(no subject)
This is as far as I've got with this fic. I will definitely finish it but I think it's going to have to be after Christmas as I am so far behind on my pixie deadline. I've tried to leave it in a place that isn't too annoying.
Edited to add that this fic is now complete (finally!). The last three parts can be found here:
Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen (final part)
New All Over, Part Thirteen
Wesley had been intending to go back to his own flat for the night, but Buffy and the other ‘Scoobies’ - who had first paid a visit at lunchtime and then again about three minutes after school had ended - were so horrified by that suggestion that he had decided the better part of valour was giving in and staying with Mr. Giles. Before his illness, coma - he was still not quite sure which it had been - that would have been a fairly appalling prospect; Wesley expecting hours of being sniped at and dismissed and belittled; but now that was actually quite a pleasant way to spend an evening. Giles shooed them out at the end of the evening and then turned back to Wesley as if it were quite the treat for him to have Wesley to himself, rather than some hideous burden he had been lumbered with by fate.
“Brandy…?” Giles offered.
Wesley looked up in surprise. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“If anyone asks can you tell them I gave it to you in hot milk for medicinal purposes?” Giles handed him the glass.
“Oh, absolutely.” Wesley sipped the warming spirit nervously. “Um - Mr Giles, I’m still a little confused as to what exactly…transpired while I was ill…?”
Giles sat down opposite him, glass in his hand. They weren’t brandy glasses - Wesley thought of the ones at home - they were just ordinary glasses; Wesley suspected that Giles had a somewhat schizophrenic attitude to the trappings of tradition; embracing the tweed while deliberately passing the port the wrong way after dinner, that sort of thing.
“Well, you were…ill, and we all took it turns to take care of you, and Buffy was with me when we found you and consequently has become a little over-protective, as you may have noticed. Just don’t ask her if you can go with her on patrol for a few days and everything should be fine.”
Wesley felt that was an answer and yet no answer but he didn’t really know how to ask the same question again without making it obvious. He cast around the room for more clues as to what had occurred but, with the exception of Cuthbert, there was no evidence of his visit at all, just the many many toys and games Giles had evidently purchased for his nephew. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your nephew.”
“I’m sure he would have liked to meet you too.”
Giles always looked so sad when he talked about his nephew. Wesley was afraid that the child might have a terminal illness. That would explain the spoiling Giles seemed to have indulged in while the boy was staying with him.
“Is he…quite well…?”
“Yes, quite well. I just miss him. We all do. The children were very fond of him as well.”
“You must have had your hands full, taking care of him and me?”
Giles took a sip of his brandy. “It was fine, Wesley.”
But he could imagine the complexities of trying to amuse a small child while taking care of a coma patient upstairs. And how many bedrooms did this place have? Had he turned Giles out of his bed? Giles had still not uttered a word of reproach about Wesley touching the amulet in the first place. It made Wesley feel slightly sick inside to think about his father’s reaction if he had done such a thing, and inconvenienced the man in the process. Perhaps his father would have been worried about him - showed him some concern…? But somehow he doubted it.
“I must have been a great deal of trouble to you.”
Giles looked him directly in the eye. “You were no trouble at all, Wesley. It was a pleasure having you here.”
Wesley was touched by that and had to stare fixedly into his brandy for a moment before he rallied enough to say: “Well, at least I was quiet. And not reminding you that I was now the Council’s representative every five minutes.” He darted a quick look at Giles to see if that would be accepted in the spirit in which it was meant.
Giles gave a little smile. “Well, yes, that did make a nice change. My only real gripe with you is for having chosen the same kind of pyjamas as me. Buffy is now convinced that they’re Council Issue and that they hand them to us along with our toothbrushes and little tweed waistcoats when they send us off to be Watchers.”
“I do seem to recall a memo about ‘dressing in a manner appropriate to one’s position as the Council’s representative’. I always buy that brand of pyjamas, they’re the same as the ones I had when I was a child. I get them from Budd.”
Giles grimaced. “Ah yes, me too.”
Wesley looked at Giles’ tweed jacket. “Pooles?”
Giles looked down at it in some confusion. “Oh - yes, I…shopped elsewhere for a while but when I’d finished rebelling I realized that there is a reason why bespoke tailoring is still so popular.”
Wesley swirled the brandy around in the non brandy glass, wondering if it bothered Giles as much as it did him that it wasn’t in a brandy glass and how absurd that was; all these things dinned into him when he was a child about the correct way to dress and the correct way to behave, and how one always rose if a lady came into the room, and behind it all a nightmare array of demons. “Does it get easier…?”
“What?”
“Rebelling?”
Giles half-smiled. “I think the children would tell you that I have hardly rebelled at all.”
“And yet…” Wesley held up the glass.
Giles laughed. “Finally! Someone who recognises this as a rebellion. It’s a tricky one, isn’t it? Decide no rules apply to you and you become Faith; decide all rules must be adhered to however arcane and you become…”
“Me.” Wesley took a sip of brandy, trying not to grip the glass too tightly as the alcohol heated his veins. “You become me.”
“My first rebellion was not exactly an edifying spectacle. And a few Watchers have gone rather spectacularly off the rails in the past.”
“Goodness, yes.” Wesley put down his brandy before he was tempted to gulp down the rest of it without savouring it. “Emerson.”
“Good Lord, Emerson.” Giles shook his head. “I’d forgotten him. Is he the one who became obsessed with the idea that to kill vampires one had to imbibe their strength?”
Wesley nodded. “Used to eat vampire brains to see if that gave him a greater understanding of them. Horrible, of course, as they must have been alive when he removed the brain or else he would have been eating a lot of dust sandwiches.” He shuddered. “You know… I always thought that was a grisly tale but when I think of Angel…”
“If it’s any consolation, Angelus did things equally revolting to his victims in his time.”
Wesley considered the point. “Let me see, a reminder that the Slayer’s boyfriend, and person we work with every day, used to eat his victims’ entrails while they were still trying to use them…oddly enough, I’m not consoled.”
Giles smiled. “I’ve always tried to downplay the ‘Angel as Buffy’s boyfriend’ part of the equation when making my reports to the Council.”
“Yes, I doubt Quentin Travers would be thrilled by the prospect of the Chosen One socializing with the Scourge of Europe. And yet…”
Giles waited for Wesley to finish. “Go on…?”
Wesley grimaced. “It’s just… Doesn’t the existence of Angel challenge so many of the beliefs that the Council are built upon? We train Slayers to kill vampires. We don’t socialize with vampires. The only good vampire is a dusted vampire… But if their souls can be restored…?”
“I try not to think about it…now, I mean. In the beginning, I thought about it a lot. But Angel’s circumstances were unique and because of his uniqueness there is no one with whom to compare him. Humans have souls and yet still do terrible things. The men who thought of the Final Solution all had souls. Is Angel on the side of good because of his soul alone or because of something that is in him? Would another vampire with a soul still be able to enjoy the kill? It’s remorse that prevents Angel from killing again. He admits the hunger is still with him. Perhaps another vampire might not be able to resist its call. Presumably even some serial killers feel spasms of guilt.”
“But he seems so…important. He was brought back from hell by a higher power. And an ancient evil deemed him of such danger to itself that it tried to persuade him to kill himself. Doesn’t that suggest that he has some task ahead of him which only he can perform?”
Giles blinked at that, clearly surprised by the suggestion which Wesley offered so diffidently. “The Ascension?”
“Or something beyond it. Something more important even than that. Have you ever tried researching apocalyptic scrolls to see if there are any references to someone who could perhaps be Angel?”
“The thought never occurred to me,” Giles observed.
Wesley felt awkward. “Oh well then… perhaps I’m just…”
“No, Wesley. I think you’re talking a great deal of sense.”
Wesley waited and the obvious rider didn’t come, confused he took another sip of brandy.
“What is it…?” Giles prompted.
“I was waiting for the ‘for once’.”
Giles half-winced, half-smiled. “Wesley, are you implying that I have been something of a…bitch since you arrived?”
Wesley half choked on his brandy and then couldn’t help smiling back. “I was going for ‘unhelpful’ and ‘critical’. But now you mention it ‘bitch’ pretty much covers it.” He held up a hand. “On the other hand I know that I’ve been an irritating prat.”
Giles held up the brandy glass. “In vino veritas?”
Wesley shook his head. “No, I’ll still recognize that when I’m sober. This place just...wasn’t really what I was expecting.”
“I can imagine. Actually, no, I can remember. It wasn’t what I was expecting either. The theory is so exciting, isn’t it? And the practise is so…painfully messy at times.”
“I was hoping for this…” Wesley waved a hand between them.
Giles frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“That we could be...colleagues.”
“Colleagues or friends?” Giles asked, quite gently.
Wesley looked into his brandy. “Friends would have been nice.”
“Well, let’s think of this as a new beginning, shall we?” Giles leaned across and clinked his glass against Wesley’s. “To friendship.”
Surprised and warmed more by the gesture than the brandy itself, Wesley smiled. “To friendship.”
***
Edited to add that this fic is now complete (finally!). The last three parts can be found here:
Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen (final part)
New All Over, Part Thirteen
Wesley had been intending to go back to his own flat for the night, but Buffy and the other ‘Scoobies’ - who had first paid a visit at lunchtime and then again about three minutes after school had ended - were so horrified by that suggestion that he had decided the better part of valour was giving in and staying with Mr. Giles. Before his illness, coma - he was still not quite sure which it had been - that would have been a fairly appalling prospect; Wesley expecting hours of being sniped at and dismissed and belittled; but now that was actually quite a pleasant way to spend an evening. Giles shooed them out at the end of the evening and then turned back to Wesley as if it were quite the treat for him to have Wesley to himself, rather than some hideous burden he had been lumbered with by fate.
“Brandy…?” Giles offered.
Wesley looked up in surprise. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“If anyone asks can you tell them I gave it to you in hot milk for medicinal purposes?” Giles handed him the glass.
“Oh, absolutely.” Wesley sipped the warming spirit nervously. “Um - Mr Giles, I’m still a little confused as to what exactly…transpired while I was ill…?”
Giles sat down opposite him, glass in his hand. They weren’t brandy glasses - Wesley thought of the ones at home - they were just ordinary glasses; Wesley suspected that Giles had a somewhat schizophrenic attitude to the trappings of tradition; embracing the tweed while deliberately passing the port the wrong way after dinner, that sort of thing.
“Well, you were…ill, and we all took it turns to take care of you, and Buffy was with me when we found you and consequently has become a little over-protective, as you may have noticed. Just don’t ask her if you can go with her on patrol for a few days and everything should be fine.”
Wesley felt that was an answer and yet no answer but he didn’t really know how to ask the same question again without making it obvious. He cast around the room for more clues as to what had occurred but, with the exception of Cuthbert, there was no evidence of his visit at all, just the many many toys and games Giles had evidently purchased for his nephew. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your nephew.”
“I’m sure he would have liked to meet you too.”
Giles always looked so sad when he talked about his nephew. Wesley was afraid that the child might have a terminal illness. That would explain the spoiling Giles seemed to have indulged in while the boy was staying with him.
“Is he…quite well…?”
“Yes, quite well. I just miss him. We all do. The children were very fond of him as well.”
“You must have had your hands full, taking care of him and me?”
Giles took a sip of his brandy. “It was fine, Wesley.”
But he could imagine the complexities of trying to amuse a small child while taking care of a coma patient upstairs. And how many bedrooms did this place have? Had he turned Giles out of his bed? Giles had still not uttered a word of reproach about Wesley touching the amulet in the first place. It made Wesley feel slightly sick inside to think about his father’s reaction if he had done such a thing, and inconvenienced the man in the process. Perhaps his father would have been worried about him - showed him some concern…? But somehow he doubted it.
“I must have been a great deal of trouble to you.”
Giles looked him directly in the eye. “You were no trouble at all, Wesley. It was a pleasure having you here.”
Wesley was touched by that and had to stare fixedly into his brandy for a moment before he rallied enough to say: “Well, at least I was quiet. And not reminding you that I was now the Council’s representative every five minutes.” He darted a quick look at Giles to see if that would be accepted in the spirit in which it was meant.
Giles gave a little smile. “Well, yes, that did make a nice change. My only real gripe with you is for having chosen the same kind of pyjamas as me. Buffy is now convinced that they’re Council Issue and that they hand them to us along with our toothbrushes and little tweed waistcoats when they send us off to be Watchers.”
“I do seem to recall a memo about ‘dressing in a manner appropriate to one’s position as the Council’s representative’. I always buy that brand of pyjamas, they’re the same as the ones I had when I was a child. I get them from Budd.”
Giles grimaced. “Ah yes, me too.”
Wesley looked at Giles’ tweed jacket. “Pooles?”
Giles looked down at it in some confusion. “Oh - yes, I…shopped elsewhere for a while but when I’d finished rebelling I realized that there is a reason why bespoke tailoring is still so popular.”
Wesley swirled the brandy around in the non brandy glass, wondering if it bothered Giles as much as it did him that it wasn’t in a brandy glass and how absurd that was; all these things dinned into him when he was a child about the correct way to dress and the correct way to behave, and how one always rose if a lady came into the room, and behind it all a nightmare array of demons. “Does it get easier…?”
“What?”
“Rebelling?”
Giles half-smiled. “I think the children would tell you that I have hardly rebelled at all.”
“And yet…” Wesley held up the glass.
Giles laughed. “Finally! Someone who recognises this as a rebellion. It’s a tricky one, isn’t it? Decide no rules apply to you and you become Faith; decide all rules must be adhered to however arcane and you become…”
“Me.” Wesley took a sip of brandy, trying not to grip the glass too tightly as the alcohol heated his veins. “You become me.”
“My first rebellion was not exactly an edifying spectacle. And a few Watchers have gone rather spectacularly off the rails in the past.”
“Goodness, yes.” Wesley put down his brandy before he was tempted to gulp down the rest of it without savouring it. “Emerson.”
“Good Lord, Emerson.” Giles shook his head. “I’d forgotten him. Is he the one who became obsessed with the idea that to kill vampires one had to imbibe their strength?”
Wesley nodded. “Used to eat vampire brains to see if that gave him a greater understanding of them. Horrible, of course, as they must have been alive when he removed the brain or else he would have been eating a lot of dust sandwiches.” He shuddered. “You know… I always thought that was a grisly tale but when I think of Angel…”
“If it’s any consolation, Angelus did things equally revolting to his victims in his time.”
Wesley considered the point. “Let me see, a reminder that the Slayer’s boyfriend, and person we work with every day, used to eat his victims’ entrails while they were still trying to use them…oddly enough, I’m not consoled.”
Giles smiled. “I’ve always tried to downplay the ‘Angel as Buffy’s boyfriend’ part of the equation when making my reports to the Council.”
“Yes, I doubt Quentin Travers would be thrilled by the prospect of the Chosen One socializing with the Scourge of Europe. And yet…”
Giles waited for Wesley to finish. “Go on…?”
Wesley grimaced. “It’s just… Doesn’t the existence of Angel challenge so many of the beliefs that the Council are built upon? We train Slayers to kill vampires. We don’t socialize with vampires. The only good vampire is a dusted vampire… But if their souls can be restored…?”
“I try not to think about it…now, I mean. In the beginning, I thought about it a lot. But Angel’s circumstances were unique and because of his uniqueness there is no one with whom to compare him. Humans have souls and yet still do terrible things. The men who thought of the Final Solution all had souls. Is Angel on the side of good because of his soul alone or because of something that is in him? Would another vampire with a soul still be able to enjoy the kill? It’s remorse that prevents Angel from killing again. He admits the hunger is still with him. Perhaps another vampire might not be able to resist its call. Presumably even some serial killers feel spasms of guilt.”
“But he seems so…important. He was brought back from hell by a higher power. And an ancient evil deemed him of such danger to itself that it tried to persuade him to kill himself. Doesn’t that suggest that he has some task ahead of him which only he can perform?”
Giles blinked at that, clearly surprised by the suggestion which Wesley offered so diffidently. “The Ascension?”
“Or something beyond it. Something more important even than that. Have you ever tried researching apocalyptic scrolls to see if there are any references to someone who could perhaps be Angel?”
“The thought never occurred to me,” Giles observed.
Wesley felt awkward. “Oh well then… perhaps I’m just…”
“No, Wesley. I think you’re talking a great deal of sense.”
Wesley waited and the obvious rider didn’t come, confused he took another sip of brandy.
“What is it…?” Giles prompted.
“I was waiting for the ‘for once’.”
Giles half-winced, half-smiled. “Wesley, are you implying that I have been something of a…bitch since you arrived?”
Wesley half choked on his brandy and then couldn’t help smiling back. “I was going for ‘unhelpful’ and ‘critical’. But now you mention it ‘bitch’ pretty much covers it.” He held up a hand. “On the other hand I know that I’ve been an irritating prat.”
Giles held up the brandy glass. “In vino veritas?”
Wesley shook his head. “No, I’ll still recognize that when I’m sober. This place just...wasn’t really what I was expecting.”
“I can imagine. Actually, no, I can remember. It wasn’t what I was expecting either. The theory is so exciting, isn’t it? And the practise is so…painfully messy at times.”
“I was hoping for this…” Wesley waved a hand between them.
Giles frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“That we could be...colleagues.”
“Colleagues or friends?” Giles asked, quite gently.
Wesley looked into his brandy. “Friends would have been nice.”
“Well, let’s think of this as a new beginning, shall we?” Giles leaned across and clinked his glass against Wesley’s. “To friendship.”
Surprised and warmed more by the gesture than the brandy itself, Wesley smiled. “To friendship.”
***