Fic: The Fire of Thine Eyes, Giles/Wesley 17/17
::blinks:: I can't believe this is the last of it! ::bites nails::
Title: The Fire of Thine Eyes (Warmth & Heat Redux)
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 17/17
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.
He didn't remember getting to his car. Wesley just found himself driving, going nowhere in particular. He changed direction and headed for his flat, trying to keep his rolling emotions in check. His entire body trembled now, his stomach feeling strangely light, as if it had been ripped out and there was a gapping hole where it had been. He kept the thoughts away by analyzing exactly how he felt, cataloguing each place that felt numb or hollow or hurting.
It didn't work for long.
He arrived at his flat, opening the door in a daze and looking around as if he didn't know the place any longer. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned back against it. That was it. It was over. He was over. The Council would sack him for this, losing not one but two Slayers. His father would be furious in his own, cold, way. And he'd have to call, have to tell them.
Wesley was surprised to find that those concerns were all secondary. It was losing Rupert that hurt the most, made him ache in ways he hadn't thought possible. Before, when he'd been avoiding the man, he'd known he'd see Rupert, known there would be chances to talk to him, to . . . Now there would be nothing. He would go back to England--he couldn't call it home any longer--and he would hurt.
Sliding down the door, Wesley collapsed into a sitting position, the pain welling up and drowning out all else. Tears burned his eyes and Wesley couldn't hold them down. They forced their way out, rocking his body with sobs as he crossed his arms over himself, holding himself.
He'd have to get used to that again.
Wesley forced himself to stand, going into the bedroom with the vague idea of packing. The tears were still coming, uncontrollable, but he couldn't just sit there. He stood for a moment in his bedroom, looking around for something to occupy his hands. Then he sat on the bed, the tears coming harder as he realized that he'd wake up every day in England and his first thoughts would be of Rupert, just as they had been here. Only he'd have no hope of seeing him.
He must have fallen asleep at some point. The phone woke him and Wesley turned over, scrambled to answer it.
"Hello?" His voice was tight and choked, the result, he supposed of his breakdown. Lovely.
"Hey, Wes? It's Cordelia. Are . . . are you all right?"
Wesley sighed, looking around his small, sterile bedroom. "No. Not particularly."
"What's wrong?"
"I'm, uh, I’m going back to England," he said softly. "And I have to pack. So, I'm sorry, but I can't talk."
"Oh . . . okay. 'Bye."
"Goodbye." He hung up the phone and sat there, staring at the wall. He still felt as if several holes had been ripped into him, leaving him empty. Hollow.
Every day of his young life, Wesley had dreamed about being the active Watcher. His father had made certain that he worked hard, his mother calling him a prodigy and parading him before her friends. He was to make them proud. He'd imagined it a thousand different ways, with a thousand different Slayers. The Council would laud him for his work and his father would tell him that he was doing well. As he grew, the scenarios had changed, of course, but always those last two aspects held true. Then he'd been called in and told that everything he'd ever aspired to was being given to him.
Wesley had never felt such gut wrenching terror in all his life. On the flight to LAX, he'd reviewed every failure, every mistake he'd ever made and he'd vowed to himself that he'd never make them again. Sunnydale would bring all he'd ever wanted. He'd told himself that and from the first day he'd fumbled, making all new mistakes. First with Rupert, then with Buffy and Faith, then with Balthazar. The list was long and unfortunately seemed to contain mostly the same people, over and over.
Everything he'd ever done had been to get where he was right now and, reaching that goal, he found it nothing like he'd imagined. He'd been alone and terrified and determined and so very certain of the Council and his role, his purpose. His purpose was everything that defined him.
Who was he without it?
Wesley paused at that thought, his forehead furrowing. He didn't have a Slayer, never would now. He didn't have the Council's backing. After the mess he'd made here, he was fairly certain they'd sack him, or shove him in some dusty office to spend the rest of his days translating things that might never matter. He didn't have his father's approval, but he'd never had that.
Who was he now, right at this moment?
He blinked, looking down at himself. He hadn't changed. Buffy had rejected the Council, had rejected their orders, but not him. Rupert hadn't turned his back on him. Rupert . . . Rupert who had always pulled him close. Rupert who he'd cast aside because he felt he had nothing to give. Rupert who had missed him and pulled him close again without a single question. Rupert who had said he wouldn't hate him if he left. Rupert who had been reading his book of Dryden's poems while they were apart, but didn't need it any longer. Rupert, who made him feel warm again . . .
The phone rang, but Wesley ignored it, taking in deep breaths as he thought about these things. Slowly, his tears ceased and he could hear the answerphone click on. "Hello. You've reached Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I'm not in at the moment, please leave a message."
"Uh, Wesley, I-I don't know if you're there." Rupert's voice filled his flat and Wesley sat up, listening. How could he not? Many might not have recognized that tone, might have thought that Rupert was only tired, but Wesley knew better. He could hear the pain underneath. "Cordelia said that, uh, that you were going back to England. Uh, Buff-Buffy's in the hospital. Perhaps I shouldn't have called if you're . . . . leaving. I only wanted . . . I have to go."
Wesley stood, grabbing his wallet and keys and shoving them into his pockets, all of his tangled thoughts pushed to the background by the worry and hurt in Rupert's voice. He was out of the flat soon after, in his car and heading to the hospital. What could have happened? He didn't let his mind dwell on that, instead driving far faster than he should.
Wesley met Angel in the hall, not even bothering with pleasantries. "Where are they?"
"Hey, uh, they're over there and through the doors on the left . . . I have to go. The sun's going to . . ." Angel motioned to the doors and Wesley nodded.
"Thank you," he said over his shoulder, turning and going where Angel had directed him. Rupert and the others were scattered. Xander paced the hall, Willow and Oz sat in a row of hideous plastic seats. Rupert leaned against the wall, his head bowed, staring at the floor. Wesley forced his pace to be slow as he went to stand beside Rupert. Rupert glanced up at him, face tense with worry. He said nothing.
For long moments they were both that way. Wesley had no idea what to say, what to ask, what to do. He kept looking over at Rupert and sometimes he would catch Rupert looking at him. Then, on an impulse, he reached out and slid his hand into Rupert's. Rupert squeezed lightly, glancing over at him.
"You're leaving?" Rupert asked softly. "Uh, Cordelia said that she spoke to you."
"I thought I was," he replied, turning to Rupert, giving him a small smile.
Rupert seemed surprised. "You've changed your mind, then?"
"Well," Wesley began slowly. It was a hard thing to say, some part of his mind still shouting that it would reveal too much, open him up to pain. "If I survive this, I . . . can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be." Having admitted that, Wesley glanced sidelong at Rupert and found the man studying him.
"How do I know you won't bolt again?" Rupert's voice was soft, the undercurrent of pain taking Wesley by surprise somehow. Blinking, Wesley opened his mouth to speak and then shut it, looking down at his own feet, though he didn't let go of Rupert's hand, couldn't.
He hadn't considered what Rupert must be feeling and, for that, Wesley felt like a cad and worse. But he hadn't credited himself without enough . . . worth to cause that kind of pain. Anger, yes, but not the hurt that looked at him through Rupert's eyes. He hadn't believed, until just then, that his absence mattered so much, well, not to anyone but himself.
Wesley finally answered, taking a deep breath and glancing up. "I won't run, Rupert. I can't anymore." He had too look away as he whispered, "It hurts too much."
There was no verbal response from Rupert and Wesley finally dared a glance at his lover once again. Rupert was studying him, face serious. Finally, Rupert gave a small nod, squeezing Wesley's hand. "Faith's here as well. In a coma."
Wesley gasped, pushing himself away from the wall to face Rupert. He stood there for a heartbeat, unsure what to do. Then, finally, he looked back to the floor. "How did it happen?"
"She was stabbed, in the stomach . . . with a knife." There was a significant tone to Rupert's last words, but it took Wesley a dumbfounded moment to understand.
"The knife?" Wesley found himself whispering. Rupert sighed, nodding. "And in the stomach? Like the skeleton in the cairn?" Another nod. "Disloyalty," Wesley said quietly, remembering the knife humming through the air above his head, pinning that creature to the wall, maybe saving his life. The life of her "boss'" enemy.
Wesley had no idea what to do with that information. He stood there, his forehead furrowing as he tried to fit it in somewhere. And then Rupert was leaning closer to him, his voice so low Wesley wasn't even certain Oz could pick up the words from where he sat five feet away. "It's not your fault. Buffy and she fought."
"But the knife," Wesley said softly, glancing up to Rupert and taking some small comfort from the sympathy in the man's eyes. "I . . ."
"We were all fooled, Wesley. They beat you to a bloody pulp and left a trail of breadcrumbs. For a chance to make them look as badly as you did after they . . ." Rupert shook his head and Wesley had to bite his lip to keep from speaking. Now wasn't the time, or the place, but . . . He gave Rupert a small, if wan, smile and nodded. He wasn't entirely convinced, but it helped to know that someone at least understood his train of thought, even if Rupert didn't agree with him.
Buffy emerged from one of the rooms then, drawing everyone's attention. Wesley was right behind Rupert as they rushed to her. He pushed all thoughts of Faith from his mind. He'd think about that later, assuming he managed to live through this.
"Are you okay?" Xander was asking, followed quickly by Rupert's, "How do you feel?"
"Is Angel here?" she asked, looking around, ignoring both the questions. There was a hardness to her eyes that Wesley had never seen before.
"He had to go. It got kinda sunny." Oz explained.
"Get him. Get everyone," Buffy said, her voice flat, but firm.
"What exactly is up?" Xander asked, his words once again almost on top of Rupert's, "Buffy, are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm ready," Buffy said and despite everything, she looked it. Ready for the Mayor, ready for someone to try and stop her from doing just what she felt she had to. Wesley was glad that, for the moment, the two of them weren't on opposite sides of the situation.
"Ready for what?" Willow asked the very question on Wesley's mind.
"War." Buffy's pronouncement silenced them all. She turned, her eyes finding him. "The Council's not welcome here. I have no time for orders."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not here for the Council," he said softly. Her eyes flicked over to Rupert and then she looked back to him, gaze sliding down to their still joined hands. She met his eyes once again. She wasn't smiling, but she nodded.
"Yeah. It's a good thing."
The trip to the library was a blur. Wesley had to force himself to let go of Rupert's hand, realizing what an unseemly show that was. Still, he couldn't seem to stop glancing over, to make sure Rupert was still there, still with him. Wesley had to keep assuring himself that he wasn't dreaming.
Largely because his actions were going to get him sacked. Even if he wasn't already disgraced in the Council's eyes, this would do it. Working with Rupert, supporting yet another 'rogue Slayer', because that's what the Council would call her, he was throwing himself in with the Council's opposition and . . .
"The Council won't have me, after this," Wesley said, doing little more than speaking his thoughts aloud. They'd just arrived at the school. Rupert turned the car off and turned to look at him.
"You could lie. You'll never be assigned to a Slayer or Potential after this, but . . . they'd find some way to use your talents if you . . ." Rupert shrugged one shoulder, giving him a searching look.
"I could. I'm not going to," Wesley answered softly, giving Rupert another wan smile. "I can still do good. Even if the Council . . . I'm not completely useless." Wesley gave a small, snorting laugh, using the self-deprecating humor to push aside the fears niggling at the back of his mind.
"You're not useless at all," Rupert contradicted, reaching out to cup Wesley's face.
"I--I don't want to be," Wesley said, afraid that the desperation he felt might have slipped into his voice. "But, I have no place here. I'm not needed."
"I need you," Rupert said, giving him a small smile. "Is that enough?"
"I want it to be." Wesley answer was more vehement than even he had expected.
"Then I'll see that it is." Rupert's smile was wider now, his tone so swaggering and confident that Wesley actually found himself smiling in return, almost laughing.
"You're dangerously close to hubris, Rupert," he said, smile turning fond.
"And I need you around to keep me humble," Rupert replied, but as his lips covered Wesley's a heartbeat later, Wesley made no reply.
The kiss was desperate on both ends. Rupert seemed to be trying to devour him. Wesley wasn't exactly opposed to the idea. He kissed Rupert back with equal ardor, moaning softly into his lover's mouth when Rupert nipped at his lips. When the kiss ended, Wesley was panting, finding himself eager to dive in again, but knowing they had no time. They had to prepare. He stared at Rupert for a long moment, both of them trying to catch their breath and calm down before going inside to join the children.
"Are you all right," Wesley asked softly. This time it was his hand reaching up to cup Rupert's face, reveling in the scratchy feel of stubble against his palm.
"I will be. If we all live through this," Rupert's worry was clear and, for the first time, Wesley knew with certainty he was included in that statement. "We should go and see what Buffy's come up with."
Wesley nodded and they both pulled away. Neither of them spoke again on the way to the library. The situation was finally sinking in and Wesley knew Rupert had to be as tense as he was. They might not make it through this. One, or both, or all . . . It was just one more thing Wesley had to struggle not to think about. He managed to push his fears aside, for the most part, as he listened to Buffy lay out her plan. It was genius and he said so, later, when he and Rupert were packing away the books in the stacks. He could hardly believe that, in a few hours, this library would be rubble. If everything went as planned.
It was then that his fears began to get a foothold. Wesley looked over at Rupert and he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the explosives were placed correctly, if Rupert were too close to the blast, if the Mayor survived and found himself faced with Buffy, who he quite obviously wanted dead, and Rupert, who had stabbed him through the chest with a fencing foil.
"You're staring," Rupert said without looking up, a smile in his voice.
"I'm worrying," Wesley replied with a derisive snort. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to be as brave as the others. He couldn't keep himself from thinking about what could happen. Even after all the concerns had been addressed and they'd worked hard to plan everything out just so . . .
Rupert looked up at him then, the smile that had been in his tone gone from his face. "I know. There are so many things that could go wrong." Rupert shook his head, glancing down at the books in his hands.
"Exactly what I was thinking," Wesley said with a sigh, leaning back against the bookcase he'd been unloading. He couldn't help but consider the possibilities. He'd finally decided on a course, on a place and now it could be snatched away. Wesley glanced up to find Rupert staring at him now. He couldn't help but wonder if Rupert's thought ran the same way his did, if Rupert were currently numbering the things that could go wrong on Wesley's end.
"I'm still wrapping my mind around this," Wesley said with a shrug. "You've done this before. All of you have and I . . ." Wesley shook his head, unsure what he'd have said had he finished.
Rupert leaned forward then and Wesley met him half way, welcoming the comfort of Rupert's touch as he wrapped an arm around Wesley's waist. Wesley's slid his hands around to Rupert's back, pulling the man closer, trying to get more contact even though he knew they shouldn't be doing this, not here and not now. They should be preparing for the fight.
Of course, that didn't stop him from moaning when Rupert pressed forward, backing Wesley up until the shelves pressed into his back and arse. Wesley certainly didn't care. He was too busy tasting Rupert, desperate to feel more of that warmth that coursed through him at even Rupert's smallest touch. He knew they should stop. He was even beginning to gather himself to pull away, to say so, and then Rupert moaned into his mouth and Wesley was lost to everything except making Rupert sound that way again.
He nipped at Rupert lips, pulling away to draw in ragged breaths. Rupert worked his way down Wesley's jaw to his neck, nipping lightly and then sucking on that soft spot behind Wesley's ear.
"Oh, God," Wesley breathed softly, tugging Rupert's shirt from his trousers and thrusting his hands beneath to feel skin. Unfortunately, with Rupert's tongue working diligently at his collarbone, reality was intruding. They couldn't do this. Anyone could walk in. Wesley was beginning to think he really was dreaming, or he'd lost his mind, especially when his cock began to fill at the thought. "Rupert, you're debauched," Wesley finally managed around the lump in his throat. "We shouldn't--"
Wesley's words cut off on a gasp as Rupert bit at his shoulder. Wesley's hips bucked forward, his cock beginning to fill. They were in the library, for the love of God and yet Wesley couldn't make himself let go of Rupert and Rupert didn't seem at all inclined to let go of him.
"Perhaps not," Rupert murmured against his skin, those lovely fingers not even pausing as they worked on Wesley's buttons. "It's likely a bad idea." Rupert wasn't stopping, though; quite the opposite, in fact. He kissed his way to one of Wesley's nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Wesley tilted his head back at the sensation, ignoring the slight thump of his skull against the shelf.
"Rupert," Wesley didn't even know what he meant by that. Stop. Don't stop. God, yes, right there. His body seemed to have a good idea of what it wanted, however and Rupert seemed to have an even better one. Wesley dug his fingertips into Rupert's back, swallowing down another gasp as Rupert worked his way back to Wesley's neck. The man's hands were sliding down, however, settling against Wesley's hips and radiating a heat that penetrated Wesley's trousers and seemed to brand his skin.
Rupert pressed forward again, his hard cock pressing against Wesley's thigh and making them both gasp. Wesley moved to catch Rupert's mouth, kissing him hard and working his fingertips under the waistband of Rupert's trousers.
"God, I want you." Rupert spoke against Wesley's lips, his hips thrusting forward and grinding their cocks together.
"Dangerous," Wesley managed to get out before kissing Rupert again, throwing himself into it as he realized this could be the last time he did this, the last time they touched one another. Then Rupert was pulling away and Wesley actually found himself disappointed that his cautions had broken through the haze.
I really have gone mad.
And then Rupert dropped to his knees before Wesley, fingers frantic as they undid the button of Wesley's trousers. Wesley almost choked on his indrawn breath, his hands resting on Rupert's shoulders and squeezing hard.
"I . . . God, Rupert, please." And again he wasn't sure what he wanted. His hips thrust forward however, his cock brushing those agile fingers. Rupert's hand slipped into his trousers, pushing aside his boxers and wrapping around his cock in just the right way to make Wesley want to groan.
He bit his lip, desperate to keep the sound in, watching with wide eyes as Rupert looked up at him. The man's motions were slow, giving Wesley plenty of time to tell him to stop. Wesley didn't however, instead, he panted, watching as Rupert pulled his cock free and licked at the head.
Wesley wasn't sure which was more arousing; the sight of Rupert, on his knees and licking him, or the feel of it. One of his hands slid up to tangle in Rupert's hair and that seemed to be all the encouragement Rupert needed. He leaned forward, taking Wesley's cock between his lips, his tongue working along the underside and making Wesley feel rather weak in the knees. Leaning back against the bookcase, Wesley couldn't tear his eyes away. He watched as Rupert's cheeks hollowed, as Rupert's hand slid inside his trousers to cup and roll his balls.
He wanted to shout with the feel of it, wanted call out Rupert's name. He managed not to, however, and the stacks were filled only with the soft sounds of Rupert's mouth working his cock and Wesley's heart pounding in his ears.
His balls were tightening, the situation unbearably erotic. Wesley knew he'd worry about himself for that, but later. Right at that moment all that mattered was the feel of Rupert's warm, wet mouth moving over the head of his cock, Rupert's hand squeezing gently at his tingling balls.
Fighting the urge to buck, to get more of that delicious heat, Wesley couldn't bite back a whimper. Then Rupert began to work his way down Wesley's shaft, taking in a little more and the a little more until Rupert's nose was pressed into Wesley's pubic hair. Then he swallowed and Wesley shuddered, orgasm spiking through him and setting his nerves on fire.
Wesley choked back another groan, nearly doubling over Rupert. His hands on Rupert's shoulders were likely the only thing keeping him upright as the peak of his orgasm passed and left waves of afterglow sliding through him. Wesley dropped to his knees, face to face with Rupert. Then they were kissing again, Rupert's mouth hot and hungry on his own, tasting of him.
Wesley slid his hand down Rupert's chest, brushing his lover's hard nipples through the stiff fabric of Rupert's shirt. Rupert made a needy noise in the back of his throat and Wesley pulled away from the kiss.
"Stand up," he told Rupert. "Want to taste you. Please, I . . ." Wesley shook his head, unable to articulate. It was stupid, it was dangerous and they'd already pressed their luck, but there was a chance he'd never have that taste on his tongue again, bitter and salty and Rupert.
Rupert complied, his breathing coming in fast, quick gasps as he stood and braced his hands against the shelf over Wesley's head. Wesley didn't hesitate. His fingers seemed awkward and clumsy, but it could have just been his own sense of haste. He finally got Rupert's button undone, pulling down the zip and reveling in the soft, half-stifled moan that slipped from Rupert's lips.
Wesley took a moment just to enjoy the feel of Rupert's cock in his hand. Thick and warm and so soft. The weight of it against his palm was familiar and natural. Wesley pulled it free, leaning in to taste the precum at the head of it, licking his way down in slow, teasing circles.
A whimper from Rupert brought their situation home once again. Wesley glanced up to find Rupert biting his own arm to keep from making too much noise. Shivering at the sight, because he loved being able to do that to his lover, Wesley leaned in and began to lick and suck in earnest. He worked a hand into Rupert's boxers, brushing his fingers along Rupert's balls and wishing he could do more, wishing they had the time and privacy for him to touch Rupert the way he wanted to.
Pushing that last thought aside, Wesley flicked his tongue against the head of Rupert's cock over and over again, tightening his lips and sliding them up and down the shaft. Rupert's legs were trembling under his hand, his balls tightening between Wesley's fingers.
Wesley redoubled his efforts and Rupert's hips jerked slightly and he came, filling Wesley's mouth. Swallowing, Wesley milked Rupert's orgasm or a moment before pulling away and tucking Rupert back into his trousers. Doing the same for himself, Wesley stood with Rupert's arms still braced against the bookcase, now on either side of him.
They both moved in to kiss, tasting one another yet again. Rupert leaned against him; feeling as near to boneless as one could be and still be standing. Wesley leaned back against the bookcase and let it hold them both up.
*****
Wesley blinked, trying to figure out why the light was so bright. Hadn't there been an eclipse? He remembered translating that there would be an eclipse. It was fuzzy, but he thought he even remembered the eclipse.
His eyes began to adjust to the bright light and he blinked, trying to get the world to come into focus around him. It took a long moment, but suddenly the room around him began to make sense, as did the beeping that sounded in his ears. A hospital. Bloody lovely.
There were soft sounds to his right. At first Wesley's hazy mind couldn't place them and he lay still for what seemed an eternity, cataloging each sound until he'd put them all together. The whisper-rustle of clothing. The soft swish of a turning page. Slow, even breathing.
"Rupert?" He sounded a bit more hopeful than he'd intended.
"Awake, Wes?" Rupert's voice came from his right and he turned his head, wondering why the world seemed to take a moment to catch up with his movement. Rupert sat in a chair pulled up close to Wesley's bedside. Wesley's volume of Dryden's poetry was in his hands, though Rupert carefully bookmarked it and laid it aside.
"You're here," Wes found himself smiling, or, at least, the thought he was. It was a bit hard to tell. Rupert smiled back at him, however, so he couldn't have done too bad a job.
"Where else would I be?" Rupert's hand moved to his and Wesley's eyes followed it of their own volition. There was an IV in the back of Wesley's hand and he stared at it for a moment before finally getting his gaze to move back to Rupert's.
"How bad?" Wesley asked with a sigh.
"Concussion, three cracked ribs and a sprained wrist," Rupert said.
"I feel . . . fuzzy. You always make me feel fuzzy . . . and warm."
Rupert smiled then, though he looked as if he was trying not to for some reason. "They've got you on rather a lot of pain medication. You, uh, insisted. Loudly."
Wesley winced. "Disgraced myself?"
"Well, you're hardly the only one in the hospital. And . . . some weren't that lucky." Rupert's voice was heavy for a moment, but he seemed to shake that off. "The Mayor is dead."
Wesley sighed with relief, his eyelids drooping. Was his voice slurred around the edges? "How much pain medication?"
"Rather a lot. I think, uh, I think they wanted to keep you quiet," Rupert put in with a small chuckle.
Wesley glared at him, or tried to, but given that Rupert only smiled at him, he thought me must not have managed it well at all. "Shouldn't laugh at a man with a concussion," he muttered.
"I'm just glad I have someone to split them with." Rupert's hand squeezed his and Wesley couldn't help a small smile.
"We won," Wesley said softly, boggling. They'd won. They'd saved the world. They'd lived. But not all of them had. Wesley wanted to ask who was all right, who had made it through. He must have actually said something about it aloud, because Rupert began telling him.
"Buffy, Willow, Xander, Oz and Cordelia are all fine, if dazed. Snyder was eaten, several students . . . well, the Mayor took a toll. And, of course, Faith is still in a coma."
It took Wesley a long time to remember why Faith was injured. She hadn't fought with them, after all. Then he turned a sad look to Rupert. "Uh, is . . . is Faith in this hospital?"
Rupert's forehead furrowed. "Yes. She is. Why?"
"I want to visit her," he said softly. He felt Rupert squeeze his hand again.
"Of course." They were both quiet for a long moment. Wesley stared at Rupert, smiling and unable to stop himself. Despite the injuries, he still couldn't think of a single other place he'd rather be.
"What?" Rupert asked after a moment.
"It's over. This one is, at least."
"Yes," Rupert said softly. "I was telling Buffy that I found a dramatic irony attached to all this. A synchronicity that borders on predestination and--"
"Rupert?" Wesley waited until his lover looked at him, "It is rather a lot of pain medication."
Title: The Fire of Thine Eyes (Warmth & Heat Redux)
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 17/17
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.
He didn't remember getting to his car. Wesley just found himself driving, going nowhere in particular. He changed direction and headed for his flat, trying to keep his rolling emotions in check. His entire body trembled now, his stomach feeling strangely light, as if it had been ripped out and there was a gapping hole where it had been. He kept the thoughts away by analyzing exactly how he felt, cataloguing each place that felt numb or hollow or hurting.
It didn't work for long.
He arrived at his flat, opening the door in a daze and looking around as if he didn't know the place any longer. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned back against it. That was it. It was over. He was over. The Council would sack him for this, losing not one but two Slayers. His father would be furious in his own, cold, way. And he'd have to call, have to tell them.
Wesley was surprised to find that those concerns were all secondary. It was losing Rupert that hurt the most, made him ache in ways he hadn't thought possible. Before, when he'd been avoiding the man, he'd known he'd see Rupert, known there would be chances to talk to him, to . . . Now there would be nothing. He would go back to England--he couldn't call it home any longer--and he would hurt.
Sliding down the door, Wesley collapsed into a sitting position, the pain welling up and drowning out all else. Tears burned his eyes and Wesley couldn't hold them down. They forced their way out, rocking his body with sobs as he crossed his arms over himself, holding himself.
He'd have to get used to that again.
Wesley forced himself to stand, going into the bedroom with the vague idea of packing. The tears were still coming, uncontrollable, but he couldn't just sit there. He stood for a moment in his bedroom, looking around for something to occupy his hands. Then he sat on the bed, the tears coming harder as he realized that he'd wake up every day in England and his first thoughts would be of Rupert, just as they had been here. Only he'd have no hope of seeing him.
He must have fallen asleep at some point. The phone woke him and Wesley turned over, scrambled to answer it.
"Hello?" His voice was tight and choked, the result, he supposed of his breakdown. Lovely.
"Hey, Wes? It's Cordelia. Are . . . are you all right?"
Wesley sighed, looking around his small, sterile bedroom. "No. Not particularly."
"What's wrong?"
"I'm, uh, I’m going back to England," he said softly. "And I have to pack. So, I'm sorry, but I can't talk."
"Oh . . . okay. 'Bye."
"Goodbye." He hung up the phone and sat there, staring at the wall. He still felt as if several holes had been ripped into him, leaving him empty. Hollow.
Every day of his young life, Wesley had dreamed about being the active Watcher. His father had made certain that he worked hard, his mother calling him a prodigy and parading him before her friends. He was to make them proud. He'd imagined it a thousand different ways, with a thousand different Slayers. The Council would laud him for his work and his father would tell him that he was doing well. As he grew, the scenarios had changed, of course, but always those last two aspects held true. Then he'd been called in and told that everything he'd ever aspired to was being given to him.
Wesley had never felt such gut wrenching terror in all his life. On the flight to LAX, he'd reviewed every failure, every mistake he'd ever made and he'd vowed to himself that he'd never make them again. Sunnydale would bring all he'd ever wanted. He'd told himself that and from the first day he'd fumbled, making all new mistakes. First with Rupert, then with Buffy and Faith, then with Balthazar. The list was long and unfortunately seemed to contain mostly the same people, over and over.
Everything he'd ever done had been to get where he was right now and, reaching that goal, he found it nothing like he'd imagined. He'd been alone and terrified and determined and so very certain of the Council and his role, his purpose. His purpose was everything that defined him.
Who was he without it?
Wesley paused at that thought, his forehead furrowing. He didn't have a Slayer, never would now. He didn't have the Council's backing. After the mess he'd made here, he was fairly certain they'd sack him, or shove him in some dusty office to spend the rest of his days translating things that might never matter. He didn't have his father's approval, but he'd never had that.
Who was he now, right at this moment?
He blinked, looking down at himself. He hadn't changed. Buffy had rejected the Council, had rejected their orders, but not him. Rupert hadn't turned his back on him. Rupert . . . Rupert who had always pulled him close. Rupert who he'd cast aside because he felt he had nothing to give. Rupert who had missed him and pulled him close again without a single question. Rupert who had said he wouldn't hate him if he left. Rupert who had been reading his book of Dryden's poems while they were apart, but didn't need it any longer. Rupert, who made him feel warm again . . .
The phone rang, but Wesley ignored it, taking in deep breaths as he thought about these things. Slowly, his tears ceased and he could hear the answerphone click on. "Hello. You've reached Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I'm not in at the moment, please leave a message."
"Uh, Wesley, I-I don't know if you're there." Rupert's voice filled his flat and Wesley sat up, listening. How could he not? Many might not have recognized that tone, might have thought that Rupert was only tired, but Wesley knew better. He could hear the pain underneath. "Cordelia said that, uh, that you were going back to England. Uh, Buff-Buffy's in the hospital. Perhaps I shouldn't have called if you're . . . . leaving. I only wanted . . . I have to go."
Wesley stood, grabbing his wallet and keys and shoving them into his pockets, all of his tangled thoughts pushed to the background by the worry and hurt in Rupert's voice. He was out of the flat soon after, in his car and heading to the hospital. What could have happened? He didn't let his mind dwell on that, instead driving far faster than he should.
Wesley met Angel in the hall, not even bothering with pleasantries. "Where are they?"
"Hey, uh, they're over there and through the doors on the left . . . I have to go. The sun's going to . . ." Angel motioned to the doors and Wesley nodded.
"Thank you," he said over his shoulder, turning and going where Angel had directed him. Rupert and the others were scattered. Xander paced the hall, Willow and Oz sat in a row of hideous plastic seats. Rupert leaned against the wall, his head bowed, staring at the floor. Wesley forced his pace to be slow as he went to stand beside Rupert. Rupert glanced up at him, face tense with worry. He said nothing.
For long moments they were both that way. Wesley had no idea what to say, what to ask, what to do. He kept looking over at Rupert and sometimes he would catch Rupert looking at him. Then, on an impulse, he reached out and slid his hand into Rupert's. Rupert squeezed lightly, glancing over at him.
"You're leaving?" Rupert asked softly. "Uh, Cordelia said that she spoke to you."
"I thought I was," he replied, turning to Rupert, giving him a small smile.
Rupert seemed surprised. "You've changed your mind, then?"
"Well," Wesley began slowly. It was a hard thing to say, some part of his mind still shouting that it would reveal too much, open him up to pain. "If I survive this, I . . . can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be." Having admitted that, Wesley glanced sidelong at Rupert and found the man studying him.
"How do I know you won't bolt again?" Rupert's voice was soft, the undercurrent of pain taking Wesley by surprise somehow. Blinking, Wesley opened his mouth to speak and then shut it, looking down at his own feet, though he didn't let go of Rupert's hand, couldn't.
He hadn't considered what Rupert must be feeling and, for that, Wesley felt like a cad and worse. But he hadn't credited himself without enough . . . worth to cause that kind of pain. Anger, yes, but not the hurt that looked at him through Rupert's eyes. He hadn't believed, until just then, that his absence mattered so much, well, not to anyone but himself.
Wesley finally answered, taking a deep breath and glancing up. "I won't run, Rupert. I can't anymore." He had too look away as he whispered, "It hurts too much."
There was no verbal response from Rupert and Wesley finally dared a glance at his lover once again. Rupert was studying him, face serious. Finally, Rupert gave a small nod, squeezing Wesley's hand. "Faith's here as well. In a coma."
Wesley gasped, pushing himself away from the wall to face Rupert. He stood there for a heartbeat, unsure what to do. Then, finally, he looked back to the floor. "How did it happen?"
"She was stabbed, in the stomach . . . with a knife." There was a significant tone to Rupert's last words, but it took Wesley a dumbfounded moment to understand.
"The knife?" Wesley found himself whispering. Rupert sighed, nodding. "And in the stomach? Like the skeleton in the cairn?" Another nod. "Disloyalty," Wesley said quietly, remembering the knife humming through the air above his head, pinning that creature to the wall, maybe saving his life. The life of her "boss'" enemy.
Wesley had no idea what to do with that information. He stood there, his forehead furrowing as he tried to fit it in somewhere. And then Rupert was leaning closer to him, his voice so low Wesley wasn't even certain Oz could pick up the words from where he sat five feet away. "It's not your fault. Buffy and she fought."
"But the knife," Wesley said softly, glancing up to Rupert and taking some small comfort from the sympathy in the man's eyes. "I . . ."
"We were all fooled, Wesley. They beat you to a bloody pulp and left a trail of breadcrumbs. For a chance to make them look as badly as you did after they . . ." Rupert shook his head and Wesley had to bite his lip to keep from speaking. Now wasn't the time, or the place, but . . . He gave Rupert a small, if wan, smile and nodded. He wasn't entirely convinced, but it helped to know that someone at least understood his train of thought, even if Rupert didn't agree with him.
Buffy emerged from one of the rooms then, drawing everyone's attention. Wesley was right behind Rupert as they rushed to her. He pushed all thoughts of Faith from his mind. He'd think about that later, assuming he managed to live through this.
"Are you okay?" Xander was asking, followed quickly by Rupert's, "How do you feel?"
"Is Angel here?" she asked, looking around, ignoring both the questions. There was a hardness to her eyes that Wesley had never seen before.
"He had to go. It got kinda sunny." Oz explained.
"Get him. Get everyone," Buffy said, her voice flat, but firm.
"What exactly is up?" Xander asked, his words once again almost on top of Rupert's, "Buffy, are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm ready," Buffy said and despite everything, she looked it. Ready for the Mayor, ready for someone to try and stop her from doing just what she felt she had to. Wesley was glad that, for the moment, the two of them weren't on opposite sides of the situation.
"Ready for what?" Willow asked the very question on Wesley's mind.
"War." Buffy's pronouncement silenced them all. She turned, her eyes finding him. "The Council's not welcome here. I have no time for orders."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not here for the Council," he said softly. Her eyes flicked over to Rupert and then she looked back to him, gaze sliding down to their still joined hands. She met his eyes once again. She wasn't smiling, but she nodded.
"Yeah. It's a good thing."
The trip to the library was a blur. Wesley had to force himself to let go of Rupert's hand, realizing what an unseemly show that was. Still, he couldn't seem to stop glancing over, to make sure Rupert was still there, still with him. Wesley had to keep assuring himself that he wasn't dreaming.
Largely because his actions were going to get him sacked. Even if he wasn't already disgraced in the Council's eyes, this would do it. Working with Rupert, supporting yet another 'rogue Slayer', because that's what the Council would call her, he was throwing himself in with the Council's opposition and . . .
"The Council won't have me, after this," Wesley said, doing little more than speaking his thoughts aloud. They'd just arrived at the school. Rupert turned the car off and turned to look at him.
"You could lie. You'll never be assigned to a Slayer or Potential after this, but . . . they'd find some way to use your talents if you . . ." Rupert shrugged one shoulder, giving him a searching look.
"I could. I'm not going to," Wesley answered softly, giving Rupert another wan smile. "I can still do good. Even if the Council . . . I'm not completely useless." Wesley gave a small, snorting laugh, using the self-deprecating humor to push aside the fears niggling at the back of his mind.
"You're not useless at all," Rupert contradicted, reaching out to cup Wesley's face.
"I--I don't want to be," Wesley said, afraid that the desperation he felt might have slipped into his voice. "But, I have no place here. I'm not needed."
"I need you," Rupert said, giving him a small smile. "Is that enough?"
"I want it to be." Wesley answer was more vehement than even he had expected.
"Then I'll see that it is." Rupert's smile was wider now, his tone so swaggering and confident that Wesley actually found himself smiling in return, almost laughing.
"You're dangerously close to hubris, Rupert," he said, smile turning fond.
"And I need you around to keep me humble," Rupert replied, but as his lips covered Wesley's a heartbeat later, Wesley made no reply.
The kiss was desperate on both ends. Rupert seemed to be trying to devour him. Wesley wasn't exactly opposed to the idea. He kissed Rupert back with equal ardor, moaning softly into his lover's mouth when Rupert nipped at his lips. When the kiss ended, Wesley was panting, finding himself eager to dive in again, but knowing they had no time. They had to prepare. He stared at Rupert for a long moment, both of them trying to catch their breath and calm down before going inside to join the children.
"Are you all right," Wesley asked softly. This time it was his hand reaching up to cup Rupert's face, reveling in the scratchy feel of stubble against his palm.
"I will be. If we all live through this," Rupert's worry was clear and, for the first time, Wesley knew with certainty he was included in that statement. "We should go and see what Buffy's come up with."
Wesley nodded and they both pulled away. Neither of them spoke again on the way to the library. The situation was finally sinking in and Wesley knew Rupert had to be as tense as he was. They might not make it through this. One, or both, or all . . . It was just one more thing Wesley had to struggle not to think about. He managed to push his fears aside, for the most part, as he listened to Buffy lay out her plan. It was genius and he said so, later, when he and Rupert were packing away the books in the stacks. He could hardly believe that, in a few hours, this library would be rubble. If everything went as planned.
It was then that his fears began to get a foothold. Wesley looked over at Rupert and he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the explosives were placed correctly, if Rupert were too close to the blast, if the Mayor survived and found himself faced with Buffy, who he quite obviously wanted dead, and Rupert, who had stabbed him through the chest with a fencing foil.
"You're staring," Rupert said without looking up, a smile in his voice.
"I'm worrying," Wesley replied with a derisive snort. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to be as brave as the others. He couldn't keep himself from thinking about what could happen. Even after all the concerns had been addressed and they'd worked hard to plan everything out just so . . .
Rupert looked up at him then, the smile that had been in his tone gone from his face. "I know. There are so many things that could go wrong." Rupert shook his head, glancing down at the books in his hands.
"Exactly what I was thinking," Wesley said with a sigh, leaning back against the bookcase he'd been unloading. He couldn't help but consider the possibilities. He'd finally decided on a course, on a place and now it could be snatched away. Wesley glanced up to find Rupert staring at him now. He couldn't help but wonder if Rupert's thought ran the same way his did, if Rupert were currently numbering the things that could go wrong on Wesley's end.
"I'm still wrapping my mind around this," Wesley said with a shrug. "You've done this before. All of you have and I . . ." Wesley shook his head, unsure what he'd have said had he finished.
Rupert leaned forward then and Wesley met him half way, welcoming the comfort of Rupert's touch as he wrapped an arm around Wesley's waist. Wesley's slid his hands around to Rupert's back, pulling the man closer, trying to get more contact even though he knew they shouldn't be doing this, not here and not now. They should be preparing for the fight.
Of course, that didn't stop him from moaning when Rupert pressed forward, backing Wesley up until the shelves pressed into his back and arse. Wesley certainly didn't care. He was too busy tasting Rupert, desperate to feel more of that warmth that coursed through him at even Rupert's smallest touch. He knew they should stop. He was even beginning to gather himself to pull away, to say so, and then Rupert moaned into his mouth and Wesley was lost to everything except making Rupert sound that way again.
He nipped at Rupert lips, pulling away to draw in ragged breaths. Rupert worked his way down Wesley's jaw to his neck, nipping lightly and then sucking on that soft spot behind Wesley's ear.
"Oh, God," Wesley breathed softly, tugging Rupert's shirt from his trousers and thrusting his hands beneath to feel skin. Unfortunately, with Rupert's tongue working diligently at his collarbone, reality was intruding. They couldn't do this. Anyone could walk in. Wesley was beginning to think he really was dreaming, or he'd lost his mind, especially when his cock began to fill at the thought. "Rupert, you're debauched," Wesley finally managed around the lump in his throat. "We shouldn't--"
Wesley's words cut off on a gasp as Rupert bit at his shoulder. Wesley's hips bucked forward, his cock beginning to fill. They were in the library, for the love of God and yet Wesley couldn't make himself let go of Rupert and Rupert didn't seem at all inclined to let go of him.
"Perhaps not," Rupert murmured against his skin, those lovely fingers not even pausing as they worked on Wesley's buttons. "It's likely a bad idea." Rupert wasn't stopping, though; quite the opposite, in fact. He kissed his way to one of Wesley's nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Wesley tilted his head back at the sensation, ignoring the slight thump of his skull against the shelf.
"Rupert," Wesley didn't even know what he meant by that. Stop. Don't stop. God, yes, right there. His body seemed to have a good idea of what it wanted, however and Rupert seemed to have an even better one. Wesley dug his fingertips into Rupert's back, swallowing down another gasp as Rupert worked his way back to Wesley's neck. The man's hands were sliding down, however, settling against Wesley's hips and radiating a heat that penetrated Wesley's trousers and seemed to brand his skin.
Rupert pressed forward again, his hard cock pressing against Wesley's thigh and making them both gasp. Wesley moved to catch Rupert's mouth, kissing him hard and working his fingertips under the waistband of Rupert's trousers.
"God, I want you." Rupert spoke against Wesley's lips, his hips thrusting forward and grinding their cocks together.
"Dangerous," Wesley managed to get out before kissing Rupert again, throwing himself into it as he realized this could be the last time he did this, the last time they touched one another. Then Rupert was pulling away and Wesley actually found himself disappointed that his cautions had broken through the haze.
I really have gone mad.
And then Rupert dropped to his knees before Wesley, fingers frantic as they undid the button of Wesley's trousers. Wesley almost choked on his indrawn breath, his hands resting on Rupert's shoulders and squeezing hard.
"I . . . God, Rupert, please." And again he wasn't sure what he wanted. His hips thrust forward however, his cock brushing those agile fingers. Rupert's hand slipped into his trousers, pushing aside his boxers and wrapping around his cock in just the right way to make Wesley want to groan.
He bit his lip, desperate to keep the sound in, watching with wide eyes as Rupert looked up at him. The man's motions were slow, giving Wesley plenty of time to tell him to stop. Wesley didn't however, instead, he panted, watching as Rupert pulled his cock free and licked at the head.
Wesley wasn't sure which was more arousing; the sight of Rupert, on his knees and licking him, or the feel of it. One of his hands slid up to tangle in Rupert's hair and that seemed to be all the encouragement Rupert needed. He leaned forward, taking Wesley's cock between his lips, his tongue working along the underside and making Wesley feel rather weak in the knees. Leaning back against the bookcase, Wesley couldn't tear his eyes away. He watched as Rupert's cheeks hollowed, as Rupert's hand slid inside his trousers to cup and roll his balls.
He wanted to shout with the feel of it, wanted call out Rupert's name. He managed not to, however, and the stacks were filled only with the soft sounds of Rupert's mouth working his cock and Wesley's heart pounding in his ears.
His balls were tightening, the situation unbearably erotic. Wesley knew he'd worry about himself for that, but later. Right at that moment all that mattered was the feel of Rupert's warm, wet mouth moving over the head of his cock, Rupert's hand squeezing gently at his tingling balls.
Fighting the urge to buck, to get more of that delicious heat, Wesley couldn't bite back a whimper. Then Rupert began to work his way down Wesley's shaft, taking in a little more and the a little more until Rupert's nose was pressed into Wesley's pubic hair. Then he swallowed and Wesley shuddered, orgasm spiking through him and setting his nerves on fire.
Wesley choked back another groan, nearly doubling over Rupert. His hands on Rupert's shoulders were likely the only thing keeping him upright as the peak of his orgasm passed and left waves of afterglow sliding through him. Wesley dropped to his knees, face to face with Rupert. Then they were kissing again, Rupert's mouth hot and hungry on his own, tasting of him.
Wesley slid his hand down Rupert's chest, brushing his lover's hard nipples through the stiff fabric of Rupert's shirt. Rupert made a needy noise in the back of his throat and Wesley pulled away from the kiss.
"Stand up," he told Rupert. "Want to taste you. Please, I . . ." Wesley shook his head, unable to articulate. It was stupid, it was dangerous and they'd already pressed their luck, but there was a chance he'd never have that taste on his tongue again, bitter and salty and Rupert.
Rupert complied, his breathing coming in fast, quick gasps as he stood and braced his hands against the shelf over Wesley's head. Wesley didn't hesitate. His fingers seemed awkward and clumsy, but it could have just been his own sense of haste. He finally got Rupert's button undone, pulling down the zip and reveling in the soft, half-stifled moan that slipped from Rupert's lips.
Wesley took a moment just to enjoy the feel of Rupert's cock in his hand. Thick and warm and so soft. The weight of it against his palm was familiar and natural. Wesley pulled it free, leaning in to taste the precum at the head of it, licking his way down in slow, teasing circles.
A whimper from Rupert brought their situation home once again. Wesley glanced up to find Rupert biting his own arm to keep from making too much noise. Shivering at the sight, because he loved being able to do that to his lover, Wesley leaned in and began to lick and suck in earnest. He worked a hand into Rupert's boxers, brushing his fingers along Rupert's balls and wishing he could do more, wishing they had the time and privacy for him to touch Rupert the way he wanted to.
Pushing that last thought aside, Wesley flicked his tongue against the head of Rupert's cock over and over again, tightening his lips and sliding them up and down the shaft. Rupert's legs were trembling under his hand, his balls tightening between Wesley's fingers.
Wesley redoubled his efforts and Rupert's hips jerked slightly and he came, filling Wesley's mouth. Swallowing, Wesley milked Rupert's orgasm or a moment before pulling away and tucking Rupert back into his trousers. Doing the same for himself, Wesley stood with Rupert's arms still braced against the bookcase, now on either side of him.
They both moved in to kiss, tasting one another yet again. Rupert leaned against him; feeling as near to boneless as one could be and still be standing. Wesley leaned back against the bookcase and let it hold them both up.
*****
Wesley blinked, trying to figure out why the light was so bright. Hadn't there been an eclipse? He remembered translating that there would be an eclipse. It was fuzzy, but he thought he even remembered the eclipse.
His eyes began to adjust to the bright light and he blinked, trying to get the world to come into focus around him. It took a long moment, but suddenly the room around him began to make sense, as did the beeping that sounded in his ears. A hospital. Bloody lovely.
There were soft sounds to his right. At first Wesley's hazy mind couldn't place them and he lay still for what seemed an eternity, cataloging each sound until he'd put them all together. The whisper-rustle of clothing. The soft swish of a turning page. Slow, even breathing.
"Rupert?" He sounded a bit more hopeful than he'd intended.
"Awake, Wes?" Rupert's voice came from his right and he turned his head, wondering why the world seemed to take a moment to catch up with his movement. Rupert sat in a chair pulled up close to Wesley's bedside. Wesley's volume of Dryden's poetry was in his hands, though Rupert carefully bookmarked it and laid it aside.
"You're here," Wes found himself smiling, or, at least, the thought he was. It was a bit hard to tell. Rupert smiled back at him, however, so he couldn't have done too bad a job.
"Where else would I be?" Rupert's hand moved to his and Wesley's eyes followed it of their own volition. There was an IV in the back of Wesley's hand and he stared at it for a moment before finally getting his gaze to move back to Rupert's.
"How bad?" Wesley asked with a sigh.
"Concussion, three cracked ribs and a sprained wrist," Rupert said.
"I feel . . . fuzzy. You always make me feel fuzzy . . . and warm."
Rupert smiled then, though he looked as if he was trying not to for some reason. "They've got you on rather a lot of pain medication. You, uh, insisted. Loudly."
Wesley winced. "Disgraced myself?"
"Well, you're hardly the only one in the hospital. And . . . some weren't that lucky." Rupert's voice was heavy for a moment, but he seemed to shake that off. "The Mayor is dead."
Wesley sighed with relief, his eyelids drooping. Was his voice slurred around the edges? "How much pain medication?"
"Rather a lot. I think, uh, I think they wanted to keep you quiet," Rupert put in with a small chuckle.
Wesley glared at him, or tried to, but given that Rupert only smiled at him, he thought me must not have managed it well at all. "Shouldn't laugh at a man with a concussion," he muttered.
"I'm just glad I have someone to split them with." Rupert's hand squeezed his and Wesley couldn't help a small smile.
"We won," Wesley said softly, boggling. They'd won. They'd saved the world. They'd lived. But not all of them had. Wesley wanted to ask who was all right, who had made it through. He must have actually said something about it aloud, because Rupert began telling him.
"Buffy, Willow, Xander, Oz and Cordelia are all fine, if dazed. Snyder was eaten, several students . . . well, the Mayor took a toll. And, of course, Faith is still in a coma."
It took Wesley a long time to remember why Faith was injured. She hadn't fought with them, after all. Then he turned a sad look to Rupert. "Uh, is . . . is Faith in this hospital?"
Rupert's forehead furrowed. "Yes. She is. Why?"
"I want to visit her," he said softly. He felt Rupert squeeze his hand again.
"Of course." They were both quiet for a long moment. Wesley stared at Rupert, smiling and unable to stop himself. Despite the injuries, he still couldn't think of a single other place he'd rather be.
"What?" Rupert asked after a moment.
"It's over. This one is, at least."
"Yes," Rupert said softly. "I was telling Buffy that I found a dramatic irony attached to all this. A synchronicity that borders on predestination and--"
"Rupert?" Wesley waited until his lover looked at him, "It is rather a lot of pain medication."