Chapter 4 

***** 

"Any chance of another beer, Xan?" asked Spike.  Xander nodded, and headed to the kitchen.  He came back with two beers, and handed one to Spike.  "OK, Will, we've established that I really don't know anything about what's happening, so I think you should tell me what you know."

Spike took a long swallow of his beer, and went back to studying the coffee table.  "Here goes then.  You're one of the good guys, Xander.  You and your friends fight evil in a town called Sunnydale - or Sunnyhell, as it's affectionately known.  You were seriously injured in a fight with a - creature, and I... did something to help save your life.  They resuscitated you at the hospital, but you never regained consciousness for some reason."  He paused, took a deep breath and then continued, "Right now, you're lying in a coma in a hospital room, while your friends cast some sort of divining spell to try and work out why."

"So I actually died then - they don't resuscitate you if you're alive, do they?  Are you sure I'm still alive?"  Spike was shocked at how calm Xander seemed.  "Well, yeah - last I heard you were fine - apart from being unconscious, of course."  Xander nodded slowly, as though he was considering what his next move would be.

"OK.  So, my body's in a hospital room, but I'm here - waiting for something.  Where are you?"

"Um, well, I should still be in bed, s'far as I know."

"So, what, you come here in your dreams?"

"Yeah, seems that way."

"I wonder why?"

*****

Giles had left the girls at the hospital with Xander, cautioning them against touching the crystal, which seemed to be stuck to Xander's forehead now, and telling them he'd see them all at Buffy's house tomorrow morning, hopefully with some news.  He'd supervised Willow as she'd cast a concealing spell on the crystal - the last thing they needed was for the medical staff to start asking awkward questions about it.  He then headed straight for his apartment.  He poured himself a stiff whiskey, and got out his phone book.  On the one hand, he wasn't looking forward to making this call, but on the other, he'd been trying to make it for a long time now.  

*****

"Angel Investigations, we hope you... er, we help you..."

"Just give me the damn phone, Angel.  Honestly, it's not that hard to remember, is it?  I'm not asking you to memorise Shakespeare, for God's sake."  Cordelia snatched the phone from his hand.  "Hello, Angel Investigations, we..."

"Yes, I know," Giles' voice cut her off.  "And I'm sure you do it very well, Cordelia.  It's Rupert Giles speaking.  I need to speak to Wesley, if that's possible."

"Hey, Giles, how's things?  Yeah, he's in the office.  I'll just put you through to him."  Giles could hear Angel in the background, saying, "Giles?  What does he want?  Is something wrong?"  And Cordelia answering him, "No, he wants to talk to Wesley.  Why, you want to talk to him?"  "No.  I just wondered, that's all.  And why does he..."  Then Giles heard a heavy click, and ringing at the other end again.

"Hello, Wyndham-Price speaking.  How may I help you?"

Giles took a deep breath. "Wesley, it's Rupert.  How... how are you?"  There was silence for several, long seconds, then, "I'm well, thank you.  To what do I owe this call?"  The voice sounded so stilted that Giles felt his stomach twist.  "I've missed you," he said in a quiet voice before he could stop the words slipping out.

"Rupert, please.  Don't.  I can't...  Just don't."  Wesley's voice broke a little.  There was silence again, and then Wesley spoke, and Rupert could hear him struggling to remain aloof. "So why did you call?  I assume you need my help with something?"

Rupert breathed through the ache that had suddenly appeared in his chest, and said, "We have a problem.  With Xander.  He's in a coma, and Willow performed a basic revealing spell which gave totally unexpected results.  I've called to ask for your assistance."

"But you're quite capable of researching this yourself, so why call me?"

"Because you have particular expertise in this area, and... and because it gave me a reason to finally call you.  I'm not completely wasting your time, am I?"

"Oh, Rupert," sighed Wesley, "speaking with you has never been a waste of my time."  His voice softened for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, "I... I have a copy of Olbert's text on scrying and revealing spells here somewhere.  Hold on a moment..."  There was a clatter as the receiver was put down, and a minute or two later another clatter, followed by Wesley's voice again. "Which spell did she use, exactly?"

"Um, it was Illumata Magi with a clear quartz crystal, I think.  Yes, that was it."  Rupert forcibly dragged his thoughts back from contemplation of the past.

"Ah, yes, of course.  Very straightforward spell.  Crystal turns pink or remains clear.  Give me a moment to find it in the text..."  Giles could hear the rustle of pages turning, and Wesley muttering to himself until he finally found the entry he wanted.  "Here we are, Illumata Magi.  I'm assuming you checked that the components and wording she used were correct?"

"Yes, I checked them carefully.  Willow can be a little - unreliable - sometimes, and with Xander already in a coma..."

"...you didn't want anything else to go wrong.  Of course.  Let me see... chanting... golden light... spirit...  Ah, here we are.  Crystal remains clear if no magic detected, or turns pink if a spell remnant is found.  So, what was the problem?"

"The crystal turned blue, it's pulsing, and is now apparently stuck to Xander's forehead."

Wesley sighed.  "I see.  All right, let me read the rest of this."  There was silence for a minute or two, and then Wesley said, "How extraordinary.  Have you ever heard of a Gora'tha demon?"

"Oh, bugger," said Rupert, "I should have guessed it had something to do with that.  Yes, Xander was attacked by one - that's how he got the injuries that put him in hospital in the first place."

"How on earth did he survive that long?  I made a particular study of this demon and the use of its venom in certain rituals.  I've never heard of anyone surviving a direct attack."

"Spike.  He licked out the venom, which gave Xander enough time to get to hospital before the paralysis hit.  So, does Olbert shine any light on this problem?  I'm assuming your question about the Gora'tha demon wasn't just light conversation."

"Yes, there's some information here, and it also mentions a further text which I happen to have a copy of.  This is quite extraordinary, Rupert.  Perhaps I should bring..."  Wesley faltered, as though suddenly realising what he had offered.

"I think we could definitely do with your assistance, Wesley.  It would be invaluable.  If you can spare the time."  Giles was determined not to miss the opportunity afforded by Wesley's offer.  "And of course, the opportunity to study this would make the trip worth your while," he added.

"Um, well, I'm rather busy at the moment..."

"Of course.  Of course you are," said Giles in a defeated voice.  "If you could possibly arrange to send us the texts.  We are very all very concerned about Xander."

Wesley sighed again. "I suppose I could make time to come myself.  Something as serious as this calls for immediate action.  And it is serious, Rupert."  Wesley paused, and his voice took on a wistful note.  "I must confess, it would also be quite fascinating to study the effects on the subject of an unintended use of this venom. I could come to Sunnydale today, I suppose.  Is there a motel I could use?"

"I have a spare room, Wesley.  It would seem odd to the children if you were not to stay here.  So would you... would you stay with me?"  Giles felt himself flushing as he asked the question.  If Wesley insisted on a motel, insisted on keeping him at arm's length, then he really had no chance at all.  There was total silence on the other end of the 'phone.  Giles felt the knot in his stomach twist a little tighter.  Of course Wesley wouldn't want to stay with him, not after the way he'd behaved.  "I'm sorry, Wesley.  I'll book you into a motel myself, once you're here.  I just thought it would be easier to work on the problem if we were together..."  His voice trailed off.  He heard Wesley sigh, then, "Um, yes.  I suppose it would.  Be easier.  All right.  I'll see you in a few hours, then.  And Xander's not in a coma, Rupert.  He's in a trance.  It's too complicated to discuss properly over the phone.  I'll get myself organised, and see you at your apartment in a few hours.  Until then."  

Giles slowly put the phone down, and willed his racing heart to calm down.  He'd missed the other Englishman desperately.  They had somehow become lovers during the whole Ascension debacle - Giles was still not certain how it had happened; only that one moment they were at each other's throats, and the next they were in bed.  They had decided - well, he had decided that it would be best not to continue the relationship, given the difficulties with Buffy and the Council, and so Wesley had left.  Giles was ashamed of the way he had behaved.  The young man had been badly injured, sacked by the Council for helping them, cast aside by his family because of it, and then Giles had abandoned him as well.  He wouldn't be surprised if Wesley hated him.  He had been the one who had broken off their relationship and sent him away, after all.  But the thing was, you see, that not a day passed that Giles didn't want him back.

*****

Spike sat contemplating his beer bottle.  Xander had decided he wanted munchies with his drinks, and had gone in search of some.  He came back with assorted packets of sweet and salty junk food, and settled himself back on the couch.

"So, I fight evil, you saved my life, and I'm in a coma in hospital.  What else?  I live in an apartment just like this, but what do I do to earn a living?  What's my family like? Who are my friends?  Who is the person I can hear crying and calling my name.  And you and me - what sort of relationship are we in?"

Spike choked on his beer at that, and decided to tackle the easy stuff first.  "Well, you work in construction.  You had a lot of shitty jobs that you lost very quickly, but you seem to like this one.  You don't have any brothers or sisters.  Just you and your parents.  You don't get on with them that well.  And your friends are Buffy, Willow, Tara, Dawn, Joyce and Giles.  Any of this sound familiar?" 

Xander sat thinking for a moment, then nodded.  "Yeah.  My job; I like it.  I'm good at it, good at making things, working with my hands.  I can do well if I stay in this field," he said, as though reading from some sort of internal progress report.  He suddenly smiled widely at Spike.  "This is so cool!  It's like I get all these images in my head, and then I just know stuff about it."  He took a drink of his beer, and then his face became serious.  He studied the label on the beer bottle as he said, "My parents.  They're unhappy.  Neither of them are where they wanna be.  But they can't see any way out, and they blame me because they can't see that nothing will change if they don't change it themselves.  That's really sad, Will.  But it's not my fault, and there's nothing I can do about it."  Xander looked up, a smile on his face, and caught Spike watching him. 

"Yeah, that's right, Xander.  Not your fault," echoed Spike.  He found himself smiling back at the boy, and the fluttering in his stomach grew stronger. 

Xander nodded.  "Yeah, I know that now.  Right.  What's next?  Oh, yeah, my friends.  As you said their names, pictures popped into my head.  Buffy, blonde, strong, she's the Slayer; Willow, redhead, smart; Tara, blonde, sweet, Willow's lover, and they're both witches; Dawn, she's Buffy's sister, but..."  Xander looked confused for a moment, but then his face cleared. "Oh, right, moving on, then. Joyce; I wish she was my mother," he said with a smile, "and Giles, older, very smart."  Xander laughed.  "Definite father figure," he added.  "OK, Will, that's everyone you mentioned.  But there's someone else, isn't there?"

"Anya," said Spike, wondering at his reluctance to mention her, and the tight feeling in his chest her closeness to the boy evoked.  He sat and waited, steeling himself for Xander's reaction.  Xander closed his eyes for a moment, and then gasped, as though in shock.

"No.  No, that can't be right.  How can I be engaged to a vengeance demon?"

"Ex-vengeance demon, Xan.  Not one any more.  And you haven't been engaged very long.  She's the one who's crying and calling for you, I'd say.  She'd be the one you keep hearing."  And as he said it, Spike felt as though something was breaking inside him.  Get a grip, he told himself sternly, you knew the boy was going to find out about her sooner or later, and it's not as if you care about him.  'Yeah, just keep telling yourself that,' a small voice taunted.

"But why would I get engaged to her?  I'm not in love with her, Will."

"How do you know that?  You're not great at the remembering thing at the moment, are you?  You've just forgotten, that's all," said Spike, stomping firmly on the little sliver of hope that raised its head for a moment.  But Xander was shaking his head.

"No, Will.  It doesn't work that way.  As you told me about Sunnydale and my work, I saw it like a slide show - and you're right.  I'm happy with construction work.  It's what I'm good at, and what I'm meant to be doing.  And as you said their names, I knew who my family and friends were, and I knew what they meant to me.   I could see their strengths and their weaknesses, and what their relationship with me is and how it affects me.  When you told me about Anya, well, I know that I feel affection and friendship for her.  And I feel protective of her.  But I don't love her - and she doesn't love me, either.  She needs me; well, she needs someone, and at the moment that's me.  But really, it could be anyone, you know?"  Xander stood up and began pacing around the room.  He turned, and stood directly in front of Spike, gazing down at him.

"I think this place is somewhere you come to face the truth about things," said Xander, with a strange tone to his voice. "I think it's about me, without any prejudices or expectations about anything.  Everything is stripped down to its basic facts.  I can't pretend about things here.  I have to face the truth - about the people in my life, and about myself.  I'm learning about my strengths, and I've been very plainly shown my weaknesses, and the lies I tell myself and hide behind.  I have to face up to that - I think that's what I'm here for.  There are still some things I have to deal with, though.  I've been lying to myself about who I am and what I want.  You need to tell me about yourself, Will."

Spike felt the stomach-wrenching lurch that he was becoming accustomed to lately, opened his eyes, and found that it was just getting dark.  He sighed deeply and got out of bed.  He was going to have to come up with some answers for the boy.  Maybe he'd head for the hospital and see if the witches had discovered anything useful.
 

*****

Giles' mouth fell open as he answered the door.  Wesley was standing there, dressed totally in black leather, holding a couple of panniers and a bike helmet.  He looked - dangerous was the word that occurred to Giles.  Unshaven, tousled, and utterly desirable.  Wesley had a nervous smile on his face as he caught Giles' expression of surprise.  "Can I come in, Rupert?" he asked.  Giles snapped his mouth shut, then he smiled broadly in welcome.  "Of course, let me take some of these."  He helped Wesley in with his bags, and shut the door.  Wesley opened one of the bags, drew out the two leather-bound grimoires that he'd brought with him, and placed them on the coffee table.  He then slipped off his jacket and hung it by the door.  "Have you eaten? Would you like a drink?  There's tea, or whiskey if you prefer?"

"I stopped and ate dinner on the way here, but a whiskey would be nice.  It's quite chilly out there tonight," said Wesley.  Giles gestured for him to sit on the couch, and poured them both a hefty drink.  "So," he said, as he gave Wesley his drink and sat down next to him on the couch.  "So," repeated Wesley.  Giles cleared his throat. "So, how was the drive down?"  

"Fine, traffic wasn't too bad," said Wesley.  He put down his drink and began paging through one of the books.  "Now, Rupert, as you can see -"

"Wesley?"  interrupted Giles. Wesley looked up, to see Giles watching him.

"Not tonight.  I think we can tackle them tomorrow.   I told everyone to meet at Buffy's tomorrow morning, and we would tell them what we have discovered then.  I thought perhaps we could talk?"  

"Well, I can summarise it for you, if you like," said Wesley, turning his gaze back to the book, and seeming to deliberately misunderstand him.  Giles sighed, but concentrated on listening to what Wesley had to say.

"Um, basically Gora'tha demon venom is used in certain tribal rituals.  It induces a trance-like state in which the candidate's spirit leaves the body and goes to another plane of existence.  The spirit waits for the guide, who assists them to fulfil the conditions of the ritual, and then aids their return to their physical body.  There are particular herbs that need to be burnt, and particular phrases that need to be recited to end the trance.  Oh, has anyone mentioned having dreams about Xander?" 

Giles considered the question.  "No.  And I'm sure someone would have mentioned that, because we have done nothing but talk about the boy for days now.  Is it important?"

"Actually, yes," said Wesley slowly.  "That is how the guide and the candidate make contact.  And it would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to end the ritual without the presence of the guide.  The person having the dreams may have found them rather, er, personal, and would not want to mention them because of this.  We can ask them tomorrow."

Giles wondered exactly what Wesley meant by 'personal'.  He decided then and there that that probably ruled out Anya.  She seemed quite happy to discuss every aspect of her life, no matter how personal, with anyone unfortunate enough to be within earshot.  "Well, the girls will be relieved to know that it's a trance, and not something physically wrong with Xander, that is causing his unconsciousness - and that you know how to bring him back."  

"Well, it's not quite that simple, Rupert.  We have to locate the guide, and ensure that they have done everything they were supposed to before we can perform the ritual to bring Xander out of the trance," Wesley explained.  

"Right," said Giles.  He drained his whiskey in one swallow, and turned to Wesley.  "Do you want another drink?" he asked.  Wesley looked uncertain for a moment, and then said, "Yes, why not?  It's going down rather nicely, actually."  He turned his attention back to the book on the coffee table, and Giles got up to pour them both another drink.  While he was up, he put a CD in the player, the volume low, hoping the soft background music would be conducive to conversation. He handed Wesley his drink and sat next to him on the couch again. 

Wesley took a sip of his drink, then put the glass down next to the large tome on the table.  He turned another page, and then turned towards Rupert as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Rupert?  What -"

"Shh, Wes," said Giles, as he leaned forward to brush his lips against Wesley's. Wesley stiffened and tried to draw away, but Giles touched his cheek, and then slipped his hand around to the back of his head, drawing him closer, licking at Wesley's lips, seeking admittance.  Wesley shivered, and his lips parted slightly.  Giles tilted his head, and deepened the kiss.  He felt Wesley's arms wrap around him hesitantly, and suddenly they were devouring each other, couldn't kiss deeply enough; couldn't get close enough.  The kiss seemed to go on for hours.  Someone groaned, and Giles slowly broke the kiss.  Wesley suddenly pushed away from Giles and stood up.  

"No.  No, I can't do this.  You have no damn right to just...  You can't just pick up where you left off.  I'm not some...some convenience for you to use when it suits you."  He walked over to the door and picked up his jacket.  "I can't stay here.  I can't do this again..."  Giles was immediately at his side, pulling the jacket from his hands and tentatively wrapping his arms around him.  Wesley was shaking, and Giles cursed himself for acting so impulsively.

"Wesley, please, listen to me.  I'm sorry.  I'm more sorry than I can tell you.  I treated you appallingly, and I don't blame you for hating me, for not wanting to give me another chance.  But I - I've missed you so damn much.  I'm sorry I pushed you - and I had no right to kiss you but I wanted to, so very much.  We need to talk, Wes.  Please, give me a chance to explain."

Wesley stepped back, out of the circle of Giles' arms, and simply stood there for a moment, studying Giles' face carefully.  He took a ragged breath, then he nodded slowly.  "All right.  If you want to talk, we'll talk."  He walked back to the couch and sat down, picked up his drink and emptied the glass in a couple of swallows, his hand shaking slightly as he placed the glass back on the coffee table.  Giles picked up the bottle of whiskey and sat next Wesley, refilling both their glasses. 

Wesley picked up his drink, but this time just took a sip, then sat nursing it, staring absently into the golden fluid.  He sat, tapping his glass slowly in time to the music, humming along.  Giles sat silently watching him.  He knew he should say something, but words were suddenly an elusive thing.  He took a deep, steadying breath.

"Wes, I...  At the time, I really believed I was acting in everyone's best interests.  If it became known that we were, well,"  Giles waved a hand vaguely, "involved, um, I was concerned about what people would think - I had the children to consider, and my position with the Council..."  Giles' voice trailed off; as justifications went, this one sounded weak, even to him.

For a moment, Wesley's face was expressionless.  Then his lips curled a little and he snorted.  A second later he began to laugh uproariously.  Giles reached across warily and plucked the whiskey from his hand, placing it safely on the coffee table as Wesley doubled over, laughing hysterically.  Giles simply sat watching him, deeply concerned.  Of all the reactions he had anticipated, this hadn't been even been on the list.  The laughter gradually died down, and Wesley straightened, slipping off his glasses and wiping his eyes.

"That's it?  I went through hell, because you didn't want anyone to know you were attracted to men?  Oh, that is priceless."  He picked up his drink again.

"I think you've had enough, Wes."

"I'll tell you when I've had enough, Rupert.  And I'm certainly not feeling numb enough to be even close at the moment."  Wesley drained his glass and pointedly placed it back on the table, next to the bottle.  Giles sighed and refilled it.  What the hell, it might be easier this way, anyway, he thought.  At least he can't go running off if he's too drunk to drive.  He watched Wesley drink at least half the glass in two swallows, and then begin to giggle softly again.  Giles began to feel a little aggrieved.  

"It wasn't just that, Wesley, I also had my position at the school to consider -"

"The school that these children, whose delicate sensibilities gave you such cause for concern, blew up, you mean?  And no, Rupert, that was not a valid consideration, and you damn well know it.  You didn't need to work there any longer.  The position enabled you to contact and begin working with the Slayer - it had served its purpose.  The Council were paying you."

Giles sighed.  "Yes, I know."  Wesley finally looked up from his glass, and Giles stared into his eyes, holding his gaze.  "They were excuses, not reasons.  Wes, I...  I was afraid."  Giles laughed; it sounded hollow.  "I'm the Watcher for the Slayer who protects the Hellmouth.  I've been beaten by demons more times than I care to remember.  I've been terrorized and tortured by Angelus, for God's sake..."  He shook his head and took a drink.  "And I was scared of what some children and some ancient relics in London would think of me when they found out that I wanted you."

Wesley leaned back into the couch and rubbed his hands over his face.  "Why the hell didn't you just tell me that, Rupert?"

Giles huffed softly.  "How on earth could I do that?  I wouldn't even admit to myself that that was the reason.  It took me a long time to come to terms with why I'd acted the way I did.  But I have, finally, and I won't let it happen again.  Can you give me another chance?  I - cared for you very much.  I still do."

"I wish I could believe that," Wesley said softly.

"I hope you can, because it's true," said Giles.  "Do you still...  I mean, is there any chance -"

"Rupert, I've never stopped loving you..." Wesley's voice broke a little, and he hurriedly drained his glass, coughing as he choked on the whiskey.  Giles moved closer and patted his back.  Wesley leaned into the touch, and Giles wrapped his arms around him, hugged him close and stroked his hair, running his fingers through the soft waves.  

"Christ, Wes, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry I hurt you.  I - I don't know what else to say.  I made a mistake, and I'd like the chance to rectify that, and...and I want you so damned much."

Wesley pulled away a little and stared into Giles' eyes for long moments.  Giles held his gaze steady, hoping that Wes would find whatever he was seemingly searching for.  Wesley nodded slowly and then smiled.  "Yes, Rupert."

"Yes?"

"Oh, yes." And suddenly Wesley's lips were crushed to his, and Rupert gave up searching for the words to try and make this right.  He knew that Wesley had drunk too much, and that he wasn't exactly sober himself, but he was damned if he was going to stop now.  They could talk tomorrow.  Tonight, he needed - this.

They somehow made it to the bedroom, clothing strewn along their path.  Then there were lips, and teeth, and tongues.  Hands stroked and pinched and teased; fingers and tongues explored never-forgotten terrain.  A cry was torn from Wesley as Giles deep-throated him, followed soon after by a feral grunt as he pulsed his climax into the willing mouth.  Giles crawled back up Wesley's body to share his flavour in deep, searching kisses.  He felt Wesley's hand encircle his aching erection and his own orgasm rocked him to the core.

They fell asleep wrapped around each other, sticky and sated, both seemingly too afraid to let the other go, even for a second.

***** 
 

End of Chapter 4