Fic: Nonverbal Communication, Giles/Wesley, PG13
Title: Nonverbal Communication
Author: lostgirlslair
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Tea, Books, and H/C
Spoilers: Set during season 3 of BtVS.
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
Writing for noelia_g for the Wesley Round at maleslashminis! I hope you like it! Big thanks to mireille719 for the beta!
Wesley didn't even hear the door open at first. He'd found a volume written in Aschorot, rare enough even in the Council's immense library, and it had absorbed him. It was the groan that first drew his eyes up.
Giles stood leaning against the checkout desk, his glasses askew and his hair mussed. Wesley blinked, standing so quickly that he almost knocked over his chair. Luckily he caught it before it clattered to the floor.
"What's happened? Are you all right?" Wesley had already taken several steps toward Mr. Giles when the man waved him away.
"I'm fine. Just a little banged up." Giles fixed his glasses and smoothed his hair. It was only when he lifted his arm to do so that Wesley saw the ragged tears in his shirt. There was blood around the edges, bright crimson in the dim light of the library. "There was a vampire lurking around outside the school and . . ." Giles trailed off, shaking his head.
Wesley didn't really think he needed to hear the details. He doubted they'd do anything more than highlight his own recent cowardice in the face of Balthazar and, beyond that, he really didn't feel like hearing about the heroism of the man he was supposed to be replacing.
"Is that the worst of it?" Wesley asked, trying for brisk professionalism as he went to Mr. Giles' office to retrieve the first aid kit.
"Mostly," Giles answered and Wesley glanced back over his shoulder to find Giles inspecting a few more bloody rips in the side of his shirt. "Don't bother yourself," he said, giving Wesley a rather unfriendly glance. "I can see to it."
Wesley cocked an eyebrow, snorting loudly. "Why, yes, of course. Much better to blindly bandage wounds you can barely see instead of asking for assistance. What was I thinking? I'll just get back to my reading, shall I?"
Giles glared at him, and Wesley turned back to the table. He pretended to be engrossed in the book, listening as Giles walked into the office, banging around and muttering under his breath. Wesley didn't know what Giles was saying, but he could guess at some of it.
Wesley hid a small smug smile, shaking his head over Giles' stubbornness. It was a hiss of pain from the office that finally pulled Wesley to his feet.
Giles sat in his desk chair, dabbing at the cuts on his arm. His shirtsleeve was rolled up to reveal them and Wesley had to admit that they looked rather painful. Giles hissed softly as he craned his neck to see the cuts, and only then did Wesley realize how gingerly he moved. The muscle flexed and strained beneath Giles' skin, but some of the cuts were behind his elbow, and no matter how he moved, Giles wasn't going to be able to see them.
"Oh, for God's sake, let me help." Wesley said, though he regretted his sharp tone a moment later when Giles' head snapped up, apparently wrenching already sore muscles.
"I'm fine," Giles said, even as he winced. "They're just scratches."
"You're stubborn," Wesley countered, taking the alcohol-dipped cloth out of Giles' hand. Giles let him have it, giving a deep wince that Wesley thought might have started as a shrug. "You're going to have to take your shirt off." Wesley was too busy examining the long scrapes that ran up the back of Giles' arm to notice, at first, that Giles had lifted an eyebrow in question. When he did notice, Wesley was rather afraid he blushed, but he refused to give in to such a juvenile action. "I can't get to those cuts unless you take off your shirt. They're mostly under your sleeve as it is and I don't think it will roll much further."
"Damn," Giles said softly, sighing as he unbuttoned his shirt. Wesley waited patiently, trying to look anywhere but at Giles as the man finally managed that and began to take his shirt off. Wesley reached out to help him, only to draw back his hands at the sight of Giles' glare.
"Very well," Wesley stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited. Giles clearly had emotional issues, however much he denied it. The man made goats look reasonable. Wesley realized the cloth he'd taken from Giles was dripping alcohol on his shirt sleeve and tsked, rubbing at the spot with his thumb and hoping it wouldn't cause a stain.
"Can we get this over with?" Giles said, and Wesley looked up to find Giles sitting there in his undershirt, his eyebrows low over his eyes and clearly ready to join in should Giles feel the need to glare.
Wesley had to swallow a laugh at the sight. Giles glared daggers at him, but it seemed a total juxtaposition: Giles, in his undershirt, in the library. Wesley, though he hated to admit it even to himself, found the man rather intimidating, entirely unapproachable, but seeing him like that . . . It made a difference somehow. Wesley could feel his shoulders relax, his spine lose some of its rigidity.
"Exactly what are you laughing at?" Giles asked. Wesley found himself far more relaxed that he should have been, given Giles' tone.
"I didn't laugh," Wesley corrected, trying for a very straight face as he moved to wipe at the cuts up and down Giles' bicep.
Giles rolled his eyes, but didn't press him, for which Wesley was glad. He wasn't sure he could, or should, explain what had so tickled him about the scene, and Giles was, well, touchy, to say the least.
Some of the cuts were deeper at the top than they'd been at the bottom. Deep enough that Wesley considered suggesting they go to the hospital. Giles hissed as Wesley tried to clean them off to get a better look. They were still oozing blood, but it wasn't much. Still . . .
"You might consider going to the hospital for these," Wesley murmured, his eyes traveling down along the worst of the scratches. Giles replied, but Wesley was only vaguely aware of that, his eyes having moved from the scratches to the skin underneath them. He was leaning in, one hand on Giles' shoulder to steady himself enough to get a close look. The heat of Giles' skin seemed to push against his palm, hot enough that Wesley knew that, when he took his hand away, he was going to feel the heat for a while.
"Wesley?" Wesley started, taking a step away from Giles, and blinking.
"I'm sorry, what?" Something in his face must have shown that he was uneasy. Yes, that or the fact that you were so absorbed in looking at him that you didn't hear a word he said. Good show, Pryce.
"I said I didn't think they were that serious," Giles said, his forehead furrowing as he gave Wesley a quizzical look. "Are you all right?"
"I don't think they are, but the others might be." Wesley said, stepping forward again to finish cleaning the scratches. He suspected the ones on Giles' side were worse and, if that was the case, they would have to go to the hospital. "And of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You looked pale. I thought you might be fainting." There was a thread of amusement in Giles' voice, and suddenly Wesley was angry.
"I'm not completely wet, Rupert," Wesley bit out.
"Ow! Damn it, that hurt." Giles glared at him, but Wesley didn't take it personally.
"Sorry," he muttered.
Giles sighed, but Wesley didn't so much as glance over to see what his expression was. He didn't need any further provocation.
"Thank you," he heard Giles say, so quietly that he wasn't even sure he'd heard right, at first. He did glance up then, to find Giles' face not far from his own. Giles' eyes were clearly on the wounds, but they flicked to Wesley's when Wesley didn't look away.
Their eyes locked for a heartbeat, and Wesley darted in, pressing their lips together. He flicked his tongue out to brush along Giles' lips. Giles groaned, but Wesley wasn't sure if it was the kiss or his wounds. He pulled back, blinking at Giles and trying to think of something sane to say.
"What was that?" Giles asked, his voice too neutral for Wesley to decide how angry Giles was.
"I'm not entirely certain," Wesley found himself saying as his stomach turned cartwheels toward his toes. "I think I just kissed you."
"You did," Giles replied, nodding rather blankly.
"I was afraid of that," Wesley muttered, his brain all the while trying to make his mouth stop moving. Oh, dear God, as if things weren't already bad enough. He's never going to let me live that down.
"Really? I was rather more worried it was an ill-conceived attempt at CPR," Giles said.
Wesley blinked at him. Neither of them had moved, and their faces were still just inches apart.
"That was a joke," Giles said.
"I'm aware," Wesley said, shrugging. "I was trying to figure out if it was at my expense."
"No," Giles said, shaking his head, though his voice was still worryingly blank. "Just an attempt to break the tremendous tension."
"Ah. Yes. Good." Wesley wasn't sure why he wasn't moving toward, possibly even running out of, the door. His muscles seemed frozen, and he couldn't stop looking into Giles' eyes. He should stop, he should move, but he couldn't seem to get from that thought to the action.
"I think the hospital might be a good idea," Giles finally said, his voice low and husky. The tone completely overshadowed the words for a long heartbeat.
"What?"
"My side," Giles said, his voice straining. "It's bleeding, uh, quite--quite a lot."
Wesley jerked back at that, glancing to the desk chair and sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of a dark stain soaking into the fabric. It wasn't all that large, but . . .
"I'll call an ambulance," Wesley said, even as he was dialing.
"Thank you."
-----
Wesley rode with Giles in the ambulance. It didn't feel right to simply abandon him, although Wesley knew he really wasn't of much use. The paramedics gave him strange looks every time he couldn't answer a question about Giles' medical history and between that and the oxygen they kept forcing on Giles, who vehemently denied needing it, they had their hands full anyway.
When they finally reached the hospital, Wesley was left in the waiting room while Giles was rushed in for stitches and a transfusion. It seemed the biggest worry was the blood loss.
The blood he lost while I was being a git and then kissing him. Wesley closed his eyes, trying to push that thought away. He needed to call Buffy or, at least, if he didn't he was going to have one very angry Slayer to contend with. Luckily, Wesley kept a card in his wallet with all the relevant numbers; otherwise he'd have had to dig through the phone book for the Summers' phone, since Buffy's wasn't listed. Then he'd wind up speaking to Mrs. Summers, and Wesley wasn't sure what he'd have said; best to let Buffy deal with her own mother.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end was hushed, but not sleepy. She'd probably just gotten in from patrol, he guessed.
"Buffy, it's Wesley. I'm calling because Mr. Giles is in hospital and--"
"What?!" Buffy's voice rose then, the hushed tones falling away. "Is he all right? What happened?"
"Vampire attack," Wesley said, turning away from the nurse station as he did. "The most worrying thing is the blood loss, and the paramedics seemed to think that he'd be fine. They said there didn't seem to be any internal injuries."
"I'll be there soon." Buffy hung up without waiting for his response, not that he blamed her. She and Giles were close; that was the whole reason he was here, wasn't it?
Wesley chose a hard plastic seat and waited. At first, he tried to leaf through the magazines, but he couldn't concentrate and quickly found himself staring off into space rather than reading. Then, quite suddenly, Willow was in front of him and Wesley jumped, startled from his thoughts.
"Willow?" Then Wesley saw Xander standing behind her. A glance revealed Buffy and Mrs. Summers speaking to the check-in nurse. "I see she woke everyone." Wesley wasn't sure why he found himself surprised by that. Giles had friends here, and they had a right to know that he was in the hospital, even at one o'clock in the morning.
"How is he? Have you heard anything?" Willow was still dressed in pajamas, as was Xander, and both of them were looking at him with worried eyes.
"I haven't heard anything, yet, but the paramedics seemed to think he would be fine as soon as they replaced some of the blood he'd lost and his scratches were stitched up. He'll be off his feet for a little while, but . . . He's going to be fine."
Relief flooded Willow's face, but Xander didn't look all that reassured. "And where were you while he was getting sliced up?"
Wesley blinked, surprised by the anger in the boy's voice. Did he really believe that Wesley would have stood by and done nothing, had he known? It isn't as if you've proved yourself to them.
"I was in the library, Xander. I very much doubt it would have occurred to any of you to walk Rupert Giles to his car." Wesley straightened his tie, glaring at Xander.
Xander ducked his head a little, and Wesley thought that was probably the closest thing to an apology he would ever get. At least Xander didn't press.
"The nurse said the same thing Wesley did," Buffy said, sighing as she slumped into another of the hard plastic chairs. Wesley was insulted for a moment, insulted that Buffy seemed to believe he'd lied, before he realized that she meant that there had been no updates.
The others took their own seats, and silence descended, awkward and worried. Wesley wasn't even certain why he was still there. He hadn't wanted to abandon Giles earlier, when the ambulance came, but now? Buffy and Willow and Xander and Mrs. Summers were all there for Giles; his presence wasn't necessary. He and Giles had certainly never been friends.
You did kiss him, though, while he was bleeding to death. Wesley grimaced at the thought, daring a quick glance around to make certain that no one had noticed. He knew that he hadn't caused this, knew that it wasn't his fault Giles was in the hospital, though he was kicking himself for not thinking to check the worst of the wounds before he kissed Giles. What worried him, was Giles' eventual reaction, especially with the children around.
Despite that, he couldn't convince himself that leaving was the best thing to do. Maybe once they'd heard something? He could slip out then, once they all knew for certain that Giles was going to be all right.
Wesley's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the doctor. Buffy asked the woman a question, but when she answered, she looked at Wesley.
"There was some blood loss, but we're taking care of that, and the attack didn't puncture anything vital. He's going to be just fine, though he's going to need rest."
"Attack?" Buffy asked, daring a quick glance at him.
"Dog. It, uh, came out of nowhere." Wesley knew he didn't sound particularly convincing. He'd just babbled out the first thing had had come to mind when the paramedics had asked.
"Well, we do see that . . . fairly often," the doctor hedged, her eyes leaving his for the first time since she arrived. Wesley doubted that the woman really believed it had been a dog attack; wounds caused by a knife didn't really resemble anything a dog would do, but she didn't contradict them. She'd probably seen more than a few strange wounds, working in Sunnydale.
"So you're going to release him?" Buffy asked, and Wesley noticed then how uncomfortable she seemed. He couldn’t blame her, he hated hospitals. But then, who didn't?
"Uh, no, I'm afraid he needs to be here a while longer, and after he is released he's going to need to rest and take it easy. You can see him, now, but just go a few at a time." The doctor gave Buffy a reassuring smile that didn't seem to help, before turning to Wesley. "I wouldn't want to be the one to make sure he does that. He's already telling the nurses that it's barely a flesh wound."
Wesley blinked, too surprised to speak for a heartbeat. By the time he had opened his mouth, the doctor had already turned and was gone. The children were already heading into Giles' room, and Wesley found himself standing in the waiting room with Mrs. Summers. She raised an eyebrow at him, but Wesley wasn't even sure what the question was, let alone how to answer it.
"We should go make sure Mr. Giles is all right," she finally said. Wesley was going to protest, but Mrs. Summers locked her arm in his and started toward the room. Wesley let himself be pulled along, fairly sure that digging his feet in and insisting that he should leave would only seem strange.
Giles looked all right. By the time he and Mrs. Summers arrived, Giles was propped up in bed, surrounded by the children. Buffy sat on one side of the bed and Willow on the other, Xander standing behind her. Willow, it seemed, was trying to keep Buffy from interrogating Giles as to what the vampire had looked like.
Giles still looked pale, though his cheeks were flushed. Wesley wasn't sure if that was from embarrassment at his current position or anger over the fact that Willow was talking about how he might want to get Buffy to walk him to his car at night.
Giles rolled his eyes, and Wesley ducked his head to a hide a smile. Then what Willow was saying finally penetrated.
"And Wesley said that none of us would have thought to walk you to your car either, and we wouldn't have, because you're Giles, but we will now--"
"Wesley said that, did he?" There was a current of annoyance in Giles' voice, though that honestly could have been aimed at just about anything at this point. Giles met Wesley's glance with a glare, but there was a smile on his face. Wesley had no idea what to make of that mixed signal.
"Uh, I--I was simply saying that it wasn't something one could have reasonably expected me to consider, since . . ." But Willow and Buffy were off again, talking over one another while Xander threw in pithy comments.
Once Giles' attention, and Mrs. Summers', were thoroughly taken up by the resulting cacophony, Wesley slipped out. Despite his worries, it wasn't even so much that Wesley wanted to go as . . . Well, the more he stood there, watching them, listening to them, the more clear it became that he didn't quite belong there.
-----
Wesley knew he needed to get a hold of himself. He sat in Giles' office, staring at his thermos and the two mugs he'd found, gnawing on his lip. The problem, he thought, was mostly that he had no idea of the etiquette required for this situation. Giles would be coming back to the library today, and Wesley wasn't sure what to say. Should he bring the kiss up? Apologize at once and get it out of the way? Perhaps he shouldn't say anything at all?
Closing his eyes, Wesley let his head drop onto the desk. The 'thunk' it made didn't actually make him feel any better. He'd been going round and round about this, and more, since Giles had actually gone to the hospital, and all the worrying hadn't gotten him anywhere. He'd considered going to visit Giles while he was recuperating, but he knew he wouldn't have, just a week ago, and what had changed? Yes, he'd been impulsive, and quite probably insane, and kissed Giles, but . . . It didn't change anything and Wesley refused to act as if it had.
"Bugger," Wesley muttered, finally raising his head.
"Wesley?"
Wesley nearly started out of his skin; his posture going rigid in an instant as he turned to find Giles leaning in the doorway to the office. It was still early, earlier than Wesley had expected Giles to show up.
"Oh. Hello." Which was about as far as Wesley had gotten on the topic of 'What Am I Going To Say?'
"You're in early."
"Yes, well, I had a few calls to make this morning . . ." Now he was lying. Lovely. "You're looking better." Wesley winced as he realized exactly what he'd said. Giles only arched an eyebrow at him, but Wesley actually thought he saw the hint of a smile.
"One would hope," Giles said. He straightened away from the door frame and it was only because Wesley was watching so closely that he noticed Giles' slight wince.
Silence stretched between them for a long, awkward moment.
"Wesley," Giles' tone was slightly hesitant. Wesley forced himself to meet the other man's gaze. "I thought we should discuss--"
And suddenly Wesley was standing, an apology already babbling out. He wasn't even sure when he'd decided that that was the proper course, or why he felt rather wretched about it, but his mouth had taken off without him.
"I think you should know that I never intended to . . . It took me as much by surprise as you, and I would very much appreciate it if we could . . . Well, ignore it, and certainly not mention it to the children, or . . . .Or, anyone, for that matter. As it would only . . . Uh . . ." Wesley trailed to a halt, realizing he was making fairly little sense.
"You do ramble on, don't you?" Giles asked, though the look on his face as he said it didn't make it seem like criticism, which only made Wesley further confused. And a bit angry.
"I was attempting to apologize," Wesley bit out, entirely confused when Giles actually smiled.
"Oh? Is that what that was?" Giles' cheerfulness only made Wesley more angry. Giles seemed to be enjoying this far too much.
Smug bastard.
Wesley opened his mouth to say just that, but he didn't have much of a chance. Giles was suddenly in front of him. Wesley had a heartbeat, and barely that, in which to be shocked before Giles' lips pressed against his own, before Giles' tongue swept along them.
The sound Wesley made was something between a questioning noise and startled squeak. Giles chuckled against his mouth, and Wesley could feel the vibration. Giles pulled back, and Wesley gaped at him, unable to speak even if he had known what to say.
"I thought I'd even things up," Giles said, which was about the time Wesley realized Giles' hand was still on his shoulder.
Wesley blinked, taking a deep breath. "I'd hardly call that even," Wesley replied, trying to inject some acid into his tone. "I gave you a much better kiss."
Giles threw his head back, laughing.
"An attempt to break the tremendous tension?" Wesley asked, stifling a smile of his own.
"Something like that." Giles' hand slid down Wesley's arm, rubbing lightly at Wesley's bicep. "Though I think it makes my feelings on the matter clearer."
"I don't know," Wesley said, taking a tiny step closer, pressing their bodies together lightly. "I may still be rather confused."
Giles grinned, actually grinned. Wesley couldn't remember ever seeing that expression before.
"I see," Giles said, "Perhaps more clarification is in order?"
Wesley didn't get a chance to agree. At least, not verbally.
Author: lostgirlslair
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Tea, Books, and H/C
Spoilers: Set during season 3 of BtVS.
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
Writing for noelia_g for the Wesley Round at maleslashminis! I hope you like it! Big thanks to mireille719 for the beta!
Wesley didn't even hear the door open at first. He'd found a volume written in Aschorot, rare enough even in the Council's immense library, and it had absorbed him. It was the groan that first drew his eyes up.
Giles stood leaning against the checkout desk, his glasses askew and his hair mussed. Wesley blinked, standing so quickly that he almost knocked over his chair. Luckily he caught it before it clattered to the floor.
"What's happened? Are you all right?" Wesley had already taken several steps toward Mr. Giles when the man waved him away.
"I'm fine. Just a little banged up." Giles fixed his glasses and smoothed his hair. It was only when he lifted his arm to do so that Wesley saw the ragged tears in his shirt. There was blood around the edges, bright crimson in the dim light of the library. "There was a vampire lurking around outside the school and . . ." Giles trailed off, shaking his head.
Wesley didn't really think he needed to hear the details. He doubted they'd do anything more than highlight his own recent cowardice in the face of Balthazar and, beyond that, he really didn't feel like hearing about the heroism of the man he was supposed to be replacing.
"Is that the worst of it?" Wesley asked, trying for brisk professionalism as he went to Mr. Giles' office to retrieve the first aid kit.
"Mostly," Giles answered and Wesley glanced back over his shoulder to find Giles inspecting a few more bloody rips in the side of his shirt. "Don't bother yourself," he said, giving Wesley a rather unfriendly glance. "I can see to it."
Wesley cocked an eyebrow, snorting loudly. "Why, yes, of course. Much better to blindly bandage wounds you can barely see instead of asking for assistance. What was I thinking? I'll just get back to my reading, shall I?"
Giles glared at him, and Wesley turned back to the table. He pretended to be engrossed in the book, listening as Giles walked into the office, banging around and muttering under his breath. Wesley didn't know what Giles was saying, but he could guess at some of it.
Wesley hid a small smug smile, shaking his head over Giles' stubbornness. It was a hiss of pain from the office that finally pulled Wesley to his feet.
Giles sat in his desk chair, dabbing at the cuts on his arm. His shirtsleeve was rolled up to reveal them and Wesley had to admit that they looked rather painful. Giles hissed softly as he craned his neck to see the cuts, and only then did Wesley realize how gingerly he moved. The muscle flexed and strained beneath Giles' skin, but some of the cuts were behind his elbow, and no matter how he moved, Giles wasn't going to be able to see them.
"Oh, for God's sake, let me help." Wesley said, though he regretted his sharp tone a moment later when Giles' head snapped up, apparently wrenching already sore muscles.
"I'm fine," Giles said, even as he winced. "They're just scratches."
"You're stubborn," Wesley countered, taking the alcohol-dipped cloth out of Giles' hand. Giles let him have it, giving a deep wince that Wesley thought might have started as a shrug. "You're going to have to take your shirt off." Wesley was too busy examining the long scrapes that ran up the back of Giles' arm to notice, at first, that Giles had lifted an eyebrow in question. When he did notice, Wesley was rather afraid he blushed, but he refused to give in to such a juvenile action. "I can't get to those cuts unless you take off your shirt. They're mostly under your sleeve as it is and I don't think it will roll much further."
"Damn," Giles said softly, sighing as he unbuttoned his shirt. Wesley waited patiently, trying to look anywhere but at Giles as the man finally managed that and began to take his shirt off. Wesley reached out to help him, only to draw back his hands at the sight of Giles' glare.
"Very well," Wesley stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited. Giles clearly had emotional issues, however much he denied it. The man made goats look reasonable. Wesley realized the cloth he'd taken from Giles was dripping alcohol on his shirt sleeve and tsked, rubbing at the spot with his thumb and hoping it wouldn't cause a stain.
"Can we get this over with?" Giles said, and Wesley looked up to find Giles sitting there in his undershirt, his eyebrows low over his eyes and clearly ready to join in should Giles feel the need to glare.
Wesley had to swallow a laugh at the sight. Giles glared daggers at him, but it seemed a total juxtaposition: Giles, in his undershirt, in the library. Wesley, though he hated to admit it even to himself, found the man rather intimidating, entirely unapproachable, but seeing him like that . . . It made a difference somehow. Wesley could feel his shoulders relax, his spine lose some of its rigidity.
"Exactly what are you laughing at?" Giles asked. Wesley found himself far more relaxed that he should have been, given Giles' tone.
"I didn't laugh," Wesley corrected, trying for a very straight face as he moved to wipe at the cuts up and down Giles' bicep.
Giles rolled his eyes, but didn't press him, for which Wesley was glad. He wasn't sure he could, or should, explain what had so tickled him about the scene, and Giles was, well, touchy, to say the least.
Some of the cuts were deeper at the top than they'd been at the bottom. Deep enough that Wesley considered suggesting they go to the hospital. Giles hissed as Wesley tried to clean them off to get a better look. They were still oozing blood, but it wasn't much. Still . . .
"You might consider going to the hospital for these," Wesley murmured, his eyes traveling down along the worst of the scratches. Giles replied, but Wesley was only vaguely aware of that, his eyes having moved from the scratches to the skin underneath them. He was leaning in, one hand on Giles' shoulder to steady himself enough to get a close look. The heat of Giles' skin seemed to push against his palm, hot enough that Wesley knew that, when he took his hand away, he was going to feel the heat for a while.
"Wesley?" Wesley started, taking a step away from Giles, and blinking.
"I'm sorry, what?" Something in his face must have shown that he was uneasy. Yes, that or the fact that you were so absorbed in looking at him that you didn't hear a word he said. Good show, Pryce.
"I said I didn't think they were that serious," Giles said, his forehead furrowing as he gave Wesley a quizzical look. "Are you all right?"
"I don't think they are, but the others might be." Wesley said, stepping forward again to finish cleaning the scratches. He suspected the ones on Giles' side were worse and, if that was the case, they would have to go to the hospital. "And of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You looked pale. I thought you might be fainting." There was a thread of amusement in Giles' voice, and suddenly Wesley was angry.
"I'm not completely wet, Rupert," Wesley bit out.
"Ow! Damn it, that hurt." Giles glared at him, but Wesley didn't take it personally.
"Sorry," he muttered.
Giles sighed, but Wesley didn't so much as glance over to see what his expression was. He didn't need any further provocation.
"Thank you," he heard Giles say, so quietly that he wasn't even sure he'd heard right, at first. He did glance up then, to find Giles' face not far from his own. Giles' eyes were clearly on the wounds, but they flicked to Wesley's when Wesley didn't look away.
Their eyes locked for a heartbeat, and Wesley darted in, pressing their lips together. He flicked his tongue out to brush along Giles' lips. Giles groaned, but Wesley wasn't sure if it was the kiss or his wounds. He pulled back, blinking at Giles and trying to think of something sane to say.
"What was that?" Giles asked, his voice too neutral for Wesley to decide how angry Giles was.
"I'm not entirely certain," Wesley found himself saying as his stomach turned cartwheels toward his toes. "I think I just kissed you."
"You did," Giles replied, nodding rather blankly.
"I was afraid of that," Wesley muttered, his brain all the while trying to make his mouth stop moving. Oh, dear God, as if things weren't already bad enough. He's never going to let me live that down.
"Really? I was rather more worried it was an ill-conceived attempt at CPR," Giles said.
Wesley blinked at him. Neither of them had moved, and their faces were still just inches apart.
"That was a joke," Giles said.
"I'm aware," Wesley said, shrugging. "I was trying to figure out if it was at my expense."
"No," Giles said, shaking his head, though his voice was still worryingly blank. "Just an attempt to break the tremendous tension."
"Ah. Yes. Good." Wesley wasn't sure why he wasn't moving toward, possibly even running out of, the door. His muscles seemed frozen, and he couldn't stop looking into Giles' eyes. He should stop, he should move, but he couldn't seem to get from that thought to the action.
"I think the hospital might be a good idea," Giles finally said, his voice low and husky. The tone completely overshadowed the words for a long heartbeat.
"What?"
"My side," Giles said, his voice straining. "It's bleeding, uh, quite--quite a lot."
Wesley jerked back at that, glancing to the desk chair and sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of a dark stain soaking into the fabric. It wasn't all that large, but . . .
"I'll call an ambulance," Wesley said, even as he was dialing.
"Thank you."
-----
Wesley rode with Giles in the ambulance. It didn't feel right to simply abandon him, although Wesley knew he really wasn't of much use. The paramedics gave him strange looks every time he couldn't answer a question about Giles' medical history and between that and the oxygen they kept forcing on Giles, who vehemently denied needing it, they had their hands full anyway.
When they finally reached the hospital, Wesley was left in the waiting room while Giles was rushed in for stitches and a transfusion. It seemed the biggest worry was the blood loss.
The blood he lost while I was being a git and then kissing him. Wesley closed his eyes, trying to push that thought away. He needed to call Buffy or, at least, if he didn't he was going to have one very angry Slayer to contend with. Luckily, Wesley kept a card in his wallet with all the relevant numbers; otherwise he'd have had to dig through the phone book for the Summers' phone, since Buffy's wasn't listed. Then he'd wind up speaking to Mrs. Summers, and Wesley wasn't sure what he'd have said; best to let Buffy deal with her own mother.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end was hushed, but not sleepy. She'd probably just gotten in from patrol, he guessed.
"Buffy, it's Wesley. I'm calling because Mr. Giles is in hospital and--"
"What?!" Buffy's voice rose then, the hushed tones falling away. "Is he all right? What happened?"
"Vampire attack," Wesley said, turning away from the nurse station as he did. "The most worrying thing is the blood loss, and the paramedics seemed to think that he'd be fine. They said there didn't seem to be any internal injuries."
"I'll be there soon." Buffy hung up without waiting for his response, not that he blamed her. She and Giles were close; that was the whole reason he was here, wasn't it?
Wesley chose a hard plastic seat and waited. At first, he tried to leaf through the magazines, but he couldn't concentrate and quickly found himself staring off into space rather than reading. Then, quite suddenly, Willow was in front of him and Wesley jumped, startled from his thoughts.
"Willow?" Then Wesley saw Xander standing behind her. A glance revealed Buffy and Mrs. Summers speaking to the check-in nurse. "I see she woke everyone." Wesley wasn't sure why he found himself surprised by that. Giles had friends here, and they had a right to know that he was in the hospital, even at one o'clock in the morning.
"How is he? Have you heard anything?" Willow was still dressed in pajamas, as was Xander, and both of them were looking at him with worried eyes.
"I haven't heard anything, yet, but the paramedics seemed to think he would be fine as soon as they replaced some of the blood he'd lost and his scratches were stitched up. He'll be off his feet for a little while, but . . . He's going to be fine."
Relief flooded Willow's face, but Xander didn't look all that reassured. "And where were you while he was getting sliced up?"
Wesley blinked, surprised by the anger in the boy's voice. Did he really believe that Wesley would have stood by and done nothing, had he known? It isn't as if you've proved yourself to them.
"I was in the library, Xander. I very much doubt it would have occurred to any of you to walk Rupert Giles to his car." Wesley straightened his tie, glaring at Xander.
Xander ducked his head a little, and Wesley thought that was probably the closest thing to an apology he would ever get. At least Xander didn't press.
"The nurse said the same thing Wesley did," Buffy said, sighing as she slumped into another of the hard plastic chairs. Wesley was insulted for a moment, insulted that Buffy seemed to believe he'd lied, before he realized that she meant that there had been no updates.
The others took their own seats, and silence descended, awkward and worried. Wesley wasn't even certain why he was still there. He hadn't wanted to abandon Giles earlier, when the ambulance came, but now? Buffy and Willow and Xander and Mrs. Summers were all there for Giles; his presence wasn't necessary. He and Giles had certainly never been friends.
You did kiss him, though, while he was bleeding to death. Wesley grimaced at the thought, daring a quick glance around to make certain that no one had noticed. He knew that he hadn't caused this, knew that it wasn't his fault Giles was in the hospital, though he was kicking himself for not thinking to check the worst of the wounds before he kissed Giles. What worried him, was Giles' eventual reaction, especially with the children around.
Despite that, he couldn't convince himself that leaving was the best thing to do. Maybe once they'd heard something? He could slip out then, once they all knew for certain that Giles was going to be all right.
Wesley's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the doctor. Buffy asked the woman a question, but when she answered, she looked at Wesley.
"There was some blood loss, but we're taking care of that, and the attack didn't puncture anything vital. He's going to be just fine, though he's going to need rest."
"Attack?" Buffy asked, daring a quick glance at him.
"Dog. It, uh, came out of nowhere." Wesley knew he didn't sound particularly convincing. He'd just babbled out the first thing had had come to mind when the paramedics had asked.
"Well, we do see that . . . fairly often," the doctor hedged, her eyes leaving his for the first time since she arrived. Wesley doubted that the woman really believed it had been a dog attack; wounds caused by a knife didn't really resemble anything a dog would do, but she didn't contradict them. She'd probably seen more than a few strange wounds, working in Sunnydale.
"So you're going to release him?" Buffy asked, and Wesley noticed then how uncomfortable she seemed. He couldn’t blame her, he hated hospitals. But then, who didn't?
"Uh, no, I'm afraid he needs to be here a while longer, and after he is released he's going to need to rest and take it easy. You can see him, now, but just go a few at a time." The doctor gave Buffy a reassuring smile that didn't seem to help, before turning to Wesley. "I wouldn't want to be the one to make sure he does that. He's already telling the nurses that it's barely a flesh wound."
Wesley blinked, too surprised to speak for a heartbeat. By the time he had opened his mouth, the doctor had already turned and was gone. The children were already heading into Giles' room, and Wesley found himself standing in the waiting room with Mrs. Summers. She raised an eyebrow at him, but Wesley wasn't even sure what the question was, let alone how to answer it.
"We should go make sure Mr. Giles is all right," she finally said. Wesley was going to protest, but Mrs. Summers locked her arm in his and started toward the room. Wesley let himself be pulled along, fairly sure that digging his feet in and insisting that he should leave would only seem strange.
Giles looked all right. By the time he and Mrs. Summers arrived, Giles was propped up in bed, surrounded by the children. Buffy sat on one side of the bed and Willow on the other, Xander standing behind her. Willow, it seemed, was trying to keep Buffy from interrogating Giles as to what the vampire had looked like.
Giles still looked pale, though his cheeks were flushed. Wesley wasn't sure if that was from embarrassment at his current position or anger over the fact that Willow was talking about how he might want to get Buffy to walk him to his car at night.
Giles rolled his eyes, and Wesley ducked his head to a hide a smile. Then what Willow was saying finally penetrated.
"And Wesley said that none of us would have thought to walk you to your car either, and we wouldn't have, because you're Giles, but we will now--"
"Wesley said that, did he?" There was a current of annoyance in Giles' voice, though that honestly could have been aimed at just about anything at this point. Giles met Wesley's glance with a glare, but there was a smile on his face. Wesley had no idea what to make of that mixed signal.
"Uh, I--I was simply saying that it wasn't something one could have reasonably expected me to consider, since . . ." But Willow and Buffy were off again, talking over one another while Xander threw in pithy comments.
Once Giles' attention, and Mrs. Summers', were thoroughly taken up by the resulting cacophony, Wesley slipped out. Despite his worries, it wasn't even so much that Wesley wanted to go as . . . Well, the more he stood there, watching them, listening to them, the more clear it became that he didn't quite belong there.
-----
Wesley knew he needed to get a hold of himself. He sat in Giles' office, staring at his thermos and the two mugs he'd found, gnawing on his lip. The problem, he thought, was mostly that he had no idea of the etiquette required for this situation. Giles would be coming back to the library today, and Wesley wasn't sure what to say. Should he bring the kiss up? Apologize at once and get it out of the way? Perhaps he shouldn't say anything at all?
Closing his eyes, Wesley let his head drop onto the desk. The 'thunk' it made didn't actually make him feel any better. He'd been going round and round about this, and more, since Giles had actually gone to the hospital, and all the worrying hadn't gotten him anywhere. He'd considered going to visit Giles while he was recuperating, but he knew he wouldn't have, just a week ago, and what had changed? Yes, he'd been impulsive, and quite probably insane, and kissed Giles, but . . . It didn't change anything and Wesley refused to act as if it had.
"Bugger," Wesley muttered, finally raising his head.
"Wesley?"
Wesley nearly started out of his skin; his posture going rigid in an instant as he turned to find Giles leaning in the doorway to the office. It was still early, earlier than Wesley had expected Giles to show up.
"Oh. Hello." Which was about as far as Wesley had gotten on the topic of 'What Am I Going To Say?'
"You're in early."
"Yes, well, I had a few calls to make this morning . . ." Now he was lying. Lovely. "You're looking better." Wesley winced as he realized exactly what he'd said. Giles only arched an eyebrow at him, but Wesley actually thought he saw the hint of a smile.
"One would hope," Giles said. He straightened away from the door frame and it was only because Wesley was watching so closely that he noticed Giles' slight wince.
Silence stretched between them for a long, awkward moment.
"Wesley," Giles' tone was slightly hesitant. Wesley forced himself to meet the other man's gaze. "I thought we should discuss--"
And suddenly Wesley was standing, an apology already babbling out. He wasn't even sure when he'd decided that that was the proper course, or why he felt rather wretched about it, but his mouth had taken off without him.
"I think you should know that I never intended to . . . It took me as much by surprise as you, and I would very much appreciate it if we could . . . Well, ignore it, and certainly not mention it to the children, or . . . .Or, anyone, for that matter. As it would only . . . Uh . . ." Wesley trailed to a halt, realizing he was making fairly little sense.
"You do ramble on, don't you?" Giles asked, though the look on his face as he said it didn't make it seem like criticism, which only made Wesley further confused. And a bit angry.
"I was attempting to apologize," Wesley bit out, entirely confused when Giles actually smiled.
"Oh? Is that what that was?" Giles' cheerfulness only made Wesley more angry. Giles seemed to be enjoying this far too much.
Smug bastard.
Wesley opened his mouth to say just that, but he didn't have much of a chance. Giles was suddenly in front of him. Wesley had a heartbeat, and barely that, in which to be shocked before Giles' lips pressed against his own, before Giles' tongue swept along them.
The sound Wesley made was something between a questioning noise and startled squeak. Giles chuckled against his mouth, and Wesley could feel the vibration. Giles pulled back, and Wesley gaped at him, unable to speak even if he had known what to say.
"I thought I'd even things up," Giles said, which was about the time Wesley realized Giles' hand was still on his shoulder.
Wesley blinked, taking a deep breath. "I'd hardly call that even," Wesley replied, trying to inject some acid into his tone. "I gave you a much better kiss."
Giles threw his head back, laughing.
"An attempt to break the tremendous tension?" Wesley asked, stifling a smile of his own.
"Something like that." Giles' hand slid down Wesley's arm, rubbing lightly at Wesley's bicep. "Though I think it makes my feelings on the matter clearer."
"I don't know," Wesley said, taking a tiny step closer, pressing their bodies together lightly. "I may still be rather confused."
Giles grinned, actually grinned. Wesley couldn't remember ever seeing that expression before.
"I see," Giles said, "Perhaps more clarification is in order?"
Wesley didn't get a chance to agree. At least, not verbally.