(no subject)

[elgrey]

New All Over, Part Twelve


Giles missed the transformation. He woke with a jolt to find Angel on the other side of Wesley’s bed, awake, and Wesley still in the bed, as he had been when he and Angel had sneaked in here and taken up their places, but no longer a child; the child gone and a young man in his place.

The night light was still on but Wesley hadn’t woken up. That seemed to answer the question about whether or not it was painful. It evidently wasn’t. Giles looked a question at Angel who whispered:

“About ten minutes ago.” And then: “It was painless.”

Again, it was the language of death, and for a moment that was what it felt like, because Giles certainly felt like one of the bereaved. Then he gazed down at the young man in the bed and took a moment to be grateful he was breathing and still sleeping. His hair was the same as the child Wesley’s, of course, that soft shock of dark bedhair. Had he subconsciously expected his hair to brylcreem its way back to the adult Wesley’s style? It was so strange to look at this sleeping young man and not just have such different feelings for him but to see him differently as well.

In the past, when looking at Wesley, the adjectives that had sprung to mind would have been ‘pompous’, ‘stuffy’, ‘prim’ and ‘ineffectual’ not to mention the constant of ‘annoying’. He was looking at the same face now, but he looked so different. For the first time he realized how young Wesley really was when not wearing the disguise of slicked down hair, that carefully tailored suit, and his face schooled into an expression of earnest maturity. Now he could see the little boy he’d been. It was there in the thick dark lashes and the line of the jaw, the line of the cheekbones as well. Now he looked so vulnerable with those shadows under his eyes, so much more fragile than he remembered. How had he never noticed how thin that boy was? Had Wesley had that suit made especially to disguise it? Because it was certainly obvious now: a thin, handsome, vulnerable-looking boy, very obviously that child grown up. He looked at this Wesley and wanted to protect him. He almost hated the man who had thrown so many casual put downs at him. My god, the boy was so sensitive; how had he not known that? He might as well have been Roger Wyndam-Pryce, Giles had carried the torch the man had passed to him so well; the next tweedy authority figure to keep reminding Wesley that he was worthless and stupid and would never amount to anything.

Wesley stirred and Angel glanced out of the window. There was light behind the curtains; not much, the first edgings of dawn; but enough to show that it was morning.

Wesley’s eyelashes flickered and then his eyes opened, shockingly blue and shockingly…familiar, those big blue eyes in that thin face under the untidy softness of his tousled dark hair.

“Wesley…?” Giles said gently.

Wesley gazed up at him and blinked in confusion. “Mr Giles…?”

And, of course, he had known that was coming. That reversion to the formal title but how much nicer it would have been to have some halting crossover from Wesley’s time as a child. He didn’t remember then, just as they’d expected. Giles tried and failed abjectly to be glad.

“You’ve been…unwell. A consequence of that amulet you took home with you. Do you remember that?”

Wesley gazed up at him in confusion, then looked down at himself, then around the room. “I don’t…? Where…? That is… why am I…?”

“You’re in my house in the spare bedroom. You haven’t been very well but you’re better now although I suspect you still have the end of a cold. You took the amulet home with you ten days ago. It’s the eighteenth today.”

“Do you remember anything?”

Wesley evidently hadn’t realized Angel was there because at that question he jumped nervously. “What?”

Angel grimaced. “Sorry. I just wondered if you remembered anything.”

“I remember taking the amulet home. I was doing some research. I was cold. I went to bed. I opened the amulet in bed. I don’t remember anything after that. Ten days ago, you say? Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Giles managed a smile. “Do you feel well enough to get up? Or would you rather rest here for a while? I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

“No, I…” Wesley glanced under the covers. “I don’t appear to be wearing…”

Angel handed him his pyjamas, neatly folded. Buffy had washed and ironed them. Not something they could really tell this confused adult Wesley who clearly found it extremely disconcerting to be naked in a bed, with two men he barely knew hovering over him.

Wesley fingered the pyjamas awkwardly. “My suit…?”

“You’re not well enough to go into work today, Wesley,” Giles told him firmly. “You’ve had a very nasty cold.”

“I really think that’s my decision,” Wesley retorted.

Angel shrugged and placed a folded up pair of jeans and a shirt on the bed next to the pyjamas. Wesley touched the jeans and then the shirt and said, “Thank you.”

“I’ll go and put the kettle on.” Giles rose to his feet abruptly.

Wesley turned his head and saw Cuthbert, flushing in embarrassment. “You went through my things?”

“It seemed sensible to have familiar things around you while you were ill,” Giles returned. “You really weren’t…yourself.”

Wesley paled even further. “Did I…?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Giles assured him. “But the amulet had an effect upon you that… We were concerned for you. We found you at your flat the morning after the spell hit you and we’ve taken care of you. But as far as Snyder is concerned you’ve been at a rare book fair.”

“Thank you,” Wesley said awkwardly. He looked at the nightlight in confusion. “Do you have children?”

“No.”

Angel added: “Giles’ nephew visited recently. The room was set up for…him.”

Wesley kept looking at the nightlight. “It’s…a very nice night light. I hope he appreciated it?”

“He was very appreciative.” Giles found he was in danger of getting choked up. “He’s a very…endearing little boy. Let’s get you that tea, shall we?”

They went downstairs, Angel accompanying him and providing silent sympathy. When Giles found he couldn’t say anything, it was Angel who tentatively offered: “He seems to be okay.”

“Yes, thankfully. No ill effects.”

Another awkward pause. “Are you going to be okay?”

Giles closed his eyes. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Angel grimaced. “Sorry. Just trying to be…you know…”

“Human?”

“Something like that.”

“I have lost nothing. I never had anything. He was never my child, or my nephew; he was an illusion. Now reality has been restored, just as we knew it would be.”

“Knowing isn’t always feeling.” Angel looked up the stairs. “I miss him so much it feels like someone stuck a stake in my heart and I just haven’t turned to dust. I have feelings of affection for that guy upstairs that bear no relation to any friendship we’ve had or the way he feels about me. I’m just a scary vampire to him. But I can’t look at him and not see that kid I…love.”

Giles knew what Angel was doing. The last person on the planet to ever share his feelings was doing it just so that Giles knew he wasn’t alone in this particular illogical place of pain. He appreciated the gesture but it didn’t really help. It still hurt. Giles suspected it was going to hurt for a long time still to come. Right now it was hard to believe it would ever do anything but hurt.


Wesley came downstairs after a short delay; wearing the clothes Angel had given him. He was clearly uncomfortable in them, running his hand down the over-sized pale blue cotton shirt in the place where a tie should have been, while pulling his jeans up with his other hand. They were a narrow fitting but they still didn’t, well…fit.

Giles looked at the young man in shock and realized that his usual suit wasn’t just camouflage, it was armour. In these clothes he looked five years younger and half his normal width. He’d had to roll his sleeves up because they were too long and his wristbones were exposed in all their fragility. Thinking of the insecurities of that little boy who considered himself ‘stupid’, Giles could see why Wesley had felt the need to cover himself up.

“Here you are, Wesley.” He handed him a cup of tea and only as he handed it over realized that he had automatically made it as if for the child version of the young man. They both looked at the pale milky brew and then Giles forced a smile. “Sorry, that’s mine. Here’s yours.” He handed over his own and then tried to take a casual sip of the incredibly weak sweet tea he had made for the boy. Feigning a cough, he went into the kitchen and hastily poured it down the sink. As he did so he found everything was blurry again; the pain of losing the child another stab as he watched the tea swirl down the plughole. He made himself another cup of tea while Angel asked Wesley how he was.

Wesley looked uneasy as the vampire gazed at him with the full force of his brooding intensity. “Fine, thank you.” A cough contradicted him and he hastily put a hand up to his mouth. “That is…a little bit washy, but otherwise fine. Did you say I was out for ten days?”

Angel pulled out a chair for him and indicated it. Wesley sat, obediently, while still darting the vampire uneasy looks.

Wesley jumped at the hammering on the door and Giles motioned to Angel to keep back while he went to open it. It was just as well they’d taken that precaution as light spilled in along with the group of teenagers who barged across his threshold the moment he opened the door.

“How is he?” Buffy demanded. “Is Wesley…?”

“He’s…himself again,” Giles said non-committally.

Buffy almost ran into the room and then looked at Wesley. Swallowing hard for a moment as she took in his restored shape, she said: “Are you okay? How do you feel?” She put a hand across his forehead automatically. “Do you still have a sore throat?”

“No, I’m…very well.” Wesley flashed her a deer in headlights look as Buffy felt his glands.

“Wesley doesn’t remember being…ill,” Giles reminded her before Buffy actually demanded that he stuck out his tongue and let her look at it.

Buffy automatically brushed his hair back from his forehead again and straightened his collar. “Have you had your medicine?”

“Um…” Wesley darted Giles a ‘save me’ look. “What medicine was I taking again?”

Giles thought of all the junior versions of medication around. “I think some paracetamol to help with the headaches and aching would probably be best.” He fetched him some from the medicine cabinet and put it in his hand while Wesley continued to look at Buffy as if she were likely to bite him.

Buffy had now been joined by Willow who also automatically put her head on Wesley’s forehead. “Do you have a headache?” she asked.

“No…” Wesley crouched down in his chair, shoulders hunched, clearly not entirely sure why these strange teenagers were now fussing over him when in the past they had always been dismissive and rude to him. “Are you all…quite well…?”

“We’re fine. Cordelia’s the only one who got the bug,” Buffy explained.

Xander had been looking at Wesley sombrely and now came forward to give him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you looking…well, Wesley.”

“I don’t think he looks well,” Willow protested. “His head is hot and I think he still has a fever.”

“I really don’t think I do…” Wesley offered meekly. “Is Miss Chase…recovering…?”

“She’s well enough to bite everyone’s heads off this morning so I think that can be taken as a sign of normalcy,” Buffy shrugged. She turned to Giles. “You’re going to make sure Wesley stays in bed and rests today, right?”

Giles grimaced. “As Wesley is a grown man, Buffy, I don’t think that’s exactly my decision.”

Buffy turned on Wesley so fast that he flinched back in his chair. “You are not going back to work today.”

“But I…”

“I don’t care about that,” she said vehemently. “Do you know how high your temperature was? You can’t possibly be thinking about going to work when you’re still all…contagious. That would just be selfish.”

“But, it seems as if the only people who I might infect have already been in contact with either Miss Chase or myself,” Wesley protested. “And if I’ve been ill for ten days there must be a great deal of work to catch up on. Has anyone been making reports to the Council?”

Giles blinked. “I was fired by the Council, Wesley. And – why were you having to make reports to them?”

Wesley grimaced. “That’s what I was told to do.”

“Your eyes are red,” Buffy observed critically. He coughed. “See – that’s a cough. Giles – make him stay home.”

Wesley waved her off. “Buffy, not that I don’t appreciate your concern, but we do have rather more important matters to attend to. What is the situation with the Mayor?”

“He sent some people to kill Willow. He found out she was hacking into his system. We think Faith may be working for him. You should really take some NyQuil.”

Wesley gently removed her hand from his forehead. “Buffy – the Mayor? You think he’s managed to recruit Faith to his cause? How?”

“She was alienated and maybe she wanted…” Buffy thought about Faith, the girl whose Watcher had turned out to be insane, and then who had only got half shares in the next Watcher sent, who, in any case, neither of them rated; who didn’t have friends of her own, only part shares in Buffy’s friends, most of whom now didn’t like her. “Maybe she just wanted something of her own.”

“A rogue slayer.” Wesley ran a hand through his hair, disordering it further. “That’s terribly dangerous.” He looked up at Giles. “We must call the Council for orders.”

“I’m not sure there’s a precedent, Wesley,” Giles said. “Perhaps we should assess the situation from this end then make a recommendation to them. What do you think? I’ve certainly heard rumours about the Council not being averse to…killing those they consider a threat and I’m not sure if I’m personally ready to be the person to cause a death sentence to be handed out against a seventeen year old girl.”

Wesley swallowed. “No… I’m not sure I… But do we have the right to leave Faith at large? A rogue slayer could be very dangerous. We know she’s killed once by accident and I understand she almost killed Xander on purpose.”

“I think Faith being arrested is not the worst thing that could happen.” Willow sat down next to Wesley and looked up at Giles. “Is there more tea?” As Buffy went to make it, she whispered to Wesley: “You know, if we talk about this here you’re still working and Buffy won’t freak about you going back to the library too early.”

Wesley looked at her in surprise. “I don’t really understand why Buffy would…care.”

“She’s a caring person,” Willow explained.

“She hides it well.” Wesley noticed Oz looking at him fixedly and reached up to adjust a tie he wasn’t wearing. “Um – is something amiss?”

“Just wondering how much you remembered?”

“Nothing from when I picked up the amulet. Was I in a coma…?”

“Not exactly.” Xander was already fetching dishes and milk and boxes of cereal. “Angel, can you make the toast? Giles, you got more marmalade, right?”

Wesley looked around in confusion. “Are we having breakfast?”

“Of course we’re having breakfast.” Buffy refilled his teacup. “You missed a lot of meals when you were ill.”

“But about Faith…?”

“What do you think, Wesley?” Giles asked quietly, placing the milk jug on the table.

The young man considered the point. “I suppose it’s a matter of responsibility. Do we think Faith is capable of killing someone? If we do we have an obligation to safeguard the public.”

“We have obligations to her too though.” Buffy sat down next to Wesley and began to pour out his cornflakes. “Do you want these or Frosties?”

He looked at her in confusion. “Um – perhaps some toast…?”

“I think you need cereal too. Cornflakes or Frosties?”

“Cornflakes then.” He cleared his throat. “I recognize your point about Faith, Buffy. I certainly feel responsible for her. I know I didn’t connect with her in any meaningful way, although goodness knows, I did try, but I think perhaps I wasn’t able to come to any real meeting of minds with the girl and I regret that. And I know you think I alienated her trust.”

“We all alienated her trust, Wesley.” Buffy heaped Cornflakes into his dish and added milk and sugar automatically before pushing it to him along with a teaspoon. “I did it when I didn’t tell her Angel was back. Mrs Post did it when she went all whacko psycho after telling Faith to trust her. You did it when you tried to get her taken into custody. At least you were doing what someone else told you to do whereas Mrs Post and I were pretty much freelance trust-alienators.”

Wesley looked down at his cereal. “Could I – have a big spoon?”

Angel handed him one as well as side plate ready for his toast. Wesley blinked in mild confusion at the six different boxes of cereal on the table. “Why do you have so much breakfast cereal, Mr Giles?”

“Xander,” Giles explained. “He has crazes for different kinds.”

“Do you usually all eat your breakfast here?”

“Well, we have been recently.” Buffy pushed his tea cup closer. “Don’t forget to drink your tea. You need to replenish liquids. Did you take your paracetamol yet?”

“I was just about to.” Wesley hastily did so, washing down the bitter pills with sips of tea. “Um – if your original plan was to confine Faith without notifying the Council, is that what you’re proposing to do now?”

Giles sat down on the other side of him. “My concern is that the Council would simply eliminate Faith so that a new Slayer would be Called, who was – less trouble. I feel uncomfortable simply writing the girl off like that. She has certainly made some very bad decisions but I do feel that we – all of us – as well as the Council may be responsible in some way. You aren’t the only one who failed to connect with her, after all.”

“But what if she kills someone?” Wesley pressed. “I don’t think any of us want that on our consciences. If we just let the Council handle it then they can make a judgement about what they feel is the best thing to do. I’m sure they would give her a fair hearing.”

“Are you sure?” Giles pressed. “Absolutely sure?”

Wesley considered the point for a moment and then sighed. “No. I was – that is – I concentrated my studies on the Hellmouth itself, things that I might expect to find here, that the Slayer might encounter, so that I could be of assistance to her. I didn’t think to read up on Council policy on rogue Slayers.”

“Do you think they’d keep that kind of thing on record?” Oz asked.

Wesley opened his mouth and then closed it again. “You have a point. They may feel that any such precedents would not be good for morale. When you’re fighting an unending battle against the forces of evil it’s not as if morale is always at its best anyway.” He sighed wearily and dug his spoon into his cornflakes.

“So, you don’t know what the Council would do to Faith if they took her into custody?” Buffy enquired. “Or if even if they were capable of holding her in custody. They didn’t do too good a job last time.”

Wesley flinched. “I know.”

She rested a hand on his arm. “No one’s blaming you, Wes. I’m just saying that if they can’t hold her and they get her pissed she might really hurt someone.”

“She didn’t kill me,” Wesley offered. “She could have done. I did try to hit her with a spanner.”

“What’s a ‘spanner’?” Xander enquired.

“Like a wrench,” Giles explained.

Xander looked horrified. “She hit you with a wrench?”

“No, she just punched me. The point is – how best do we salvage the girl and prevent her from doing more harm than she already has? And which is our first priority?”

Willow held up a hand. “If we’re voting, I think we have to protect other people from Faith more than we need to protect Faith from other people, on account of other people being innocent and maybe just trying to help her and her – you know – say, trying to strangle them.”

“Glad we’re being objective here, Will,” Buffy looked at her in mild reproach.

Wesley rubbed his forehead and Willow and Buffy immediately both reached out to feel it. He flinched away from their hands. “Um – Mr Giles…?”

“Much as I regret saying so, I think that we need to concentrate on the Mayor. It would be helpful if we could incapacitate Faith before the Ascension as he is otherwise going to have a very dangerous ally, but our main focus needs to be him.”

“Have you learned anything more while I’ve been…out of things…?”

Giles began to fill Wesley in on the information that, ironically, Wesley himself had obtained through his cross-referencing; very aware all that time as he did so that Wesley was not perhaps as unreasonable as they had always assumed. They had locked him out of every discussion they had held in the past; there had been no question of asking for his input, or valuing his opinion. Wesley had run off to tell the Council what he had overheard only after they had decided to make a decision without consulting him. Giles winced inwardly at that realization.

Wesley automatically ate his way through his cornflakes as Giles talked to him, the teenagers chiming in with their own additions from time to time. As soon as the cornflakes were finished, Angel put a plate of toast in front of Wesley.

“I’ll butter it for you,” Willow said. “I always butter it because you…I mean, I just like buttering toast. It’s a hobby.”

“Yes, you should humour her.” Buffy patted Wesley’s arm. “It would be a kindness.”

Wesley looked down at Buffy’s hand on his arm in confusion then looked at Willow buttering his toast. He glanced up at Giles for an explanation and the man grimaced. “You know how women are with sick people, Wesley. It brings out all their…maternal instincts.”

“Oh.” Wesley quietly removed his wrist from Buffy’s patting hand. “I see. But I really feel quite well now.”

“Don’t spoil their fun,” Angel whispered to him, making Wesley, who had evidently not known the vampire was there, jump violently.

Willow went to put the butter knife in the marmalade and both Wesley and Giles made hissing noises in anxiety. She carefully put down the butter knife and picked up a clean knife to delve into the marmalade. Then handed Wesley his plate of marmalade on toast, neatly cut into quarters for him.

“Tomorrow, you should have the rice crispies,” Xander observed. “They really do snap, crackle and pop.”

“I usually just have a cup of tea,” Wesley returned.

“No wonder you’re so skinny,” Buffy said critically.

Wesley looked down at himself in confusion. “I’m not ‘skinny’.”

Angel snorted and then at Wesley’s hurt look, said, “Sorry, I thought you were making a joke. Do you want some more toast…?”

“No, thank you.” Wesley looked up at the clock. “Shouldn’t Buffy and the others be on their way to school?”

Buffy glared at him. “How can I go to school if I don’t get any assurances from you that you’re going to rest and take your medicine and take care of yourself if I’m not here…?”

At the thought of Buffy spending the entire day ‘taking care’ of him, Wesley looked like a fox that had just been sighted by hounds. He darted a desperate look at Giles who intervened in the interests of mercy. “Buffy, I’m sure that Wesley will bear in mind his convalescent state and behave sensibly.”

Buffy looked unconvinced. She stood up, looming over Wesley who looked up at her wide-eyed and open mouthed. “You’re going to stay here with Giles? And work on – research and things that are quiet and no running around getting worn out or giving yourself a headache working on Council…paperwork?”

Meekly, Wesley said, “Yes, Buffy.”

He seemed more surprised than she was at his instinctive obedience to her, but she only nodded. “Okay then.” She looked down at his clothes. “Maybe you should put on your robe. That doesn’t look warm enough to me. Xander…”

Xander had already headed upstairs to fetch the robe. Wesley watched him go in confusion, still hunching as Buffy loomed over him. She felt his forehead again and shook her head. “I think you still have a temperature.”

“I’ll make sure he has a quiet day of researching,” Giles assured her. “But you really are going to be late for school if you don’t leave now.”

Xander came down with Wesley’s robe, pyjamas and Cuthbert. He put the teddy bear in Wesley’s arms – he took him automatically – and hung the robe and pyjamas on the back of the chair. “You’ll get a lot less grief from the Buffster if you’re wearing those when she comes back this afternoon.”

“Comes back?” Wesley looked horrified. “But, what about our nice quiet day of research…?”

“If you’re here you’re much further away from Buffy than you would be in the school library,” Willow pointed out in a whisper. “She can come and check up on you in between lessons there.”

Still clutching Cuthbert, Wesley received a friendly nod from Oz, a sympathetic pat from Xander, a sweet smile from Willow and a last feeling of his forehead from Buffy who said firmly to Giles: “Make sure he rests.”

Giles held the door open for them and waved them off then closed it with a sigh of relief. “I’ll stick around,” Angel explained. “I can’t leave until evening now anyway.”

After the door closed, Wesley said faintly: “Did something…happen, while I was affected by the amulet that you’re not telling me about?”

Giles cleared his throat. “I told you, Wesley. You were unwell. Everyone took a turn in taking care of you. It’s going to take Buffy a while to adjust to you not…needing her care. You may have to be patient for a few days.” He held Wesley’s gaze. “And there are worse things than being fussed over, aren’t there?”

Wesley looked down at his teddy bear and then back at Giles, flushing a little as he said, “Yes, yes there are…”

Giles nodded. “Right then, perhaps another cup of tea and then we can get on with some research…?”

***

Wesley wasn’t sure that he was in the right dimension. He had read of such things, people slipping from their world to another one; and that was starting to seem like a reasonable explanation. Everything was the same and yet…different. Particularly Mr Giles. Ever since Wesley had arrived in Sunnydale, with his research notes in his head, a smile on his face, and his hand held out to shake theirs, Buffy, Faith, their ex-Watcher, and all of their friends – with the exception of the lovely Miss Chase – had done nothing but rebuff him, ignore him, insult him, and dismiss him. He had never been so achingly lonely in his life.

He had told himself that they would get used to him. Things would improve. This was a temporary setback. He’d never made friends easily, at school or out of it, but people had usually come to accept his worth after a while. But it had become increasingly obvious that dismissing and despising him was a habit these Sunnydale people had no intention of breaking. Buffy was always going to roll her eyes at everything he said, or shrug, or look through him to Giles, and Giles was going to make waspish hurtful little remarks that made Wesley snap back in spite or temper that just dragged him down to their level.

He had been the most hurt by Giles’ attitude. The man was an Englishman and a Watcher and his own diaries made it clear that he had found Buffy difficult at first as well, but there had been not a trace of simpatico in his attitude towards Wesley. Wesley had been treated as the irritating young interloper who dared to challenge the present incumbent, even though it was hardly his fault if Giles had got himself fired.

Every day had been something to be endured. Trying not to snap back when put down; trying to get his point across when no one wanted to hear it; trying to find a way to impress people with his authority and taking refuge in mimicking his father and tutors in a desperate attempt to convince people that something he said might be worth listening to. He had been at best…tolerated; at worst…snubbed, ignored, dismissed. It had been the nightmare from which he simply couldn’t wake up. The frustration of knowing that he did actually have something to contribute and being instead sent on errands by a irritable teenager; feeling every time he opened his mouth that he had thirty seconds precisely before Buffy’s eyes glazed over or she said something snide to him or someone interrupted. He had felt as if every single day he was being forced to retake an exam he had already passed.

And then there had been the amulet. Nursing his aching ribcage as he climbed painfully out of his suit, hung it up as he had always been taught, so that there would be no creases in the morning, and then getting into bed, wincing as the pain in his back and ribs stabbed at him, and only remembering at the last minute that he still hadn’t looked at that damned package he had confiscated from Mr Giles. He had been a little nervous, not of the package itself, but of the reaction. Buffy would make him pay for putting Giles down, and Giles would make him pay as well; more belittlings and dismissals in front of as many people as possible; every day feeling as if he was being handed the dunce’s cap and told to go and stand in the corner.

Groaning at the prospect, he tore open the envelope and shook out what it contained. At first he’d mistaken it for a horse brass; wondering if someone had sent it to Giles as an in-joke and reminder of nights spent in smoky pubs. Even the thought of being back in England, playing darts while sipping a pint of real beer had made Wesley ache anew with homesickness. He picked the amulet up and tried to read the writing around the rim. As he did so, it had warmed as it touched his skin, and he’d realized it was the first thing that had touched him since he arrived here. No, that wasn’t quite true. Giles had touched him when he shoved him out of harm’s way after that debacle over Balthazar. Wesley cringed at the memory of it; the confusion of being captured, threatened, facing imminent death, his own abject cowardice, and then that tall young man whom he had guessed must be Buffy’s boyfriend had strode in and revealed himself to be a vampire. He had still been reeling from that when Giles had started acting like Errol Flynn in The Adventures of Robin Hood and Wesley had found himself shoved to safety as if he were no more useful than a B-movie damsel in distress. He had been thinking of that as the amulet began to glow. He had still been staring at in confusion before it occurred to him that dropping it might be a very good idea.

Then…white light. He thought there had been a light. And then…nothing. Nothing until he had woken up in Rupert Giles’ spare bedroom, naked and extremely confused.

But now everything was subtly different. There had been that bizarre breakfast where all of the ‘Scoobies’ arrived, apparently to see how he, Wesley, was feeling. He had been included in decisions instead of scorned and dismissed. People had actually asked for his opinion on things. Buffy had been as bossy as ever, but it had been a protective, nurturing kind of bossiness rather than the usual impatient dislike from her. And now there was Giles and the vampire-who-was-not-now-Angelus being patient and considerate towards him.

“I suggest, Wesley, that we try to cover ground a little more quickly by extending out research. I’ve got some Fallorian texts on order – I understand you can translate Fallorian?”

“Yes, Mr Giles.” Wesley wondered how Giles knew that.

“It was in your paperwork,” Giles explained. “It’s not a language I really know. If you’re agreeable, I was thinking that I would stick to these mediaeval German, French and Turkish texts, that seem to have reference to unusual demonic activity and you take the Hebrew, Sumerian and – when it arrives – Fallorian.”

“Also, I could use some help with this Gehsundi,” Angel put in. “I read some of it but I’m getting bogged down with the tenses. If it’s saying ‘net-an di’urak kelkash’ is that ‘demons of the pure blood’ or ‘blood of the pure demons’?”

“Can I see?” As Angel went to fetch the parchment, Wesley nodded to Giles. “That sounds like a sensible division of labour, Mr Giles. Do you have some particular texts in mind? And my Fallorian is a little bit rusty but I’ll certainly do my best. Have you found a reference to a Fallorian account of an ascension?”

“To pure demonic forms and an ascension. And there seem to be several references to both of those things. Do you know the Fallorian Ak-Nethyanak-An?”

Wesley was relieved. “Oh yes, it’s the text I was asked to analyse for my finals. It’s a fascinating account of the earliest demons and their attempts to hold onto their purity as the ‘plague carriers’ arrived. We’re the ‘plague carriers’, of course. It does give one a sense of perspective to read a text in which one’s own race play the role of rattus rattus.”

“Well, it should be here tomorrow.”

Wesley thought about the cost of such a volume. “Why don’t you let me pay for it? I can charge it to the Council as an essential expense? And you’re only getting it for Council work, after all.”

They haggled for a little while until Giles agreed. As they were discussing it, Wesley caught sight of the man’s post. Giles credit card bill was frighteningly high and the majority of it seemed to have been spent in Toys’n’Games Inc. Giles followed his gaze. “My nephew’s visit,” he explained.

Wesley tried to imagine someone spending that amount of money on one child, and his mind just baulked at it. “You must be very…fond of him…?” he offered tentatively.

“Yes, I am.”

Giles looked so tense that Wesley was afraid to say anything else but tried to keep the man’s mind on cheerful things. “Well, he must have had an absolutely smashing time with all those toys to play with. I’m sure you’re his favourite uncle.”

Giles kept gazing fixedly into his teacup and Wesley had a horrible feeling he’d just said something crass. He expected the man to snap at him any minute and tell him to be quiet and not to talk about things he didn’t understand, and almost flinched in anticipation. But when Giles looked at him his gaze was kind and sad at the same time. “He was – is a very lovable little boy and his father is very…strict. It was a chance to let him have some fun for a change. At home he is pretty much expected to study full time.”

Wesley certainly knew all about that. Hours of study in unheated bedrooms – everyone knew heating made little boys soft – until the brain just gave up and the deadline for when the work had to be handed in drew closer and closer. Work that was rarely satisfactory and when it was would be greeted only with a grunt or the most grudging ‘it’s acceptable, I suppose’. More often there would be criticism, scolding, punishment.

Giles said shortly: “His father is a most unreasonable man. My nephew is a very – sensitive, very intelligent, very hard-working and conscientious little boy, and as far as I can tell all he ever receives as a reward for all his hours of diligent study is criticism and punishment.”

Wesley flinched inside. That hit too close to home. He wished Giles would stop talking about his nephew. He didn’t want to think of another child out there right now enduring a childhood like his. “I suppose it’s a fitting preparation for life anyway,” he sighed. He caught sight of a plastic castle up on the sideboard and his eyes lit up. “Is that what you bought for him?”

“Yes.” Giles still looked depressed.

Wesley went over to examine the castle better and saw that it had a siege tower, not to mention a little portcullis that pulled up, a vast number of knights, many of them on horses. “Goodness, what a wonderful present.” Seeing Giles still looking depressed, he hurried to reassure him. “Mr Giles, my own father was – is – a strict sort of man, and I can assure you that if your nephew’s childhood was anything like mine then this would have been the most marvellous present for him.” He picked up one of the knights and dislodged a precariously balanced tower that slid off onto the floor. “Sorry,” he flinched. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t think it’s broken.” He hastily picked up the tower and put it with the rest, backing away before he did any more damage.

“It’s fine, Wesley,” Giles said gently. “Thank you for what you said. I hope he had a nice time here.”

“I’m sure he had a wonderful time. Goodness…” Wesley caught sight of a pirate ship and remembered the size of that credit card bill. “You certainly bought him a lot of things.”

“His father doesn’t believe in toys.”

Wesley grimaced. “Yes, well, my father was just the same way. He thought they were frivolous. I did have some lead soldiers, which I was awfully fond of, although I was only allowed to play with them when I’d done all my lessons.” He noticed the dragon piled into the castle and looked at it with longing. This was exactly the kind of toy he would have loved to play with when a child. He had so enjoyed stories about knights and dragons and his father had always been so irritated with him for wasting him time on anything that wasn’t strictly to do with the schoolwork.

“I’m fully intending to play with all of those toys in his absence,” Giles observed, coming over to look at the castle with him. “I’ll have to invite Xander over to give myself an excuse.”

Wesley was surprised at Giles admitting to such frivolity in front of him but pleased as well; it was the kind of thing one would say to someone that one…liked. He tried to answer in turn. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly be averse… I mean, one could always say that it was a means of honing one’s skills as a strategist. To assist the Slayer in coming battles.” He had gone too far, he knew it. Now Giles would tell him that he certainly wasn’t going to let someone like Wesley play with his clearly much-loved nephew’s toys. He was almost afraid to look at Giles and see that scornful expression on his face. But Giles was smiling at him gently.

“That’s an excellent idea, Wesley. In fact, I think we should do that tonight. With the dragon standing in for the Mayor, obviously.”

“Here’s the Geshundi text.”

They both jumped as Angel thrust the parchment at them. Giles said in exasperation, “Could you whistle or something?”

“Not in tune,” Angel admitted. He looked at Wesley. “Can you translate this?”

Wesley looked at the text and then became aware of Giles and the vampire both looking at him fixedly and began to feel hot under the collar. He would mess up the translation, of course, and Mr Giles would sneer at him about it, tell him he was stupid and it was a mystery to him how such a foolish boy could ever have achieved those marks. He snatched a much-needed breath, reminding himself that Giles was not his father.

“Why don’t I go and put the kettle on?” Giles suggested. “I hate translating with someone breathing down my neck. Are there any texts that would help with the transliteration?”

Surprised, Wesley gave him a look of gratitude. “Do you have the Filimer Codex? Or the Kyndethian Mysteries?”

“I’ve got the Codex at home.” Angel looked outside. “I can get it this evening.”

“And the Mysteries are in the library,” Giles called from the kitchen. “Why don’t you leave the Geshundi until tomorrow and work on the Sumerian reference works today? I’ve got all of those here.”

“Whatever you think.” Wesley rolled up the Geshundi carefully and sat down at Giles’ table once more.

The man smiled at him as he handed him his tea and Wesley realized in shock that it was the first time anyone except Miss Chase had smiled at him before today since his arrival in Sunnydale. Except for Buffy’s mother. She had been a truly pleasant woman and the only other person to actually welcome him to the town. Giles certainly had not smiled at him until now.

“Some biscuits?” Giles offered. “I have some I hide from the children.”

Wesley found himself installed at Giles’ table with Giles on his right and Angel opposite him, the vampire sipping a mug of warmed blood from a bright pink mug, while he and Giles sipped English Breakfast tea and nibbled chocolate hob-nobs. Giles handed out pens and paper and then allocated texts for translation.

“You get the Mediaeval French, Angel.” Giles handed it over, took a musty German manuscript for himself and held out a book of Sumerian demon accounts to Wesley. “Or do you want to swap?”

“No, I like cuneiform.” Wesley took the book gratefully, glanced at the pictures and winced. “Of course, it would be nice if they ever displayed the texts the right way up.” Resignedly, he turned the book on its side and began to translate.

Wesley was surprised to find that two hours had gone by with nothing but offers of more tea and the pleasant sound of pen nibs on paper. Angel’s handwriting was neat but old fashioned; like something from the eighteen century – which, of course, the vampire was. Wesley was fascinated to see that although his accent had altered, and his choice in grooming and clothing had also evolved over time, his handwriting still had more than a hint of copperplate about it. Angel cricked his neck back into place at the end of his translation, distracting Wesley, who wondered if vampires got pulled muscles like lesser mortals, and then pushed it over to Wesley.

“I think this is about a sewer beast who fed on the poor and was probably either a vampire or a Hukandar demon. They’re calling it ‘pure’ because its intentions were purely evil, but I think it was just the worst thing that had ever happened to them in their village, not that spectacular on a global scale.”

Wesley read through the account and nodded. “It could even be a Telmutar. They could certainly carry children from their beds and I wouldn’t want to meet one on a dark night.” He noticed that Angel had done an illustration in the corner as he tried to make sense of their descriptions. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

Angel winced. “It’s a hobby I indulged in when evil as well as…now.”

“Still…” Wesley gazed at the picture, those few lines that had conjured that creature so well. “It must be wonderful to have a talent.”

Giles said: “Wesley, I’ve read your school reports and seen your marks, don’t tell me you don’t have a talent.”

Wesley grimaced. “Well, you know, good all rounder. Not really outstanding in any one field.”

Giles gazed at him levelly. “Is there some mark they give out these days that’s higher than an ‘A’ that I don’t know about?”

Wesley realized belatedly that the man was praising him and had to drop his gaze quickly, to hide that shocked smile of pleasure. He was afraid he might blush if he wasn’t careful. It was so long since anyone had given him the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head, he felt almost unready to deal with it. He had handed that final school report to his father and waited eagerly for the praise that surely must now be forthcoming. The man had read it through then grunted and said, “Well, I suppose you acquitted yourself reasonably well. You didn’t actually disgrace the family name for a change, and for that I suppose I should be grateful.” Wesley had had to tell himself very fiercely in his bedroom afterwards that it had been praise; even high praise; but the tears had still burned at his eyes.

Angel was smiling at him gently when he looked up. The vampire said: “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

Wesley gaped at him in shock and then realized what he meant and hastily shoved the paper at him. “The size of the demon described seems to invalidate the account, unfortunately. If this were accurate it would have been big enough to curl under an entire city.” He looked across at Giles. “It says that a great city was destroyed by the unfurling of a scaled beast of terrible size and hunger, and that those who were not killed by the falling buildings were devoured ‘in their thousands’.”

“Does this account predate the fall of Sodom?” Angel enquired.

“Well, if Sodom was Bab Edh-Dhra then that would be about 3100 BC which would be bang on target for its destruction to be recorded in Uruk contemporaneously. This is a later translation of an earlier text – probably more like the Early Dynastic period, possibly when Enmerbaragesi was king of Kish.” Wesley noticed that Giles was looking at him and wondered if he’d said something wrong. Perhaps he'd been showing off again? He had often been told off for that at school by the other boys. Hastily, he added: “Not that I’m an expert.”

Giles gazed at him curiously. “Did you take archaeology at university?”

“No. I just read around the subject a little. It’s impossible to study demonic texts without putting them in historical context.”

“And yet people do, all the time,” Giles observed. “I’ve had conversations with Ebley of the Council who clearly has no idea that the Aztecs weren’t contemporaries of the Olmec.”

“Well, Ebley is....” Wesley cleared his throat. “Um…what’s the polite word for ‘unbelievably stupid’ again?”

Giles grinned at him; a genuine grin from one equal to another, sharing a joke. “I think the Council usually uses ‘an expert in his own field’ although what Ebley’s field actually is remains to be seen.”

“What if the Sumerian account is accurate?” Angel put in.

Wesley thought about the carnage he had read and winced. “Um – that would mean that when a demon or half demon ‘ascends’ it becomes incredibly big and savage.”

Giles shrugged. “Well, if it does involve a rapid period of growth then it would logically make the creature very hungry.”

“When you change from human to demon you have a hunger that I can’t even begin to describe,” Angel admitted. “It feels as if every cell in your body is screaming for blood.”

“Well, such a transition probably does put a strain on what is in some ways still a human body,” Giles acknowledged. “A vampire that didn’t get to feed would probably be weakened – perhaps even permanently. Some studies suggest that the vampire’s first actions after it’s – reborn decide what kind of a vampire it becomes, strength and dominance wise.”

Wesley looked at Angel. “You ate straight away, didn’t you?”

“Ate and kept on eating,” Angel acknowledged. “So did Darla. She was quite wealthy, as I understand it, although not at all respectable, and as she didn’t have any family, there were a lot of people hanging around hoping to get her jewels. The Master made sure none of them got away and Darla dined in style.”

Giles passed over the translation he had done of the German text. “This is a brief account of people trembling in fear of the coming ‘ascension’ and then a report from a few days later of an entire town in the Schwarzwald being turned into a big hole in the ground. No bodies were found and no living people either. It was a town of perhaps two hundred and fifty people.”

Wesley tapped his fingers lightly on the table as he thought. “If it’s a physiological alteration that turns the one ‘ascending’ to a demon of great size and that demon has a hunger proportionate to its size and if a vampire, that is a half demon, and still of human size, needs to eat…?”

“Five people would be the minimum,” Angel shrugged. “Ten is more what you want. I think Darla ate about twenty-two. I didn’t stop until I ran out of villagers.”

“And both you and Darla became vampires of unusual strength and ferocity.” Wesley turned to Giles. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Giles shrugged. “That really depends on whether or not you’re thinking that if the Mayor ascends to a demon in its pure form and that demon is possibly going to be big enough to curl up under the ruins of Bab Edh-Dhra that it’s going to need to eat an awful lot of people.”

Wesley nodded. “Who will have to be gathered together in one place for him to eat. Probably straight away.”

Angel grimaced. “Graduation Day. Everyone conveniently gathered in one place.”

“Teachers, parents, and children.” Giles snapped a biscuit in half. “That will probably make for a very good appetizer before he starts devouring the whole town.”

“We should call Buffy.” Wesley looked back at the account of the destruction of what could have been Sodom. Not an earthquake then, and not the wrath of God. An enormous demon with an overpowering hunger. “She needs to know what she’s up against.”

Angel held out his pyjamas. “Good idea.”

Giles just looked at Wesley who said defiantly: “I’m not afraid of a teenage girl.”

Angel tossed him the pyjamas. “She’ll be here at lunchtime. Do you want to spend half an hour talking about why you’re still dressed when she told you to wrap up warmly in your pyjamas or an hour talking about the ascension?”

Groaning, Wesley took the pyjamas and headed for the bathroom. “Really, Mr Giles, I do think you could have made her slightly less…abrasive company in your time as her Watcher.”

“You should have met her three years ago,” Giles assured him. “She’s a purring kitten these days by comparison.”

Sighing, Wesley began to pull of his clothes and pull on his pyjamas. It was a shock when he caught sight of himself in the mirror and realized that his hair was still quite disordered and that in his pyjamas and dressing gown he looked far younger than the age he had been trying to project since arriving here. He had worked very hard to come across as – he hoped – thirty-odd, rather than the twenty-six he actually was, especially as he had frequently been told with some scorn that no one would believe he was even twenty-six and it was a miracle he could ever get served in a pub.

Seeing his reflection – he looked like a skinny, dark-haired schoolboy in these pyjamas – his immediate impulse was to demand his suit and start combing his hair into that mature style he preferred, but then it occurred to him that perhaps the reason why Giles and Angel had been so kind to him today was because he had been…himself. Not pretending to be thirty, or insisting that they remembered he was the Council’s representative; just being the Wesley he was when he closed the door at night and was alone. Perhaps they could have been a great deal kinder to him in the past but perhaps he also had to take his share of the blame for the way they had responded to him. He seemed to have been in his pyjamas for the past week or so as he was in his – whatever it was, mystical coma-come-cold patient condition, and Buffy and the others seemed to have changed from scorning and ignoring him to fussing over him neurotically. It wasn’t that he particularly liked the neurotic fussing – he thought Buffy was slightly more frightening as a Matron from Hell than she was as the Slayer – but she had at least seemed to care whether he lived or died, and that was certainly new.

He pulled on his dressing gown, belted it, and went back into the living room to find Angel smirking at him.

“What?” he demanded.

The vampire handed him his teddy bear. “You look like Christopher Robin.”

“Oh, please.” Even to make a point he couldn’t toss Cuthbert aside. He was much too precious an ally and friend. Cuthbert was the only person to keep him company in all those lonely frightening hours locked up in the dark. He defiantly tucked the bear under his arm. “Christopher Robin was blond.”

He looked up to find Giles was also barely stifling a smile as he handed over another cup of tea. “Here you are, Wesley. Now, shall we tackle those Akkadian texts or would you prefer a reading from The House at Pooh Corner?”

Wesley made to make a retort and then saw the kindness in their eyes; the gentle mockery that came from a place of undisguised fondness. He had never known that before. His father had always scorned and belittled him. The boys at school had called him names and made fun of him in the hope that they could get him to cry or stop putting his hand up in class.

He took his seat at the table with great dignity, hesitated, and then sat Cuthbert on the table. “He’s good at Akkadian,” he said, half-admitting them to the world of his childish imagination, where Cuthbert had been wiser than Merlin and knew the answer to every single question in every single book.

Angel handed Cuthbert a pencil. “Good, we need all the help we can get.”

When Wesley bent back to his translation this time, he realized that he could probably make a start on the Geshundi even without those other reference books; he had been pretty good at sight-reading it in the past. Trying to do it quietly, he slipped the roll of parchment out of its holder and spread it out on the table beside him. Sure enough, the first few clusters of symbols were ones he recognized. Bending his head over it he began to translate, half aware that as he did so Angel and Giles were smiling at one another in a way that had everything to do with satisfaction and nothing at all to do with mockery.

***