cup he'd dropped, biting his inner cheek to keep from cursing. "We asked Buffy it was alright for Dawn to go see Angel," he said, blinking at the blurred movements next to him. It was rather disconcerting, if not a little frightening, to realize that he wouldn't have known what it was if Connor's voice hadn't come from that direction.
"Oh," Connor said, stopping his making of the giant sandwich.
"We thought you might like it to have some company there you know. When you go there that is," Wesley explained.
"Huh," Connor said again, and Wesley cursed the fact once more that he couldn't see the boy's face.
Connor looked thoughtful, but not necessarily upset. He had stopped piling things on top of his sandwich, which Giles thought was a good thing since Connor hadn't gotten to the marshmallows yet and Giles would rather not witness it when he did.
"Okay, yeah . . . Uh, I guess . . ." Connor shrugged, looking over at Wesley. "Okay, I'll go, if your eyes are better tomorrow. I'm not gonna go otherwise cause Giles is gonna need my help if they're not better."
Giles could plainly see that that was an excuse. Connor wanted to stay if they weren't better because he wanted to make sure Wesley was well before he left, but Giles didn't bother poking at the disguise.
"My eyes are fine, Connor," Wesley sighed. He was getting awfully tired of repeating himself. "Even the doctor said so. It's just an allergic reaction." He sounded like his patient self, even if he was feeling far from patient at the moment. The next one who would bring up his eyes might find himself hit.
Managing to dry up the cup, he put them on the kitchen counter just in time before Connor could reach out to help. "Besides," Wesley continued, folding up the dishtowel. "Giles doesn't need help and I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."
"But..." Connor tried, but stopped at the look on Wes' face. "If you're sure," he muttered, scuffing the toes of his feet against the floor.
"I'm sure," Wesley assured him. Placing the dishtowel on the counter he turned and rubbed his eyes again. At least the burning had gotten less. Or so he thought. "I don't know about you two, but I'm going to turn in. Today was rather taxing." He might fall asleep in the bathtub, or while Giles insisted on that massage. Not that it mattered; he was too tired for it to matter. Besides, he'd be with Giles, so it didn't really matter.
"I'm finished with phone calls," Giles said with a nod, "I think I'll join you." Wishing Connor goodnight, Giles followed Wesley upstairs, staying close and keeping a hand out to catch Wes should he falter or sway. Other than that, he let Wesley do it, slow as their progress was. "I think we should hit the bath before the massage. That way you can simply fall asleep."
Moving past Wesley into the bathroom, Giles paused long enough to kiss his lover's temple before going to start that hot bath.
Very glad for the railing of the stairs, Wesley made his way up to their room. Even if he did stumble a few times on said stairs, he made it up there without falling flat on his face. Which was progress, as far as Wesley was concerned. God, he was so tired. Physically and mentally. There was, once again, too much going on.
"Whatever you think is best," he muttered, eyes fluttering closed as Giles kissed his temple. He just followed the sounds of his lover's voice and the blurry figure puttering ahead of him. Bloody hell, he knew it was just an allergic reaction and nothing more. But really, could the timing be any worse?
Squeezing his eyes shut, one hand floundered around automatically in search of the bath, or at least the sink to hold onto. The other was automatically rubbing his eyes again, only succeeding in making it worse. A low growl of annoyance at himself left his throat as he tossed his new glasses on the bathroom counter. At least he hoped that's where they landed. He was *not* going though all this again to get a new pair.
Once he'd started the bath running, Giles went to Wesley, wrapping his arms around his lover and kissing Wes' neck. "I know how frustrating it is, love," he said softly, pulling Wesley back against him. "And frightening. I, uh, I once went temporarily blind from a botched spell. I know it's just an allergic reaction and it will be gone by morning, but that doesn't make it any less aggravating."
Kissing Wesley's neck once again, Giles rubbed his hands along Wesley's stomach. "At least," he said, trying to lighten the mood a bit, "at least you don't have to listen to Spike and Buffy making wedding plans and calling one another disgustingly cute nicknames."
Thought not by as much as I will once your eyes clear up, Giles thought, his fingers brushing up Wesley's nose and over first one of Wes' eyebrows and then the other.
With a kiss to Wesley's forehead, Giles reluctantly went to call Buffy. She answered her own phone for once, sounding cheerful enough that it made GIles smile wearily. "Buffy, yes. We, uh, were planning on Connor going to LA to see . . . his father and I wondered if you'd be willing to let Dawn go along? I haven't even mentioned it to her, of course, but I thought she'd probably like to go."
Giles paused as Buffy began to speak rapidly. His smile even grew a bit wider. "Oh? Wonderful. You'll tell Dawn? Thank you. I'll let Connor know and if he decides to go, I'll tell him to call you to arrange it."
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A brief wonder flashed through Wesley's mind, about the fact if his poor eyesight now would also exclude him from *giving* a massage. Then he decided he didn't really care and he was too tired to fight it. He just wanted to be in a soft, warm bed, with Giles, hold onto the man and possibly get some sleep.
"Alright," he muttered as Giles mentioned calling Buffy. He...watched, the blurry form of his lover move over to the telephone and felt useless right away. Blinking, he glanced at the table and then carefully moved his hand over the table surface until they hit the two cups. Wesley grabbed them as best he could and shuffled to the sink while his lover called Buffy.
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"Dawn can go. In fact, Tara has offered to drive them. She's going to pick up a book she bought. They don't want to ship it through the mail, so . . . Regardless, she's going tomorrow, so we should ask Connor tonight."
"Ask me what?" Connor said, coming through the door to his room and heading straight to the icebox. He immediately began making himself a sandwich that was clearly too big to fit his mouth around.
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He nearly jumped when he heard Connor's voice so nearby. Where in the bloody blazes had that boy come from? This was getting ridiculous. He was concentrating so hard on actually seeing something, not that he was, that he was forgetting the rest around him. Such as hearing things. Apparently.
Annoyed, he felt around for the second cup he'd dropped, biting his inner cheek to keep from cursing. "We asked Buffy it was alright for Dawn to go see Angel," he said, blinking at the blurred movements next to him. It was rather disconcerting, if not a little frightening, to realize that he wouldn't have known what it was if Connor's voice hadn't come from that direction.
"Oh," Connor said, stopping his making of the giant sandwich.
"We thought you might like it to have some company there you know. When you go there that is," Wesley explained.
"Huh," Connor said again, and Wesley cursed the fact once more that he couldn't see the boy's face.
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"Okay, yeah . . . Uh, I guess . . ." Connor shrugged, looking over at Wesley. "Okay, I'll go, if your eyes are better tomorrow. I'm not gonna go otherwise cause Giles is gonna need my help if they're not better."
Giles could plainly see that that was an excuse. Connor wanted to stay if they weren't better because he wanted to make sure Wesley was well before he left, but Giles didn't bother poking at the disguise.
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Managing to dry up the cup, he put them on the kitchen counter just in time before Connor could reach out to help. "Besides," Wesley continued, folding up the dishtowel. "Giles doesn't need help and I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."
"But..." Connor tried, but stopped at the look on Wes' face. "If you're sure," he muttered, scuffing the toes of his feet against the floor.
"I'm sure," Wesley assured him. Placing the dishtowel on the counter he turned and rubbed his eyes again. At least the burning had gotten less. Or so he thought. "I don't know about you two, but I'm going to turn in. Today was rather taxing." He might fall asleep in the bathtub, or while Giles insisted on that massage. Not that it mattered; he was too tired for it to matter. Besides, he'd be with Giles, so it didn't really matter.
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Moving past Wesley into the bathroom, Giles paused long enough to kiss his lover's temple before going to start that hot bath.
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"Whatever you think is best," he muttered, eyes fluttering closed as Giles kissed his temple. He just followed the sounds of his lover's voice and the blurry figure puttering ahead of him. Bloody hell, he knew it was just an allergic reaction and nothing more. But really, could the timing be any worse?
Squeezing his eyes shut, one hand floundered around automatically in search of the bath, or at least the sink to hold onto. The other was automatically rubbing his eyes again, only succeeding in making it worse. A low growl of annoyance at himself left his throat as he tossed his new glasses on the bathroom counter. At least he hoped that's where they landed. He was *not* going though all this again to get a new pair.
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Kissing Wesley's neck once again, Giles rubbed his hands along Wesley's stomach. "At least," he said, trying to lighten the mood a bit, "at least you don't have to listen to Spike and Buffy making wedding plans and calling one another disgustingly cute nicknames."
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