Fic: The Fire of Thine Eyes, Giles/Wesley 9/17
Title: The Fire of Thine Eyes (Warmth & Heat Redux)
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 9/17
Feedback and concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com
Spoilers: Begins directly after 'Bad Girls', AU from there on out with bits and pieces taken from all over the end of BtVS season three.
Summary: Giles finds Wesley lying, badly beaten, on the library floor.
Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither
Big, huge thanks to beadtific, janedavitt, kyrieane, malnpudl, and psychoadept for their beta magic. Thanks to the Buffyverse Dialogue Database for, well, the dialogue. And thank you to everyone who read the first versions of these stories. Your interest and feedback have made this a pleasure to work on.
Previous parts located here.
Faith wasn't in her motel room. It was obvious that things were missing, but he didn't know if that was because Angel had taken them to her or if she'd come to get them. Her clothing was gone, but there was a stack of magazines still on one dresser, a half-whittled stake stuck between the bed and the wall. It could have meant either, honestly, and Wesley shook his head.
His throat was aching again, parched from anxiety and his only memories of this room. He could almost see Faith, if he tried. Her eyes were so very angry as he tried to offer help and then . . . he turned toward the corner of the room, seeing it all play out in his head. He wondered if he'd looked as terrified as he did in his imagination.
Rupert's hand on his shoulder made him jump. He glanced backward and then ducked his head so that Rupert wouldn't see his thoughts. He dreaded whatever questions Rupert would ask, dreaded trying to find words and squeezing them through the ache in his throat. Faith scared the hell out of him. She might have killed him and he still worried about her. It felt odd, especially considering that just a week ago he wouldn't have worried in this way. A week ago, before she tried to hurt him, he wouldn't have dreaded finding her body. The whole situation had him off balance. Rupert's arms slipped around him, pulling him back against a warm, firm body.
"She's not here, obviously. We can go back to my flat, check the answering machine. If Buffy or one of the others found her, they'll call to let me know."
"Buffy wasn't going to call me, was she? She wasn't going to ask for me to help." Wesley was surprised at how hoarse he sounded. He shouldn't have been, given the way his throat felt, but that didn't seem to matter.
"I . . . I don't know. She should have. She might have. We can drop by your flat to check, if you like." Rupert sighed and Wesley couldn't almost feel the weight of it, the weight of the emotion behind it. Even if he couldn't identify what that emotion was. "But I don't think she did."
"Faith tried to kill me. Even if . . . even if I didn't care what happened to her, one would think Buffy would at least warn me that Faith's out there again."
"If she believed that Faith would come after you she'd have called, Wesley. I guarantee you that." The conviction in Rupert's voice calmed him. It was nice that someone was sure of something. Wesley found his head a confusing place these days. He almost longed for the days when it was simple, when all he had to do was what the Council told him.
Almost, except that the Council never held him the way Rupert did, never smiled at him the way Rupert did, and it sure as hell never called him 'love'.
The last made him unsure again. He pulled away, giving Rupert a nervous smile. "Right, we should . . . go by my flat and then . . . go back to yours."
There were no messages on Wesley's machine. He stared at it for a moment before turning back to Rupert. He found his lover looking around, investigating his flat. It was only then that he realized Rupert had never been there before. He watched with a small smile as Rupert investigated the books he'd left on his coffee table and wondered why he'd kept himself from doing this same thing earlier in the night. He'd wanted to poke around Rupert's flat, but he'd thought it intrusive for him to do it. Yet, he was touched that Rupert found him interesting enough to investigate.
Then he glanced around and shook his head. He didn't like the things his flat said about him. It was bare of pictures, bare of all the small things Rupert's flat held, the trinkets and statues, the antiques and the warmth.
"We should go," Wesley said, hoping the wistfulness didn't show in his voice as he cut himself off before he said, home.
"Hmm?" Rupert glanced up at him and nodded. "Yes, of course. Another time, you'll have to show me your bedroom," Rupert remarked as he walked past Wesley. Wesley glanced toward the bedroom, thought of the simple sheets, the few pillows, his clothing hanging in his closet in too-neat rows and shook his head to himself.
"Of course. Another time."
They left quickly, both anxious to get back and find out if anyone had called. Wesley tried not to be so obviously despondent on the drive back. He knew Rupert was worrying. It was fairly obvious by the way the man kept glancing over at him, kept starting to speak and then stopping.
"She's a Slayer, Wesley. More than capable of handling herself. If she can take out three vampires even while chained . . . she's going to be fine."
"But will she be back?" Wesley asked and then shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's just . . . I thought she understood. I thought I had gotten through to her. I-I thought I'd done something useful, to both her and . . ." you.
"This isn't your fault," Rupert said with a sigh. "Wesley, we all made mistakes when it comes to Faith. We all could have handled this better, right from her appearance in Sunnydale. You've had the least amount of time with her and, while it's been eventful, her actions don't rest on your shoulders."
"I'm her Watcher," Wesley said simply, slightly angry that Rupert didn't see that. If anyone should understand, it should be Rupert. No matter what came before, he was her Watcher, she was his responsibility.
"I know," Rupert finally said, sighing. "And it's therefore your responsibility to find her and to try to help her deal with what's happened. If she can't deal with it, for whatever reason, that is not your fault."
Wesley opened his mouth to argue and then shook his head, turning to look back out the window. He didn't understand why Rupert couldn't see it, see that it was his job to keep the Slayer . . . slaying, to keep her to her duty. Not for the Council, or at least, not completely anymore. He still felt the Council was necessary, their experience and years of research an asset and their approval needed. He was willing to admit that their techniques didn't take things into account properly. However, Faith's duty was to the world and that was an even greater responsibility. He was her Watcher and he was to keep her steadfast, to keep her focused, both for her own sake and her duties.
Now, it seemed he'd failed before he'd even really got the chance to try.
Rupert's hand settled onto his knee. Wesley glanced over, but found Rupert focused on the road and leaving him to his thoughts. The small gesture brought a fleeting smile to his lips.
****
Wesley sat on Rupert's couch, holding his head in his hands. There had been a message from Willow and Xander on Rupert's machine. There was no sign of Faith in her usual places. Now it was down to Buffy. Wesley couldn't remember where Rupert had said she was looking. He remembered very little except Rupert telling him that Faith was gone and then a mad dash for his clothing.
He was wracking his brain, but Rupert was right in that he knew Faith less than the others did. He thought about checking that club the children frequented, but he was sure that Willow and Xander had already thought of that.
"Here." Rupert's hand, holding a cup and saucer, appeared before his eyes. He straightened, taking it and giving Rupert an appreciative smile in return.
"Thank you."
Rupert sat on the couch beside him. Wesley lost himself in thought for a while, trying to think of other places they could check for Faith. After some time, he realized he could feel Rupert's eyes upon him. He looked over to find Rupert watching him with a faintly puzzled expression.
"Yes?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
Rupert shook his head slightly, sipping at his own tea. "I was wondering whether or not you've noticed that it's laced with Scotch."
Wesley blinked down at his tea, blushing when he realized he'd sipped a good half the cup and, no, he hadn't noticed. Snorting, he put the cup aside, shaking his head. "I was . . . thinking."
"So I saw. Anything you'd like to share?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then closed it. There was so much on his mind he wasn't even sure where to begin, had he been certain he wanted to at all. There was his father and the Council. There was Faith and all the issues involved with her. There was Rupert himself, and all that came with him, just as much a mess in Wesley's head as the other two, though there were more pleasant thoughts mixed in as well.
Wesley wished those three things didn't seem to conflict so strongly. Faith conflicted with both, in some ways. The Council, his father included, would not like his thoughts on training her, would not like that Wesley had not only considered, but agreed with some of Rupert's methods. Rupert . . . Wesley didn't know what Rupert thought of his remaining with the Council, of his continued respect for the institution, if not all their dictates. Faith herself . . . he had no idea about.
He was about to broach the subject, but was cut off by a knock on the door and Buffy's voice. "Giles? You in there?"
Wesley froze, watching as Rupert sighed. "Uh, could you . . . go upstairs?" Rupert didn't seem to like to ask, but Wesley nodded quickly, taking his tea. He could tell that Rupert was nervous. As he moved toward the stairs, Wesley brushed his arm against Rupert's and stopped just long enough to kiss him lightly.
The smile that got him as Rupert turned to watch him go was more than enough to let Wesley know he'd done the right thing. Settling himself on the bed, far enough back that he couldn’t be seen from below, Wesley set his tea on the nightstand beside him. He'd mainly taken it because two teacups would be suspicious, but at this point . . . with an inaudible snort as he heard Rupert open the door, Wesley downed the rest of it.
He hadn't intended to listen in, but there was very little else he could do, and he wanted to know. He deserved to know.
"Giles, good!" Buffy sounded upset, but not overly so.
"Buffy. You’re shaking. Sit down," Rupert said and Wesley heard the scrape of a chair. He bit his lip, desperate to hear what had happened, but knowing he couldn't call out.
"I found Faith at the docks." Buffy sounded confused, her voice soft after that first exclamation. Wesley leaned closer, listening hard. "She was going to jump ship, but, well there was a fight, her and me and then some vampires jumped in. One of them was Trick, he's . . . he's dust. Faith staked him. He was about to bite me. And after that, we . . . we talked, er, without fists and she's . . . she's back."
"So she saved you.” Wesley thought there was a smile in Rupert’s voice, though he couldn't be sure. The volume made it hard to tell.
"She could have left me there to die, Giles, but she didn't."
"She opted to come back to town with you. That-that bodes well. She still has a lot to face before she can put this behind her."
Wesley wondered if that reminder was as much for him as for Buffy.
"I'm not gonna give up on her." That made Wesley nod, promising the same to himself.
"Then I think she stands a chance."
Wesley clenched his jaw with determination. He would see to it that Faith had a chance. One way or the other, he wouldn't fail this time. Here, in Sunnydale, it mattered even more than it had at home. That thought frightened him, though. If he failed when it didn't matter, how was he ever going to hold up now that the stakes were so high?
"Okay," Buffy's voice called him back from his thoughts. "I've gotta get home. Sleep is definitely required. I'll see you Monday."
"Of course." Wesley heard Rupert's tread across the floor, heard the door open, and let out a relieved sigh. Buffy hadn't known he was there.
"Oh, Giles? What's Wesley's car still doing outside?"
Wesley's breathing stopped. He covered his mouth with a hand, closing his eyes and listening. There was barely any pause at all before Rupert answered. "Oh, he wasn't feeling well, so I drove him home."
"Right. See ya."
Wesley let out the breath he'd been holding, thrilled when he heard the door finally close. A few moments later, Rupert came upstairs, a small smile on his face. "I'm assuming you heard?"
Wesley nodded, leaning back against the headboard with a relieved sigh. One thing settled. He only wished it settled some of the others as well. Still, with Faith's safety out of the way, the adrenaline was beginning to drain away and he was tired.
Rupert kicked off his shoes and began to strip off his clothing. Wesley blinked, realizing he'd never just watched before. He felt slightly embarrassed to simply be sitting there while Rupert unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. It made him feel less like a voyeur to undress as well, though he was a bit nervous about having Rupert just standing there as he did.
Which is silly,, he thought, kicking off his own shoes. It isn't as if Rupert hasn't seen me . . . and more. Still, some part of Wesley felt more embarrassed without the heat of passion to blot it out. Shaking his head at himself, he realized he might be being presumptuous, but Rupert hadn't said anything about his leaving and, just then, Wesley wanted to stay the night here.
"So, tomorrow, you'll have to . . . well, that is . . ." Rupert's words came to a halt and he turned to meet Wesley's eyes.
"What is it?"
"The Council. I . . . I'd assumed you'd want to tell them what happened, with Faith." Rupert shrugged, looking down to his hands as he finished with his shirt. Wesley blinked, pausing in the unbuttoning of his own shirt as he realized he hadn't even thought about it. Not since they'd first found out what Faith had done. Events had moved so quickly and there'd hardly been a moment to sit back and consider.
"Well, uh . . . I don’t know." Wesley said truthfully, trying to puzzle out what he'd tell them if he did. 'Oh, yes, she's a bit homicidal, but we're working on that,' didn't seem quite the way to break the news.
Rupert sat on the bed, pulling his trousers off, his face thoughtful. Wesley sat opposite, his motions an echo of Rupert's and he'd have guessed he looked just as thoughtful.
"She'll . . ." they both began, stopping to let the other continue.
Rupert chuckled, sliding his boxers off. Wesley tried not to stare, looking away with a faint blush because he wanted to look, wanted to explore and . . . though, perhaps it was best he didn't, as he didn't think he had a second go in him tonight.
"She'll need some psychiatric evaluation. Perhaps even counseling, though it would have to be with someone who knows and that pretty much only leaves the Council." Wesley pulled off his own trousers and pants before quickly slipping under the covers. Rupert was lying on his back, hands stacked behind his head.
Unsure of his welcome, Wesley sat against the headboard, his mind divided between pondering the Council and deciding if the possibility of rejection was slim enough for him to take the risk and move over to cuddle with Rupert.
"That's true and . . . they have a habit of knowing things they aren't supposed to," Rupert said with a sigh. "If you don't tell them and they find out . . . Wesley, I know you want to keep your position with the Council. It's your decision. Just . . . consider how they're going to react. Faith doesn't need them--"
"I know," Wesley answered, a slight smile one his face. Another issue resolved and in the same night. Now he knew, he thought, how Rupert felt about his continued working with the Council. Deciding the risk was worth it, Wesley slid over, laying his head on Rupert's shoulder, tense until Rupert's arm slipped around him.
"Of course you do," Rupert answered with a self-deprecating shrug. "I'm sorry. I trust you to know what you're doing."
Wesley felt his breath catch and bit his lip to keep from making a sound as he considered those words. I trust you to know what you're doing. They echoed in his head, spinning around and around so that he could look at them from every angle, dissect them for a hidden meaning.
There was nothing, no disguised malice, just a simple confidence in him that had him reeling. Rupert trusted him, believed in his competence. The thought was both wonderful and terrifying. He didn't want to let Rupert down as he kept letting his father down. He wasn't sure if he could face that look of disappointment from his lover. However, it felt . . . amazing to have someone say they believed in him.
The silence between them had returned, easy and comfortable. Wesley continued to roll that thought through his head, letting it lead to others as he started to doze.
"Do you mind my staying here?" Wesley found himself asking, though he'd sworn he wouldn't, mostly because he was afraid of the answer.
Rupert looked over at him with a surprised expression. "If I did, I would have said so. Besides, I rather enjoy your company, remember?"
Wesley felt his lips twitch and nodded. He said nothing, however, reveling in the small amount of peace that gave him.
****
"Yes, I'm aware of what procedure demands," Wesley said, rubbing his fingers over his forehead and trying to get a word in edgewise. God, had he sounded like this much of a prat? "I don't happen to care, however. Taking Faith to England, especially by force, is only going to make her feel disconnected. She needs--"
Wesley sat through another round of questions asked too quickly to be answered. He drummed his fingers against the desk, wishing for a cup of tea or perhaps an artifact that would allow him to reach through the phone lines.
"This is not a lecture hall. This is the field and Faith is a troubled girl. The last thing she needs is to feel that she can't trust us . . ." Wesley sputtered to a halt as he was asked the question he'd known was coming as soon as that 'us' had left his mouth. It almost felt like a betrayal just to answer the only way he could.
"Buffy and myself, of course. She and Buffy are quite close and-- Yes, I'm aware that Slayers aren't supposed to socialize, but how can you even apply that rule to this situation. They're both Slayers!"
A cup of tea materialized before him and Wesley blinked, missing whatever it was Travers was saying as he looked up to find Rupert turning to go back to the couch and his book. Wesley reached out, grabbing Rupert's arm. Rupert turned to him with an inquiring look.
'Thank you,' Wesley mouthed. The smile he gave was tired and probably not particularly encouraging, but Rupert responded in kind. Wesley let go of Rupert's sleeve. Struck by a sudden thought, Wesley turned back to the phone, the drone of Travers' speech filling his ear again. "Besides, Mr. Travers, if you take Faith back to England, I'll never be able to finish my research into the amplifying effects of Slayer resonance."
"What?" Travers' voice filled with a strange sort of covetousness.
"Uh, well, so far it's a theory, with only what I've observed in a week, but, uh--" Rupert was looking at him over the back of the sofa, eyebrows raised and a delighted, amused smile on his face. "It's-it's possible that, with two Slayers working side by side, their strength, speed, reflexes, even their paranormal senses are heightened." Wesley made a desperate gesture with his freehand, certain Travers wouldn't buy it and he'd be called before a disciplinary committee. His father would skin him alive for lying this way.
"I see."
"Well, uh, it's just a theory. However, both score very highly on every test."
"Well, it sounds at least as if you're taking a more active roll in the Slayers' training and testing than your predecessor. I knew it was a mistake to assign Rupert to so distant a location. He obviously needed supervision."
Wesley bit his lip, hard. Clearing his throat and forging ahead with his lie. "Uh, but, in-in regards to these tests, I . . . er, I had hoped to continue them and if you carted Faith away--"
"Yes, yes. I support your research. If there is . . . a consonance between the two Slayers, it is certainly something we should be aware of, should study and exploit." Wesley winced at Travers' words. "In fact, I'll send a team out to evaluate them. Just to get a baseline. Then, once you've worked with them, we'll see if this amplification has any foundation."
"Uh, well, that's not strictly--"
"Oh, nonsense. This is exactly the sort of thing of which we need to be kept apprised. So, expect the team to arrive on Monday."
"Monday. Uh, yes. Of-of course." Wesley couldn't keep the morose note from his voice, but he doubted Travers picked up on it. After saying his goodbyes, Travers hung up, leaving Wesley listening to the returned dial tone.
"Well?" Rupert asked, the delight gone from his face, his forehead furrowed worriedly.
"He's . . . he's sending a team to 'investigate my theory'." Wesley sighed, letting the receiver fall back into its place on the carriage and laying his head in his hands.
"But they're not taking Faith," Rupert countered, straightening on the sofa. "You did what you had to do, Wesley. We'll all be under a little more . . . scrutiny, but it likely won't last long."
Wesley lifted his head, sending Rupert a tired smile in thanks for Rupert's trying to cheer him. It wasn't working, but that was more because of what he had to do now. If the Council were coming to Sunnydale, well, as Rupert said, they'd all be under greater scrutiny.
He stood, going to sit next to Rupert on the sofa. Clasping his hands between his knees, he stared at them for a moment, trying to find the words to say what he had to say. His throat felt tight with the words, his chest constricting.
"I . . . I think it would be best if we--if we didn't see one another while this team is here." It won't be long, Wesley tried to reassure himself. "Uh, if . . ."
"Wesley?" Raising his eyes to meet Rupert's, he was grateful for the arm Rupert slipped around him. "I understand."
Wesley didn't think Rupert did, exactly, but he didn't care to explain it either. Wesley knew his father had many friends and though of course he wouldn’t come himself--Please, let that be true--he might very well send someone he trusted to report back on Wesley's activities. Rupert was right. This wasn't just an evaluation of the Slayers. Wesley would be looked at as well, put under a microscope. How could he be judged anything but wanting? Especially after everything that had happened. And when he failed their tests? He'd be sent back to England. Back home. His father would be furious.
"Wesley?" Apparently he'd been lost in thought for longer than he'd realized. Rupert's fingers slid over his hand, drawing his attention. He met Rupert's gaze and raised an eyebrow in question, the prickling in his eyes too hot and close to allow him to speak. "You've had a lifetime of training at passing their tests. You'll do wonderfully."
Wesley sucked in a breath at those words, but more because, seemingly, Rupert did understand. At least part of it. He smiled shyly, ducking his head. "I hope that's the case," he said softly, turning his hand to squeeze Rupert's fingers. "But, in any case, we--we have this weekend."
Rupert smiled at him, shifting so that he was leaning against Wesley's shoulder. "I believe this calls for a crisis-free day of reading, among other things. Are we in agreement?" Rupert's weight felt lovely and Wesley leaned back, letting himself get sucked into that idea. He had no idea how Rupert normally spent his weekends, but his suggestion sounded quite close to heaven.
"I think I could be persuaded," Wesley answered, accepting the book Rupert handed him and then accepting Rupert's lips against his own.
It took Rupert half of Saturday to convince Wesley that his research could be laid aside without the world ending. Wesley snorted at that phrase, giving Rupert an unamused, or perhaps only slightly amused, glare. Rupert only took the pen from his hand, sitting on the desk across from him and shutting the books Wesley had been working from.
"This flat is as warded as it can be. I went out to get the paper, they grabbed me. Never--while alive--did a cult member sneak in here. The knife is as safe as it can be, and not only will you and I not be able to see one another, casually, again for at least a week, but we'll have to actively pretend not to be working together."
It was the last words that had swayed Wesley into setting aside his books. Rupert smiled when Wesley leaned back in the chair and shrugged. "What you do you suggest we do?"
Inside, despite the calm demeanor Wesley was forcing himself to display, he worried that their separation might be a good deal longer. Hence, the burying himself in research. He didn't want to think.
"Why don't I make brunch? We'll eat, slowly and with time to chew our food." Rupert stood with a small chuckle and Wesley had to admit that that sounded quite good. His stomach admitted it more loudly, causing Rupert to laugh outright. That sound never failed to make Wesley smile.
Saturday and Sunday passed quietly, interrupted only by the Slayers’ training on Sunday. Wesley didn't participate, already a walking bruise. Neither girl objected outright to his presence, though Faith seemed to be avoiding him. He found it a bit disheartening, especially after he explained what the evaluations would likely entail and how they'd all have to work together to keep Faith in Sunnydale.
She looked away at that and he didn't understand why. Surely, she could see that he wanted to help, that he wanted to do what he could to keep her where she wanted to be. It wasn't as if she was hostile, of course. He confronted her after training, when Rupert and Buffy were in the office.
"Faith?" She turned as if startled, which was odd given that she had to have known he was there. Of course, she could have been lost in thought. "I . . . are you angry at me for informing the Council?"
Faith blinked, shaking her head. "No, man, I . . . I get it. I'm . . . I'm glad they're not going to try and drag me away, 'cause I'd hate to have to hurt them." She shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. "Wouldn't have gone with them."
"I know," Wesley said with a snort. "I wouldn't have wanted you to. You do know that my offer is still open. I can help you center yourself, help you to make yourself better--"
"Thanks." Faith's nervousness increased. "I'll think about it, okay? I . . . gotta book."
"Right. Of course." He watched her go with a slight uneasy feeling. She was acting oddly, so subdued and edgy. Of course, he couldn't imagine what she was going through right now. Sighing, vowing to continue reaching out, Wesley turned to find Buffy watching him. As was often the case these days, her stare was speculative.
"Don't threaten her, Wes," Buffy said softly and Wesley felt his eyebrows rise.
"What? Why would you assume I would threaten her?"
"You're being evaluated too, right? Want to look good for the Council." Buffy shrugged. "Look, if you're honestly trying to make friends. Good, great." Buffy's face softened then. She pulled on her backpack on with a shrug. "After what she did to you, ya know? It's . . . it's probably not easy for her either. And you're probably mad, but--"
"I'm not angry," Wesley answered. He wouldn't have admitted to the latent fear still curling in his gut, but he honestly was not angry. "I . . . I approached the situation from the wrong angle. She was out of control and scared. I just want to help her, Buffy. And you, if you're willing to let me." He glanced up to see Rupert watching them from the doorway, but remaining aloof.
"Yeah, well. We'll see. I mean," Buffy turned to look at him and again she was obviously trying to understand something. "Giles and you have been buddy-buddy and . . . I'm not saying that's bad, but I'm not saying it's good, either. If you guys can be friends, that's great. Giles needs more friends, 'cause obviously he's got nothing better to do than eavesdrop on other people's conversations and getting a life would be really good for him."
"Well, what do you expect when you have a conversation in the middle of my library?" Rupert grumbled, coming out of the doorway and picking up a stack of books from the library table. "I'll just be in the stacks."
Buffy didn't even turn to look at him, but a fond smile twitched her lips. Rupert gave him an encouraging look before he turned and left. After a moment, the smile left Buffy's face and she continued. "What I’m saying is that you seem to be trying and Giles seems to think you're worth the time. So, if you are trying, then I don't have a problem with you." She shrugged. "But if you're messing with Giles? Or Faith? You and I are gonna have a real big problem."
"Then there's no problem," Wesley answered, holding her gaze and standing his ground. After a moment, she nodded.
"I'm late to meet Will for mochas."
Wesley fought back the, 'you're dismissed' that rose to his lips and simply watched as Buffy left. He stood there for a moment, watching the library door swish and then settle after her exit. He didn't even hear Rupert's approach, but he wasn't startled when the man appeared beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"Give her time," Rupert whispered. Wesley nodded, but in truth, he was encouraged by Buffy's little speech. Some of the hostility he'd incurred had been missing from her voice and she'd been honest. It was a start, but tomorrow the Council would come and Wesley would have to play the prat again.
How much of it will be play acting? He told the voice in his mind to shut the hell up, at least for the night. It was the last he'd get to spend in Rupert's company, in Rupert's bed, for a while.
Continued here.
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 9/17
Feedback and concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com
Spoilers: Begins directly after 'Bad Girls', AU from there on out with bits and pieces taken from all over the end of BtVS season three.
Summary: Giles finds Wesley lying, badly beaten, on the library floor.
Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither
Big, huge thanks to beadtific, janedavitt, kyrieane, malnpudl, and psychoadept for their beta magic. Thanks to the Buffyverse Dialogue Database for, well, the dialogue. And thank you to everyone who read the first versions of these stories. Your interest and feedback have made this a pleasure to work on.
Previous parts located here.
Faith wasn't in her motel room. It was obvious that things were missing, but he didn't know if that was because Angel had taken them to her or if she'd come to get them. Her clothing was gone, but there was a stack of magazines still on one dresser, a half-whittled stake stuck between the bed and the wall. It could have meant either, honestly, and Wesley shook his head.
His throat was aching again, parched from anxiety and his only memories of this room. He could almost see Faith, if he tried. Her eyes were so very angry as he tried to offer help and then . . . he turned toward the corner of the room, seeing it all play out in his head. He wondered if he'd looked as terrified as he did in his imagination.
Rupert's hand on his shoulder made him jump. He glanced backward and then ducked his head so that Rupert wouldn't see his thoughts. He dreaded whatever questions Rupert would ask, dreaded trying to find words and squeezing them through the ache in his throat. Faith scared the hell out of him. She might have killed him and he still worried about her. It felt odd, especially considering that just a week ago he wouldn't have worried in this way. A week ago, before she tried to hurt him, he wouldn't have dreaded finding her body. The whole situation had him off balance. Rupert's arms slipped around him, pulling him back against a warm, firm body.
"She's not here, obviously. We can go back to my flat, check the answering machine. If Buffy or one of the others found her, they'll call to let me know."
"Buffy wasn't going to call me, was she? She wasn't going to ask for me to help." Wesley was surprised at how hoarse he sounded. He shouldn't have been, given the way his throat felt, but that didn't seem to matter.
"I . . . I don't know. She should have. She might have. We can drop by your flat to check, if you like." Rupert sighed and Wesley couldn't almost feel the weight of it, the weight of the emotion behind it. Even if he couldn't identify what that emotion was. "But I don't think she did."
"Faith tried to kill me. Even if . . . even if I didn't care what happened to her, one would think Buffy would at least warn me that Faith's out there again."
"If she believed that Faith would come after you she'd have called, Wesley. I guarantee you that." The conviction in Rupert's voice calmed him. It was nice that someone was sure of something. Wesley found his head a confusing place these days. He almost longed for the days when it was simple, when all he had to do was what the Council told him.
Almost, except that the Council never held him the way Rupert did, never smiled at him the way Rupert did, and it sure as hell never called him 'love'.
The last made him unsure again. He pulled away, giving Rupert a nervous smile. "Right, we should . . . go by my flat and then . . . go back to yours."
There were no messages on Wesley's machine. He stared at it for a moment before turning back to Rupert. He found his lover looking around, investigating his flat. It was only then that he realized Rupert had never been there before. He watched with a small smile as Rupert investigated the books he'd left on his coffee table and wondered why he'd kept himself from doing this same thing earlier in the night. He'd wanted to poke around Rupert's flat, but he'd thought it intrusive for him to do it. Yet, he was touched that Rupert found him interesting enough to investigate.
Then he glanced around and shook his head. He didn't like the things his flat said about him. It was bare of pictures, bare of all the small things Rupert's flat held, the trinkets and statues, the antiques and the warmth.
"We should go," Wesley said, hoping the wistfulness didn't show in his voice as he cut himself off before he said, home.
"Hmm?" Rupert glanced up at him and nodded. "Yes, of course. Another time, you'll have to show me your bedroom," Rupert remarked as he walked past Wesley. Wesley glanced toward the bedroom, thought of the simple sheets, the few pillows, his clothing hanging in his closet in too-neat rows and shook his head to himself.
"Of course. Another time."
They left quickly, both anxious to get back and find out if anyone had called. Wesley tried not to be so obviously despondent on the drive back. He knew Rupert was worrying. It was fairly obvious by the way the man kept glancing over at him, kept starting to speak and then stopping.
"She's a Slayer, Wesley. More than capable of handling herself. If she can take out three vampires even while chained . . . she's going to be fine."
"But will she be back?" Wesley asked and then shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's just . . . I thought she understood. I thought I had gotten through to her. I-I thought I'd done something useful, to both her and . . ." you.
"This isn't your fault," Rupert said with a sigh. "Wesley, we all made mistakes when it comes to Faith. We all could have handled this better, right from her appearance in Sunnydale. You've had the least amount of time with her and, while it's been eventful, her actions don't rest on your shoulders."
"I'm her Watcher," Wesley said simply, slightly angry that Rupert didn't see that. If anyone should understand, it should be Rupert. No matter what came before, he was her Watcher, she was his responsibility.
"I know," Rupert finally said, sighing. "And it's therefore your responsibility to find her and to try to help her deal with what's happened. If she can't deal with it, for whatever reason, that is not your fault."
Wesley opened his mouth to argue and then shook his head, turning to look back out the window. He didn't understand why Rupert couldn't see it, see that it was his job to keep the Slayer . . . slaying, to keep her to her duty. Not for the Council, or at least, not completely anymore. He still felt the Council was necessary, their experience and years of research an asset and their approval needed. He was willing to admit that their techniques didn't take things into account properly. However, Faith's duty was to the world and that was an even greater responsibility. He was her Watcher and he was to keep her steadfast, to keep her focused, both for her own sake and her duties.
Now, it seemed he'd failed before he'd even really got the chance to try.
Rupert's hand settled onto his knee. Wesley glanced over, but found Rupert focused on the road and leaving him to his thoughts. The small gesture brought a fleeting smile to his lips.
****
Wesley sat on Rupert's couch, holding his head in his hands. There had been a message from Willow and Xander on Rupert's machine. There was no sign of Faith in her usual places. Now it was down to Buffy. Wesley couldn't remember where Rupert had said she was looking. He remembered very little except Rupert telling him that Faith was gone and then a mad dash for his clothing.
He was wracking his brain, but Rupert was right in that he knew Faith less than the others did. He thought about checking that club the children frequented, but he was sure that Willow and Xander had already thought of that.
"Here." Rupert's hand, holding a cup and saucer, appeared before his eyes. He straightened, taking it and giving Rupert an appreciative smile in return.
"Thank you."
Rupert sat on the couch beside him. Wesley lost himself in thought for a while, trying to think of other places they could check for Faith. After some time, he realized he could feel Rupert's eyes upon him. He looked over to find Rupert watching him with a faintly puzzled expression.
"Yes?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
Rupert shook his head slightly, sipping at his own tea. "I was wondering whether or not you've noticed that it's laced with Scotch."
Wesley blinked down at his tea, blushing when he realized he'd sipped a good half the cup and, no, he hadn't noticed. Snorting, he put the cup aside, shaking his head. "I was . . . thinking."
"So I saw. Anything you'd like to share?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then closed it. There was so much on his mind he wasn't even sure where to begin, had he been certain he wanted to at all. There was his father and the Council. There was Faith and all the issues involved with her. There was Rupert himself, and all that came with him, just as much a mess in Wesley's head as the other two, though there were more pleasant thoughts mixed in as well.
Wesley wished those three things didn't seem to conflict so strongly. Faith conflicted with both, in some ways. The Council, his father included, would not like his thoughts on training her, would not like that Wesley had not only considered, but agreed with some of Rupert's methods. Rupert . . . Wesley didn't know what Rupert thought of his remaining with the Council, of his continued respect for the institution, if not all their dictates. Faith herself . . . he had no idea about.
He was about to broach the subject, but was cut off by a knock on the door and Buffy's voice. "Giles? You in there?"
Wesley froze, watching as Rupert sighed. "Uh, could you . . . go upstairs?" Rupert didn't seem to like to ask, but Wesley nodded quickly, taking his tea. He could tell that Rupert was nervous. As he moved toward the stairs, Wesley brushed his arm against Rupert's and stopped just long enough to kiss him lightly.
The smile that got him as Rupert turned to watch him go was more than enough to let Wesley know he'd done the right thing. Settling himself on the bed, far enough back that he couldn’t be seen from below, Wesley set his tea on the nightstand beside him. He'd mainly taken it because two teacups would be suspicious, but at this point . . . with an inaudible snort as he heard Rupert open the door, Wesley downed the rest of it.
He hadn't intended to listen in, but there was very little else he could do, and he wanted to know. He deserved to know.
"Giles, good!" Buffy sounded upset, but not overly so.
"Buffy. You’re shaking. Sit down," Rupert said and Wesley heard the scrape of a chair. He bit his lip, desperate to hear what had happened, but knowing he couldn't call out.
"I found Faith at the docks." Buffy sounded confused, her voice soft after that first exclamation. Wesley leaned closer, listening hard. "She was going to jump ship, but, well there was a fight, her and me and then some vampires jumped in. One of them was Trick, he's . . . he's dust. Faith staked him. He was about to bite me. And after that, we . . . we talked, er, without fists and she's . . . she's back."
"So she saved you.” Wesley thought there was a smile in Rupert’s voice, though he couldn't be sure. The volume made it hard to tell.
"She could have left me there to die, Giles, but she didn't."
"She opted to come back to town with you. That-that bodes well. She still has a lot to face before she can put this behind her."
Wesley wondered if that reminder was as much for him as for Buffy.
"I'm not gonna give up on her." That made Wesley nod, promising the same to himself.
"Then I think she stands a chance."
Wesley clenched his jaw with determination. He would see to it that Faith had a chance. One way or the other, he wouldn't fail this time. Here, in Sunnydale, it mattered even more than it had at home. That thought frightened him, though. If he failed when it didn't matter, how was he ever going to hold up now that the stakes were so high?
"Okay," Buffy's voice called him back from his thoughts. "I've gotta get home. Sleep is definitely required. I'll see you Monday."
"Of course." Wesley heard Rupert's tread across the floor, heard the door open, and let out a relieved sigh. Buffy hadn't known he was there.
"Oh, Giles? What's Wesley's car still doing outside?"
Wesley's breathing stopped. He covered his mouth with a hand, closing his eyes and listening. There was barely any pause at all before Rupert answered. "Oh, he wasn't feeling well, so I drove him home."
"Right. See ya."
Wesley let out the breath he'd been holding, thrilled when he heard the door finally close. A few moments later, Rupert came upstairs, a small smile on his face. "I'm assuming you heard?"
Wesley nodded, leaning back against the headboard with a relieved sigh. One thing settled. He only wished it settled some of the others as well. Still, with Faith's safety out of the way, the adrenaline was beginning to drain away and he was tired.
Rupert kicked off his shoes and began to strip off his clothing. Wesley blinked, realizing he'd never just watched before. He felt slightly embarrassed to simply be sitting there while Rupert unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. It made him feel less like a voyeur to undress as well, though he was a bit nervous about having Rupert just standing there as he did.
Which is silly,, he thought, kicking off his own shoes. It isn't as if Rupert hasn't seen me . . . and more. Still, some part of Wesley felt more embarrassed without the heat of passion to blot it out. Shaking his head at himself, he realized he might be being presumptuous, but Rupert hadn't said anything about his leaving and, just then, Wesley wanted to stay the night here.
"So, tomorrow, you'll have to . . . well, that is . . ." Rupert's words came to a halt and he turned to meet Wesley's eyes.
"What is it?"
"The Council. I . . . I'd assumed you'd want to tell them what happened, with Faith." Rupert shrugged, looking down to his hands as he finished with his shirt. Wesley blinked, pausing in the unbuttoning of his own shirt as he realized he hadn't even thought about it. Not since they'd first found out what Faith had done. Events had moved so quickly and there'd hardly been a moment to sit back and consider.
"Well, uh . . . I don’t know." Wesley said truthfully, trying to puzzle out what he'd tell them if he did. 'Oh, yes, she's a bit homicidal, but we're working on that,' didn't seem quite the way to break the news.
Rupert sat on the bed, pulling his trousers off, his face thoughtful. Wesley sat opposite, his motions an echo of Rupert's and he'd have guessed he looked just as thoughtful.
"She'll . . ." they both began, stopping to let the other continue.
Rupert chuckled, sliding his boxers off. Wesley tried not to stare, looking away with a faint blush because he wanted to look, wanted to explore and . . . though, perhaps it was best he didn't, as he didn't think he had a second go in him tonight.
"She'll need some psychiatric evaluation. Perhaps even counseling, though it would have to be with someone who knows and that pretty much only leaves the Council." Wesley pulled off his own trousers and pants before quickly slipping under the covers. Rupert was lying on his back, hands stacked behind his head.
Unsure of his welcome, Wesley sat against the headboard, his mind divided between pondering the Council and deciding if the possibility of rejection was slim enough for him to take the risk and move over to cuddle with Rupert.
"That's true and . . . they have a habit of knowing things they aren't supposed to," Rupert said with a sigh. "If you don't tell them and they find out . . . Wesley, I know you want to keep your position with the Council. It's your decision. Just . . . consider how they're going to react. Faith doesn't need them--"
"I know," Wesley answered, a slight smile one his face. Another issue resolved and in the same night. Now he knew, he thought, how Rupert felt about his continued working with the Council. Deciding the risk was worth it, Wesley slid over, laying his head on Rupert's shoulder, tense until Rupert's arm slipped around him.
"Of course you do," Rupert answered with a self-deprecating shrug. "I'm sorry. I trust you to know what you're doing."
Wesley felt his breath catch and bit his lip to keep from making a sound as he considered those words. I trust you to know what you're doing. They echoed in his head, spinning around and around so that he could look at them from every angle, dissect them for a hidden meaning.
There was nothing, no disguised malice, just a simple confidence in him that had him reeling. Rupert trusted him, believed in his competence. The thought was both wonderful and terrifying. He didn't want to let Rupert down as he kept letting his father down. He wasn't sure if he could face that look of disappointment from his lover. However, it felt . . . amazing to have someone say they believed in him.
The silence between them had returned, easy and comfortable. Wesley continued to roll that thought through his head, letting it lead to others as he started to doze.
"Do you mind my staying here?" Wesley found himself asking, though he'd sworn he wouldn't, mostly because he was afraid of the answer.
Rupert looked over at him with a surprised expression. "If I did, I would have said so. Besides, I rather enjoy your company, remember?"
Wesley felt his lips twitch and nodded. He said nothing, however, reveling in the small amount of peace that gave him.
****
"Yes, I'm aware of what procedure demands," Wesley said, rubbing his fingers over his forehead and trying to get a word in edgewise. God, had he sounded like this much of a prat? "I don't happen to care, however. Taking Faith to England, especially by force, is only going to make her feel disconnected. She needs--"
Wesley sat through another round of questions asked too quickly to be answered. He drummed his fingers against the desk, wishing for a cup of tea or perhaps an artifact that would allow him to reach through the phone lines.
"This is not a lecture hall. This is the field and Faith is a troubled girl. The last thing she needs is to feel that she can't trust us . . ." Wesley sputtered to a halt as he was asked the question he'd known was coming as soon as that 'us' had left his mouth. It almost felt like a betrayal just to answer the only way he could.
"Buffy and myself, of course. She and Buffy are quite close and-- Yes, I'm aware that Slayers aren't supposed to socialize, but how can you even apply that rule to this situation. They're both Slayers!"
A cup of tea materialized before him and Wesley blinked, missing whatever it was Travers was saying as he looked up to find Rupert turning to go back to the couch and his book. Wesley reached out, grabbing Rupert's arm. Rupert turned to him with an inquiring look.
'Thank you,' Wesley mouthed. The smile he gave was tired and probably not particularly encouraging, but Rupert responded in kind. Wesley let go of Rupert's sleeve. Struck by a sudden thought, Wesley turned back to the phone, the drone of Travers' speech filling his ear again. "Besides, Mr. Travers, if you take Faith back to England, I'll never be able to finish my research into the amplifying effects of Slayer resonance."
"What?" Travers' voice filled with a strange sort of covetousness.
"Uh, well, so far it's a theory, with only what I've observed in a week, but, uh--" Rupert was looking at him over the back of the sofa, eyebrows raised and a delighted, amused smile on his face. "It's-it's possible that, with two Slayers working side by side, their strength, speed, reflexes, even their paranormal senses are heightened." Wesley made a desperate gesture with his freehand, certain Travers wouldn't buy it and he'd be called before a disciplinary committee. His father would skin him alive for lying this way.
"I see."
"Well, uh, it's just a theory. However, both score very highly on every test."
"Well, it sounds at least as if you're taking a more active roll in the Slayers' training and testing than your predecessor. I knew it was a mistake to assign Rupert to so distant a location. He obviously needed supervision."
Wesley bit his lip, hard. Clearing his throat and forging ahead with his lie. "Uh, but, in-in regards to these tests, I . . . er, I had hoped to continue them and if you carted Faith away--"
"Yes, yes. I support your research. If there is . . . a consonance between the two Slayers, it is certainly something we should be aware of, should study and exploit." Wesley winced at Travers' words. "In fact, I'll send a team out to evaluate them. Just to get a baseline. Then, once you've worked with them, we'll see if this amplification has any foundation."
"Uh, well, that's not strictly--"
"Oh, nonsense. This is exactly the sort of thing of which we need to be kept apprised. So, expect the team to arrive on Monday."
"Monday. Uh, yes. Of-of course." Wesley couldn't keep the morose note from his voice, but he doubted Travers picked up on it. After saying his goodbyes, Travers hung up, leaving Wesley listening to the returned dial tone.
"Well?" Rupert asked, the delight gone from his face, his forehead furrowed worriedly.
"He's . . . he's sending a team to 'investigate my theory'." Wesley sighed, letting the receiver fall back into its place on the carriage and laying his head in his hands.
"But they're not taking Faith," Rupert countered, straightening on the sofa. "You did what you had to do, Wesley. We'll all be under a little more . . . scrutiny, but it likely won't last long."
Wesley lifted his head, sending Rupert a tired smile in thanks for Rupert's trying to cheer him. It wasn't working, but that was more because of what he had to do now. If the Council were coming to Sunnydale, well, as Rupert said, they'd all be under greater scrutiny.
He stood, going to sit next to Rupert on the sofa. Clasping his hands between his knees, he stared at them for a moment, trying to find the words to say what he had to say. His throat felt tight with the words, his chest constricting.
"I . . . I think it would be best if we--if we didn't see one another while this team is here." It won't be long, Wesley tried to reassure himself. "Uh, if . . ."
"Wesley?" Raising his eyes to meet Rupert's, he was grateful for the arm Rupert slipped around him. "I understand."
Wesley didn't think Rupert did, exactly, but he didn't care to explain it either. Wesley knew his father had many friends and though of course he wouldn’t come himself--Please, let that be true--he might very well send someone he trusted to report back on Wesley's activities. Rupert was right. This wasn't just an evaluation of the Slayers. Wesley would be looked at as well, put under a microscope. How could he be judged anything but wanting? Especially after everything that had happened. And when he failed their tests? He'd be sent back to England. Back home. His father would be furious.
"Wesley?" Apparently he'd been lost in thought for longer than he'd realized. Rupert's fingers slid over his hand, drawing his attention. He met Rupert's gaze and raised an eyebrow in question, the prickling in his eyes too hot and close to allow him to speak. "You've had a lifetime of training at passing their tests. You'll do wonderfully."
Wesley sucked in a breath at those words, but more because, seemingly, Rupert did understand. At least part of it. He smiled shyly, ducking his head. "I hope that's the case," he said softly, turning his hand to squeeze Rupert's fingers. "But, in any case, we--we have this weekend."
Rupert smiled at him, shifting so that he was leaning against Wesley's shoulder. "I believe this calls for a crisis-free day of reading, among other things. Are we in agreement?" Rupert's weight felt lovely and Wesley leaned back, letting himself get sucked into that idea. He had no idea how Rupert normally spent his weekends, but his suggestion sounded quite close to heaven.
"I think I could be persuaded," Wesley answered, accepting the book Rupert handed him and then accepting Rupert's lips against his own.
It took Rupert half of Saturday to convince Wesley that his research could be laid aside without the world ending. Wesley snorted at that phrase, giving Rupert an unamused, or perhaps only slightly amused, glare. Rupert only took the pen from his hand, sitting on the desk across from him and shutting the books Wesley had been working from.
"This flat is as warded as it can be. I went out to get the paper, they grabbed me. Never--while alive--did a cult member sneak in here. The knife is as safe as it can be, and not only will you and I not be able to see one another, casually, again for at least a week, but we'll have to actively pretend not to be working together."
It was the last words that had swayed Wesley into setting aside his books. Rupert smiled when Wesley leaned back in the chair and shrugged. "What you do you suggest we do?"
Inside, despite the calm demeanor Wesley was forcing himself to display, he worried that their separation might be a good deal longer. Hence, the burying himself in research. He didn't want to think.
"Why don't I make brunch? We'll eat, slowly and with time to chew our food." Rupert stood with a small chuckle and Wesley had to admit that that sounded quite good. His stomach admitted it more loudly, causing Rupert to laugh outright. That sound never failed to make Wesley smile.
Saturday and Sunday passed quietly, interrupted only by the Slayers’ training on Sunday. Wesley didn't participate, already a walking bruise. Neither girl objected outright to his presence, though Faith seemed to be avoiding him. He found it a bit disheartening, especially after he explained what the evaluations would likely entail and how they'd all have to work together to keep Faith in Sunnydale.
She looked away at that and he didn't understand why. Surely, she could see that he wanted to help, that he wanted to do what he could to keep her where she wanted to be. It wasn't as if she was hostile, of course. He confronted her after training, when Rupert and Buffy were in the office.
"Faith?" She turned as if startled, which was odd given that she had to have known he was there. Of course, she could have been lost in thought. "I . . . are you angry at me for informing the Council?"
Faith blinked, shaking her head. "No, man, I . . . I get it. I'm . . . I'm glad they're not going to try and drag me away, 'cause I'd hate to have to hurt them." She shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. "Wouldn't have gone with them."
"I know," Wesley said with a snort. "I wouldn't have wanted you to. You do know that my offer is still open. I can help you center yourself, help you to make yourself better--"
"Thanks." Faith's nervousness increased. "I'll think about it, okay? I . . . gotta book."
"Right. Of course." He watched her go with a slight uneasy feeling. She was acting oddly, so subdued and edgy. Of course, he couldn't imagine what she was going through right now. Sighing, vowing to continue reaching out, Wesley turned to find Buffy watching him. As was often the case these days, her stare was speculative.
"Don't threaten her, Wes," Buffy said softly and Wesley felt his eyebrows rise.
"What? Why would you assume I would threaten her?"
"You're being evaluated too, right? Want to look good for the Council." Buffy shrugged. "Look, if you're honestly trying to make friends. Good, great." Buffy's face softened then. She pulled on her backpack on with a shrug. "After what she did to you, ya know? It's . . . it's probably not easy for her either. And you're probably mad, but--"
"I'm not angry," Wesley answered. He wouldn't have admitted to the latent fear still curling in his gut, but he honestly was not angry. "I . . . I approached the situation from the wrong angle. She was out of control and scared. I just want to help her, Buffy. And you, if you're willing to let me." He glanced up to see Rupert watching them from the doorway, but remaining aloof.
"Yeah, well. We'll see. I mean," Buffy turned to look at him and again she was obviously trying to understand something. "Giles and you have been buddy-buddy and . . . I'm not saying that's bad, but I'm not saying it's good, either. If you guys can be friends, that's great. Giles needs more friends, 'cause obviously he's got nothing better to do than eavesdrop on other people's conversations and getting a life would be really good for him."
"Well, what do you expect when you have a conversation in the middle of my library?" Rupert grumbled, coming out of the doorway and picking up a stack of books from the library table. "I'll just be in the stacks."
Buffy didn't even turn to look at him, but a fond smile twitched her lips. Rupert gave him an encouraging look before he turned and left. After a moment, the smile left Buffy's face and she continued. "What I’m saying is that you seem to be trying and Giles seems to think you're worth the time. So, if you are trying, then I don't have a problem with you." She shrugged. "But if you're messing with Giles? Or Faith? You and I are gonna have a real big problem."
"Then there's no problem," Wesley answered, holding her gaze and standing his ground. After a moment, she nodded.
"I'm late to meet Will for mochas."
Wesley fought back the, 'you're dismissed' that rose to his lips and simply watched as Buffy left. He stood there for a moment, watching the library door swish and then settle after her exit. He didn't even hear Rupert's approach, but he wasn't startled when the man appeared beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"Give her time," Rupert whispered. Wesley nodded, but in truth, he was encouraged by Buffy's little speech. Some of the hostility he'd incurred had been missing from her voice and she'd been honest. It was a start, but tomorrow the Council would come and Wesley would have to play the prat again.
How much of it will be play acting? He told the voice in his mind to shut the hell up, at least for the night. It was the last he'd get to spend in Rupert's company, in Rupert's bed, for a while.
Continued here.