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illyria is a very inspirational person (godking) wrote in brightlightlogs, @ 2010-01-06 03:34:00

Who: Rupert Giles and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.
What: Research and chatting. And surprising developments.
Where: Their decidedly British flat.
When: Evening. A few nights before they moved into the Scooby Manor.
Rating/Status: PG / Complete.

Wesley brought tea into the main room of the flat, marveling at his current situation. Never in a million years would he have imagined peacefully sharing living space with Rupert Giles, but somehow it had happened. And, oddly enough, the situation suited the both of them remarkably well. While he was still adjusting to once more being a part of the mortal coil, not to mention Cordelia coming from a time when she had hated him, Angel virtually ignoring his existence and a woman walking around with his dead lover's face, he was adapting better than he had ever expected. He supposed he had Giles and Buffy to thank for that. Of all the people he had expected might help him through this, the Sunnydale group hadn't really made the list. He knew well enough that he had made a good many mistakes in his time there, and these people could have been an ever-present reminder of his failings...but somehow he did not feel as ill at ease with them as he might have at one point. On the contrary, his experiences in Los Angeles had helped him understand his former charge and her mentor more than he ever had.

He could see now, in a way he had never been able to those six long years ago, that Buffy was far more than a weapon to be utilised. She was a young woman, a human being with flaws and failings just like anyone else. Working with Angel had helped him to see beyond her destiny to the vulnerable person underneath. He wondered what it might have been like to work with her as someone she could trust and respect, and he hoped to learn the answer to that now. And as for Giles, there Wes had found someone more like himself than he'd ever let himself realise before. In many ways, he suspected that Giles understood him better than anyone else could ever hope to. And it helped that the man appreciated research and a good cup of tea. That was one thing he'd never had in Los Angeles, but he seemed to have found it here. They had settled into a funny sort of domesticity, with an ease that had surprised him. They researched a lot, and between them they had enough books to stock a small library but no television. Buffy had commented on that, more than once, and Wes had resisted the urge to roll his eyes. But only just.

"Here you are," Wes said, offering Giles one of the cups of tea, and sitting down at the table, trying to remember what book he'd been working in when he'd last left off.

"What?" Giles looked up at the sound of Wesley's voice. He replaced the glasses he had removed in a fit of frustration. "Oh, thank you." He took the cup of tea and held it, letting it warm his hands. He took a sip and let out a deep sigh. A good cup of tea was soothing in a way that few things could be. And Wesley actually knew how to properly handle it. These days people would just hand off a mug with boiling water and a cheap tea bag from the neighborhood grocer. He took another long sip before setting the cup down on the table.

He glanced around at the pile of books the two of them had open on the table. Despite everything they'd been able to acquire since their arrival, neither seemed to be able to find anything on the Zenner Corporation, or whoever was being it. Giles rubbed the back of his neck to work the kinks out of it. A glance at the clock told him that he and Wesley had been pouring over the musty volumes for over an hour.

He looked over at his current flatmate. "So far, I've discovered absolutely nothing relevant to our situation." He took off his glasses and began polishing them with a handkerchief from his pocket. "Have you had any luck?"

"Unfortunately not," Wes said with a shake of his head. "The sheer power needed to accomplish all that Zenner seems to be capable of...it's beyond even Wolfram and Hart's considerable abilities." He went quiet for a moment, as he always did when his former employers came up in conversation, looking down at his book rather than at Giles. "That should narrow it down considerably, but I can't find any references to anything with this much power. To not only being able to transport people into a city and keep them there, with no outside contact and no means of leaving...but to bring them from different times, bring fictional beings to life, and resurrect the dead...the amount of power that would require is beyond anything I've ever witnessed or heard of."

He paused, taking a sip of tea, then spoke again. "There's always the possibility that...and I realise this sounds utterly ridiculous, but bear with me...none of us is what we think we are. Perhaps we're looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps," he paused here with a self-deprecating laugh, "we're all somehow constructs of some entity's mind. That isn't to say that we don't exist, of course but..." he trailed off. "Never mind. It's too ridiculous to even suggest..." He was far too used to his more eccentric ideas being shot down.

Giles listened to Wesley's theory with interest. Stranger things had happened. Giles gave him a smile and let out a soft trail of laughter. "It's not entirely out of the question." He said gently, closing the book in front of him. "But perhaps we should explore some other avenues before diving into that particular theory." He stood up and stretched.

"Perhaps we're too close to the situation." He said, wandering over to one of the cupboards in the kitchen. "I think a break is in order, so that we might be able to take a step back and look at the larger picture." He opened the cupboard door and pulled out a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. "I think, maybe, that calls for something a little stronger than just tea."

Wesley looked up, almost surprised. Even having worked as one of the primary researchers of Wolfram and Hart, as well as being Angel's advisor in many things, he still wasn't used to having someone actually listen to his ideas. Not really listen anyway. This sort of give and take was new to him, and truthfully quite welcome. "Perhaps you're right," he said with a small smile. "There are still plenty of resources that we've yet to explore."

"We have been researching for longer than some of our associates would consider healthy," he said, though certain among their respective groups would say that more than five minutes researching was longer than could be considered healthy. He considered the merits of the particular suggestion, disinclined to start drinking again but hardly one to pass up an opportunity for civil conversation about something outside the arcane. He had been something of a maudlin drunk in those days after Fred's death, and he had no desire to repeat the experience, but still... "That quite possibly sounds like the best idea I've heard all evening." He too stood from the table, moving over to the flat's sofa. Better to put some distance between themselves and the books, lest they be tempted toward responsible actions.

Giles poured the drinks for the two of them, but didn't put the bottle away. Leaving it on the counter, he joined Wesley on the sofa, handing him a glass. "Cheers." He said, before swallowing a sip of the Scotch, enjoying the familiar burn in his throat.

He thought about what Wesley had just said. About the amount of concern some of their fellow captives showed for their predicament. Or rather, their lack of concern. "It does seem odd, doesn't it?" He asked. "How little some of them seem to care that we're imprisoned here? I realize that the money is rather convenient, but at the price of one's freedom?" He took another sip. "And these experiments bother me. Did you hear about the last one? With all the singing? Bloody glad I got to miss that one this time around."

He realized he was still talking about their situation. He sighed. "Well, this attempt to divert our attention is going swimmingly." He said, annoyed at his own single-mindedness.

"Cheers." Wes took the glass from Giles, taking a sip and relishing the familiar feeling as it went down. It had been quite some time since he'd allowed himself such an indulgence. But then, one could hardly find good drinks in hell. And that was quite enough of that line of thought, before he did become too maudlin for his, or anyone else's, own good.

"I think that, for some anyway, it's a matter of circumstance," he pointed out. "I mean, take me for example. If my choices are remaining here, or returning to where I was...you can imagine. No, I'm working more to help others leave. I have no intentions toward doing so myself." After all, his soul still belonged to Wolfram and Hart. Given the choice between a pair evils, was it selfish to choose the lesser of the two? Perhaps. "For others, it's more a matter of the chance to be with those they could not otherwise. Either they've formed attachments with individuals from other times or realities...or they've been reunited with someone they thought lost. Zenner seems adept at manipulating human emotions to keep the majority here. Are some motivated by greed? Of course...it's a prime motivator in humanity. But many are motivated by less base emotions." He glanced over at Giles and shook his head. "Thankfully, I seem to have missed the experiments."

He couldn't help laughing. "Work is something of a singular focus in our lives, Rupert," he pointed out, taking another sip of scotch. "I fear neither of us is particularly suited to small talk, as it were."

Giles nodded, realizing his insensitivity to Wesley's current situation. Of course he'd prefer to be in Las Vegas rather than an incorporeal floating around in a Hell dimension of Wolfram and Hart's design. He sighed and took another sip of Scotch, glancing out the large windows to the Strip sparkling below them. He could certainly understand wanting to stay here considering some of the alternatives. "Of course." He finally said. "Stupid of me to forget like that..." He glanced over at the other man. "I'm sorry, Wesley."

However, Wesley didn't seem to have taken too much offense as he continued on. For that Giles was glad. He was enjoying their rather comfortable arrangement. It was nice having Wesley around. He'd changed during his time in Los Angeles. He wasn't the stuffy, pompous individual that had been a constant source of irritation to Giles back in Sunnydale. Now the two of them were more alike than he could ever bring himself to admit.

Giles smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he looked down at his drink. "You're too right." He said, swirling the amber liquid around in the glass. "I think it might have something to do with having our particular calling. Your average accountant doesn't get quite the same treatment as young Watchers. I'm afraid we've been thoroughly ruined."

Wesley shook his head. "Don't apologise, Rupert," he said calmly. "I've come to terms with my fate. I died for a cause I believe in, and that is more than many can say." He shrugged, sipping his drink. He was at peace with his death. "Would I prefer not to return to a hell dimension? Of course, but if that happens, it happens. I've had this chance and I've no intention of wasting that. I'm not saying that if there were a way to terminate my contact, I would refuse it, but there are worse hells one can find oneself in. I don't actually remember much of it." Which was a lie he wished he truly believed. But he was good at lying to others, if not to himself.

He really was far removed from the man, boy really if he was honest, he'd been in Sunnydale. He actually thought that he'd been something of a prick actually. But life had changed him, rather forcibly, and thinking back he could admit that whatever suffering he'd endured in his life had only made him stronger as a person. More prone to shooting people, yes, but also stronger. And he could not regret that.

Wes shrugged, smiling contemplatively into his drink. "I imagine it's something they attempt to instil in us from a young age," he agreed. "Lord knows the Watchers Academy practically existed to turn us all into stuffy researchers." He laughed. "And then you get thrown into the real world and realise how ill-prepared you are." He certainly had been. He'd not even been thirty when he'd been tossed into the chaos of Sunnydale. "But it is somewhat easier, when there's someone else who is similarly afflicted." The closest he could come to admitting he enjoyed Giles's company.

Giles smiled again, catching Wesley's subtle comment. Yes, it was easier having someone at your side who understood. He supposed that's why he never really minded Buffy's penchant for including her friends when no other Slayer had before her. And while he'd never admit it to Buffy or any of there others, he understood how intrinsically lonely this life could be. Buffy and the kids, they had each other. And while he knew he had them to count on as well, they would never, could never, completely understand what it was like to walk in his shoes. Wesley did. It was a comfort, and it buoyed his sense of self.

"Ah, yes." He continued, lifting his glass. "But we all have our rebellious moments, don't we, Rogue Demon Hunter?" He cast a sly look over at Wesley as he snickered the last few words into his Scotch. He tiled the glass, finishing the last of it off with a bit of relish.

Wes, unfortunately, had been taking a sip of his scotch when Giles spoke, and nearly choked on it. He flushed slightly with embarrassment, looking down at his hands. "Good lord, Rupert," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, "that was ages ago. I do wish you'd never heard about that fiasco." But he could hardly regret that fiasco, when it was because of it that he had ended up in Angel's employ. And he had no doubt that, had he not joined Angel's band of strays, he probably would have died much sooner, an unremarkable death with no one to remember him or care that he was gone. Sometimes he wondered if that was still the case, after everything that had transpired. But there, again, was the sort of self-pity he had fallen back on in the past. He had no desire to return to that way of thinking.

He knocked back the rest of his scotch, unsure of how to best continue the conversation. He had not been lying when he'd said they were terrible at small talk, and he now found himself at a loss for what to say next. "What of you?" he asked, though he knew enough about Rupert's own bout of rebellion. He wanted to hear about it from the man himself. "I believe your rebellious moments were of a more traditional sort, if I'm not mistaken." Well, minus the whole dark magic bit. But, unlike if he had said such a thing back in Sunnydale, the words were spoken with no malice, but rather a genuine curiosity.

"Oh, no." Giles said, resolutely shaking his head. "I haven't had nearly enough Scotch to start dredging up those sordid memories." Despite his words, memories began surfacing in his mind's eye. Ethan, Randall, Deidre, Thomas, and Philip's faces swam before him and he thought of their arrogance when they had summoned forth Eyghon. Nights spent stealing cars and breaking the law. He sighed.

He smiled over at Wesley, "You'd never look at me the same again."

"Oh come now, Rupert," Wes said, shaking his head. "I'm hardly one to judge." He had no room after the things he had done, his missteps and failings. And he was curious to know more about the other man. He'd certainly heard enough about Giles in his younger years, often as a cautionary tale from his father to keep him in line. To hear Roger Wyndam-Pryce talk, it was as if there were no worse fate in the world than ending up like Rupert Giles. Truthfully, Wes didn't understand it. In spite of their past differences, he quite admired Giles.

"Is it true you used to try and convince people you were a founding member of Pink Floyd?" He was clearly amused at the thought.

Giles let out a loud laugh at the memory. "Not people, Wesley." He said shaking his head in amusement. "Girls. I'd never have wasted a line like that on a bloke in a pub." He stood up from the couch, and returned with the bottle of Scotch. "Just one more, then." He said, refilling his own empty glass and Wesley's nearly empty one.

"It didn't even work half the time." He continued on, resuming his place on the sofa. "But it was well worth it when it did. The life of a Watcher rarely compares with that of a rock star."

Maybe the drink was going to his head a little, but Wes couldn't stop himself from voicing the first thought that came to mind. "What sort of line would you have wasted on a bloke in a pub?" he asked curiously, immediately realising how that could come off to Giles. "That is...I didn't mean to imply that you...what I mean to say...don't mind me. I'll just continue sticking my foot in my mouth, shall I?"

Still, the story was entertaining. "I can't believe it worked at all," he admitted, nodding his thanks as Giles refilled his glass and taking a sip before continuing. "I mean...there were girls who would both be impressed by that and not know who the founding members of Pink Floyd were?" He could admit to having liked the band in his youth...though he would have denied it had his father ever asked.

Giles stopped at Wesley's question. His mind slid backward into memory. Men, he remembered, rarely needed lines and fake stories about being a band member. No, that was for the girls. He glanced over to see if Wesley had noted his pause, but the other man seemed to preoccupied with his own embarrassment to notice.

He laughed again. "Of course there were." He said, enjoying another sip of Scotch. "That was the whole point. They weren't impressed by the band, they were impressed by the name. It's when you came across the actual fans that it never worked out." He paused remembering a few of his more memorable strike outs.

Wes was actually glad that Giles didn't answer his rather ridiculous question. Best to just let that train of thought end and avoid further awkward conversation. He'd managed this long without the older man thinking he was an utter idiot, and he rather hoped not to have that change so soon. He was enjoying having someone to talk to, who both seemed to understand him and shared his interests. It wasn't something he was used to, really. Even with Fred...he didn't finish that thought.

"So," he said casually, "what did you do when you were younger, aside from conning unsuspecting women to your bed with insane stories...and utterly failing with the suspecting ones?"

"I distinctly remember saying that I wasn't going to discuss this." Giles said, smiling lightly as he lifted his glass for another drink. "Although I do have a faint recollection of you being annoyingly persistent. So, what the hell." He settled back against the back cushions of the sofa, making himself more comfortable. "I was a right bastard, to tell you the truth." He said, musing over his past. "After years of study and being lectured on the importance of my destiny, I decided to hell with it all. Dropped out of Oxford, took up with the wrong sort of crowd. I spent half the time either drunk or completely stoned. I didn't work for anything and took what I wanted."

He lost a bit of the smile that had presented itself earlier. He wasn't exactly proud of his earlier years. They'd certainly been fun, and they'd taught him a skill or two that had come to be useful in his time with Buffy, but it wasn't something he generally liked to brag about. "That's it, really." He said, wondering why he had opened up about it in the first place.

"Annoyingly persistent is one way of putting it," Wesley said with a shrug. "I would apologise for it, but it has become rather ingrained in me. If I wasn't a stubborn bastard, I'd never be able to manage Angel." And that was something of a full-time job, what with how Angel was often something of a brooding idiot. And that was said with a great deal of respect and loyalty, because as much as Angel was often brooding and self involved and a complete idiot, he was also Wes's champion.

He listened as Giles spoke, feeling regret at having asked. It wasn't that his opinion of Giles had changed in any way at hearing of his past, if anything he felt more respect for the man now that he knew how much he had grown as a person. But he had never intended to make Rupert relive anything painful. Reaching over, he hesitantly placed a hand over the other man's. He wasn't one for much physical contact, but it felt right to do so in that moment. "So, you made mistakes when you were younger," he said calmly, "that you regret, and you moved past it to become a brilliant man who everyone respects and admires. The past is just that, Rupert. For some reason you act as if somehow knowing about yours will cause people to lose the respect they have for you. But it doesn't change who you are now...in fact, it makes the man you are now more remarkable." He looked away and took a sip of his drink.

"I was a pathetic, spineless idiot who was so worried about the opinion of a father who had never warranted the emotion that I never really bothered to live my life," he said. "I was arrogant, insulting and utterly ignorant of the realities of life and battle. I like to think that I'm not that man any more, but I was...and that's just part of me. Acknowledging our mistakes keeps us from repeating them."

Giles had been stuck in his thoughts when Wesley's hand touched his. It was surprisingly warm. He stared at it for a moment, before looking up at his companion. He saw strength, resolve, and compassion harboured in Wesley's features. Something Giles was certain he never would have believed when the two first became acquainted. He found himself evermore grateful for Wesley's company.

He allowed himself an embarrassed smile, and looked intently at the floor after Wesley's compliments. He never had been very good at accepting praise. The warmth of Wesley's hand still lingered on his, even after he had pulled it away. Giles quietly tried to quell the feeling of longing that suddenly presented itself.

He shifted himself on the couch, moving closer to Wesley. "You were a bit of a berk." He said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a mischievous smile. "But you've bettered yourself more than anyone I've ever known. To have gone from where you were, to where you're sitting now, it's remarkable. You are remarkable."

Unconsciously, or perhaps it was consciously, Giles had leaned closer as he spoke. He and Wesley were only inches apart now.

Wes immediately worried that perhaps he shouldn't have been so bold as to touch Rupert. It was hardly something he did often and, even among his friends, he was hesitant when it came to physical contact...another remnant of his father. Still, he didn't pull back, not wanting Giles to take it the wrong way. There was something almost vulnerable about the older man, and he was concerned. It wasn't something he had expected. There were many things about Rupert Giles he hadn't expected.

"More than a bit," he said in response to Rupert's comment, shaking his head. He did not care much at all for the man he had been those years ago. He had been young and foolish and had made more mistakes than he imagined anyone else would have in his position. Sunnydale was a time he didn't particularly like to recall, because it was the time when he most keenly felt he was living up to everything his father had ever accused him of being. Worthless. A failure. A disappointment. He knew that his father's treatment of him had a hand in making him the man he had been in Sunnydale, but that did not change the way he felt about it. And he did not particularly wish to relive those days, or to discuss them with Giles. But the man's words were far from what he had ever expected, and he nearly dropped his tea in shock. Not wanting to cause a mess, he set the cup down and looked at Giles, surprised and perplexed. "I'm not," he said firmly. He'd never taken compliments well, too used to the opposite. "I mean..." he trailed off, looking down at his hands. Lord, he hated feeling so out of his element. "Thank you," he said after a moment. He may not have believed Giles entirely, but there was no point in arguing it.

He looked back up, wondering when Giles had gotten so close and why he felt so nervous. "As much as I wanted to hate you when I was in Sunnydale," he admitted, "I never really could. I just...wished that I could be half the man you were. I suppose that's what I've done in my life...tried to live up to your example."

Giles felt a wave of compassion rush over him. He thought about what life must have been like for Wesley back then. He had been so young. Alone in a country where he didn't know anyone. With little to no experience, being forced to take on two strong-minded and completely insolent teenage girls. Not to mention himself. He never exactly made things easy for his successor. And if that hadn't been enough, there had been the Hellmouth to contend with. It was a wonder Wesley didn't loathe them all. He was quiet for a moment, taking in Wesley's features and ignoring the impulses his body was urging him toward.

"I'm sorry we were horrible to you." He said honestly. "We just...oh hell." Without giving himself another moment to overthink what he was doing, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Wesley's.

"You weren't-" He had fully intended to tell Rupert that they hadn't exactly been horrible to him, which was something of a lie, and that he had deserved it, which wasn't. He was going to tell him that it was all in the past they were both adults fully capable of moving beyond such things. He would have said all those things if it hadn't been for Giles's mouth on his. Or Rupert's, he supposed. He could hardly call the man by his last name when he was kissing him. And, oh lord...Rupert was kissing him. He hadn't been with anyone since Fred, since Lilah before that, and the concept had practically become foreign to him. His mind finally caught up with the situation at hand and promptly became useless. He hadn't reacted, positively or negatively, to the action, too frozen with shock to do anything but sit there and let it happen.

Giles had felt Wesley tense, that he had expected. It wasn't exactly has if he had been making his intentions perfectly clear. He and Wesley were colleagues, and he had never allowed Wesley to stray into his personal life before. But now they were here, and sharing a flat, and he was feeling the effects from the Scotch. What he hadn't expected was Wesley's complete lack of a response. Giles stopped and pulled away, feeling ashamed that he had lost control of himself that way. Now he was quite certain he'd never be able to properly look Wesley in the eye again. "I'm....sorry." He stood up. "I don't know what I was doing. Feel free to ignore....just forget....perhaps it would be prudent for me to leave." He cleared his throat and tugged at his sleeve before starting to move away from the sofa.

When his mind finally had a chance to process what had just happened, he realised that in some ways it had been a logical progression. Though he would hardly say that he had moved past Fred's death, and he sometimes doubted he ever would, living with Rupert had been the most comfortable he had been in years. There was a connection there, built on common interests and experience, that he had not found with anyone else, and he felt that in some ways Giles knew him better than anyone else. And Giles certainly wasn't an unattractive man. Indeed, Wesley had been able to acknowledge that the other Watcher was handsome even in Sunnydale. What baffled him was the idea that someone like Rupert would ever take an interest in him. But for some reason he had, and Wes had sat there like an idiot. Fantastic.

"Don't apologise," he said, jumping to his feet and stilling Giles with a hand on his arm. "I was shocked, not...I mean...it wasn't...I didn't...damn it." He stepped forward, taking his turn at initiating the kiss this time.

Giles stopped when he felt Wesley's hand on his arm again. His heart-rate increased at the subtle touch, and Giles cursed himself for it. He'd just ruined things. There was no going back. But then suddenly Wesley's mouth was on his. Giles took only the briefest of moments to process the situation before returning the gesture. He put his hand on the back of Wesley's neck, pulling him closer.

Well, he was right about one thing. There was no going back.