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summer_of_giles2012-06-02 10:54 pm
peet4paint.livejournal.com) wrote in summer_of_giles2012-06-02 10:54 pm
Fic: something like happiness, Giles/Wesley
Title: something like happiness
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: PG-13, FRT (for swearing)
Length: ~1700 words
A/N: This story is set in the last half of Season Three. Completely unbeta'd.
*
When Rupert Giles first lays eyes on Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, all he can feel is utter disgust. Wesley had been given on a platter what Rupert had been forced to fight for, tooth and nail. Wesley is one of those Wyndam-Pryce’s, the ones with both money and influence, a blessed few on the Council these days. And, as any eighteen-year-old can tell, he became what he is today by riding on his father’s coattails.
Yes, maybe Rupert has had an advantage or two himself. But where Wesley chose to capitalize on his birthright, Rupert frankly ignored his. Wesley earns double what Rupert's salary was, and the young upstart cannot even do the job for which he is paid. He receives more respect, more autonomy, than Rupert was ever given, even at the end of two years with Buffy.
It wouldn’t grate quite so much if the lad wasn’t such a self-righteous prick. If he had a single original thought floating around in his head. Hell, if he could hold a stake with the ability and skill of Xander.
Rupert tries not to think about Wesley much, but it’s quite difficult to ignore someone who is such an utter nuisance.
*
Sometimes Rupert will be in the middle of something, listening to Buffy’s run-down of the previous evening’s activities or advising Willow on the proper pronunciation of various Latin phrases, or even, on a rare occasion, doing the job for which he is paid (people in California seem to have an abnormal abhorrence for books), when suddenly he’ll catch sight of Wesley making a complete fool of himself.
Rupert always has to bite his cheek to keep back the smirk that wants to rise.
Of course, sometimes when Rupert looks up, Wesley is looking right back.
Those are the times Rupert feels the need to find something, anything, with which to busy himself.
*
There are times that Rupert drinks whiskey. These are the nights following the days that are bad enough to raise his hackles (but not bad enough to make him think fondly of the days before Buffy and her ragged bunch of friends).
When Rupert drinks whiskey, he wonders.
He wonders why, despite never attempting to grow roots here, he seems to have made a home for himself.
He wonders why Buffy trusts him still after what he was, after what he’s done.
He wonders how he could possibly learn to live another life than that of a Watcher.
He wonders if his parents are disappointed in him.
He wonders if England is still the same drear place it always was.
He wonders why Wesley persists in meeting in the library, in Rupert’s domain.
He wonders if it means Wesley is lonely.
He wonders if it means Wesley is uncertain.
He wonders if it means Wesley is afraid.
He wonders…
This is the point at which he firmly closes the whiskey bottle and puts it as far back on the shelf as he can reach.
He always vows to never drink again.
(He inevitably breaks that vow.)
*
At times Rupert is certain that Wesley isn’t human at all. That he’s a robot, for all he ever shows emotion (other than fear, but fear must be the easiest emotion to portray).
And then, one day, Wesley laughs. It’s a real laugh. It’s a loud laugh. It’s the most ridiculous laugh that Rupert’s ever heard. Wesley is laughing not at Buffy and one of her ridiculous puns, not at Xander and one of his tasteless jokes, but at himself. He’s made a mistake, mispronounced a word. Not only mispronounced it, but made it sound downright obscene. He laughs until tears start from his eyes.
Xander interrupts it, as Xander interrupts everything, and Faith rolls her eyes until Rupert’s tempted to warn her they’ll stick that way. But Buffy, Buffy looks at Wesley with something other than outright hostility for the first time since he’s arrived (granted, the look is shock…), and Willow looks something akin to amiable.
It’s begun, Rupert thinks. It was bound to, of course. Wesley is younger than Rupert and more handsome, and really that is all that matters to children these days, beauty and youth.
Rupert slips into his office as unobtrusively as possible.
*
Rupert spends a good deal of time in his office over the next few days. It’s time, it’s past time, to let the lad sink or swim.
Only, no one else seems to have gotten the memo.
Buffy corners him morning, noon, and evening, asking him questions that they both know Wesley knows the answers to. (Rupert answers anyway.)
Willow and Xander spend every evening in the office with him. It’s close quarters for one body, let alone three. But Rupert finds he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he ought.
Faith comes in when the others aren’t there, during school hours mostly. It’s strange how much she’s changed in such a short while, but Rupert can’t help but be enthused that she has finally accepted her calling.
The strangest of all, though, is Wesley. Instead of usurping Rupert’s authority in the way that he ought, or luring the children away with promises of monsters and cookies, or simply waging a silent war with no hope of winning, Wesley becomes ridiculously nice to Rupert.
Every morning there’s a pot of tea already brewed when Rupert gets to the office (and where Wesley managed to find decent loose tea in the state of California, Rupert does not know). Every noon he runs to this little bistro downtown and picks up sandwiches for both of them. And every time there are demons afoot he grabs not only donuts, but every other type of pastry imaginable as well for the hours of research ahead.
And then there are the books.
Rupert is proud of his library, there’s no point in denying it. After all, it’s taken him more than two decades to collect the books he now has.
Wesley has a little help in the book collecting department, seeing as he’s inherited every book he could ever need from his family, a family who has been involved with the Council of Watchers for all known history.
So when books start randomly appearing in Rupert’s collection, he does the only sensible thing and accuses Wesley of trickery.
“N-no,” Wesley stammers, or something like it, “no, I’m not attempting to, to use your bookshelves, Mr. Giles. These are… that is to say, these are meant for you. To add to your collection. You have quite a… nice collection here, Mr. Giles. And, well…” He picks up Mwagdan’s Compendium and places it firmly in Rupert’s hand.
Rupert blinks at a book that costs more than three months of his paycheck, blinks at the shelf where twenty such more are housed, and then he blinks at Wesley, who is looking up at him so earnestly, so full of hope…
Rupert tugs off his glasses and reaches into his pocket. His handkerchief isn’t where he expects it. He fumbles into another pocket and another. When Wesley presses his own handkerchief into Rupert’s hand, Rupert is less surprised than he should be.
*
One night, right before the end, Wesley shows up at Rupert’s apartment. Rupert doesn’t know how Wesley could possibly have found out where he lives, but it doesn’t seem to matter as much with the end of the world close at hand.
“I thought…” Wesley says, lifting a bottle of scotch.
Rupert closes the door behind him. And locks it firmly for good measure.
After about an hour (maybe less, not that Rupert is keeping track), Wesley starts laughing.
Rupert asks what the matter is, and Wesley says, “Nothing. Nothing. I just— D’you know, I always reckoned I wouldn’t die a virgin.” Rupert sits a bit straighter in his chair, unable, for some reason, to slouch as carelessly as he had been up to that point. “I thought—“ Wesley continues. “Well, money may not buy happiness, but it is purported to buy sexual gratification.”
Rupert snorts, then he finds himself giggling, a bit helplessly.
“What?” Wesley says, the picture of righteous indignation.
After a minute of Wesley becoming more and more irate, Rupert sobers. He explains, in halting words, that the mere idea of Wesley having to pay for sex is patently ridiculous.
Wesley smiles for a bit, then his frown returns. “But then— why am I still a virgin.”
Rupert looks at him. He looks at him and looks at him until his eyes go blurry from it. And when Rupert tells Wesley that he has no bloody idea, he sees.
He sees that the way Wesley has been looking at him hasn’t been hope for acceptance or equality or anything else. Wesley has been looking at him not with hope, but yearning.
The kiss that follows that revelation is perfect. It’s dry and a bit off-center and almost completely different from any kiss Rupert’s received, but it’s perfect because it is Wesley.
And what happens after is even better.
*
After it’s over, after it’s all done with nothing but the cleanup left, Rupert cannot help but feel relieved. The apocalypse hasn’t come. The world hasn’t ended. And Principal Snyder’s been eaten (good riddance, the rodent).
He checks on his children, and no they are not his, and no they are not children, but yet they are both. He makes sure the fire crew has everything under control. And then he drives home to his lonely apartment.
It’s hours later when he hears a knock at the door. Wesley wobbles in looking pale and strained and avoiding Rupert’s eyes.
“Well, I’m off, then,” Wesley says with forced joviality. “Off to see the world. Places to go, demons to kill.” He looks up at Rupert then, sad little smile painted on. “It has been a true pleasure to know you, Mr. Giles.” He offers Rupert his hand.
Rupert takes Wesley’s hand and shakes it slowly. He looks in Wesley’s eyes and sees… exactly what he’s looking for. “Stay,” Rupert says, not letting go of Wesley’s hand.
Wesley’s eyes widen and his smile turns into something new, something like happiness.
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: PG-13, FRT (for swearing)
Length: ~1700 words
A/N: This story is set in the last half of Season Three. Completely unbeta'd.
*
When Rupert Giles first lays eyes on Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, all he can feel is utter disgust. Wesley had been given on a platter what Rupert had been forced to fight for, tooth and nail. Wesley is one of those Wyndam-Pryce’s, the ones with both money and influence, a blessed few on the Council these days. And, as any eighteen-year-old can tell, he became what he is today by riding on his father’s coattails.
Yes, maybe Rupert has had an advantage or two himself. But where Wesley chose to capitalize on his birthright, Rupert frankly ignored his. Wesley earns double what Rupert's salary was, and the young upstart cannot even do the job for which he is paid. He receives more respect, more autonomy, than Rupert was ever given, even at the end of two years with Buffy.
It wouldn’t grate quite so much if the lad wasn’t such a self-righteous prick. If he had a single original thought floating around in his head. Hell, if he could hold a stake with the ability and skill of Xander.
Rupert tries not to think about Wesley much, but it’s quite difficult to ignore someone who is such an utter nuisance.
*
Sometimes Rupert will be in the middle of something, listening to Buffy’s run-down of the previous evening’s activities or advising Willow on the proper pronunciation of various Latin phrases, or even, on a rare occasion, doing the job for which he is paid (people in California seem to have an abnormal abhorrence for books), when suddenly he’ll catch sight of Wesley making a complete fool of himself.
Rupert always has to bite his cheek to keep back the smirk that wants to rise.
Of course, sometimes when Rupert looks up, Wesley is looking right back.
Those are the times Rupert feels the need to find something, anything, with which to busy himself.
*
There are times that Rupert drinks whiskey. These are the nights following the days that are bad enough to raise his hackles (but not bad enough to make him think fondly of the days before Buffy and her ragged bunch of friends).
When Rupert drinks whiskey, he wonders.
He wonders why, despite never attempting to grow roots here, he seems to have made a home for himself.
He wonders why Buffy trusts him still after what he was, after what he’s done.
He wonders how he could possibly learn to live another life than that of a Watcher.
He wonders if his parents are disappointed in him.
He wonders if England is still the same drear place it always was.
He wonders why Wesley persists in meeting in the library, in Rupert’s domain.
He wonders if it means Wesley is lonely.
He wonders if it means Wesley is uncertain.
He wonders if it means Wesley is afraid.
He wonders…
This is the point at which he firmly closes the whiskey bottle and puts it as far back on the shelf as he can reach.
He always vows to never drink again.
(He inevitably breaks that vow.)
*
At times Rupert is certain that Wesley isn’t human at all. That he’s a robot, for all he ever shows emotion (other than fear, but fear must be the easiest emotion to portray).
And then, one day, Wesley laughs. It’s a real laugh. It’s a loud laugh. It’s the most ridiculous laugh that Rupert’s ever heard. Wesley is laughing not at Buffy and one of her ridiculous puns, not at Xander and one of his tasteless jokes, but at himself. He’s made a mistake, mispronounced a word. Not only mispronounced it, but made it sound downright obscene. He laughs until tears start from his eyes.
Xander interrupts it, as Xander interrupts everything, and Faith rolls her eyes until Rupert’s tempted to warn her they’ll stick that way. But Buffy, Buffy looks at Wesley with something other than outright hostility for the first time since he’s arrived (granted, the look is shock…), and Willow looks something akin to amiable.
It’s begun, Rupert thinks. It was bound to, of course. Wesley is younger than Rupert and more handsome, and really that is all that matters to children these days, beauty and youth.
Rupert slips into his office as unobtrusively as possible.
*
Rupert spends a good deal of time in his office over the next few days. It’s time, it’s past time, to let the lad sink or swim.
Only, no one else seems to have gotten the memo.
Buffy corners him morning, noon, and evening, asking him questions that they both know Wesley knows the answers to. (Rupert answers anyway.)
Willow and Xander spend every evening in the office with him. It’s close quarters for one body, let alone three. But Rupert finds he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he ought.
Faith comes in when the others aren’t there, during school hours mostly. It’s strange how much she’s changed in such a short while, but Rupert can’t help but be enthused that she has finally accepted her calling.
The strangest of all, though, is Wesley. Instead of usurping Rupert’s authority in the way that he ought, or luring the children away with promises of monsters and cookies, or simply waging a silent war with no hope of winning, Wesley becomes ridiculously nice to Rupert.
Every morning there’s a pot of tea already brewed when Rupert gets to the office (and where Wesley managed to find decent loose tea in the state of California, Rupert does not know). Every noon he runs to this little bistro downtown and picks up sandwiches for both of them. And every time there are demons afoot he grabs not only donuts, but every other type of pastry imaginable as well for the hours of research ahead.
And then there are the books.
Rupert is proud of his library, there’s no point in denying it. After all, it’s taken him more than two decades to collect the books he now has.
Wesley has a little help in the book collecting department, seeing as he’s inherited every book he could ever need from his family, a family who has been involved with the Council of Watchers for all known history.
So when books start randomly appearing in Rupert’s collection, he does the only sensible thing and accuses Wesley of trickery.
“N-no,” Wesley stammers, or something like it, “no, I’m not attempting to, to use your bookshelves, Mr. Giles. These are… that is to say, these are meant for you. To add to your collection. You have quite a… nice collection here, Mr. Giles. And, well…” He picks up Mwagdan’s Compendium and places it firmly in Rupert’s hand.
Rupert blinks at a book that costs more than three months of his paycheck, blinks at the shelf where twenty such more are housed, and then he blinks at Wesley, who is looking up at him so earnestly, so full of hope…
Rupert tugs off his glasses and reaches into his pocket. His handkerchief isn’t where he expects it. He fumbles into another pocket and another. When Wesley presses his own handkerchief into Rupert’s hand, Rupert is less surprised than he should be.
*
One night, right before the end, Wesley shows up at Rupert’s apartment. Rupert doesn’t know how Wesley could possibly have found out where he lives, but it doesn’t seem to matter as much with the end of the world close at hand.
“I thought…” Wesley says, lifting a bottle of scotch.
Rupert closes the door behind him. And locks it firmly for good measure.
After about an hour (maybe less, not that Rupert is keeping track), Wesley starts laughing.
Rupert asks what the matter is, and Wesley says, “Nothing. Nothing. I just— D’you know, I always reckoned I wouldn’t die a virgin.” Rupert sits a bit straighter in his chair, unable, for some reason, to slouch as carelessly as he had been up to that point. “I thought—“ Wesley continues. “Well, money may not buy happiness, but it is purported to buy sexual gratification.”
Rupert snorts, then he finds himself giggling, a bit helplessly.
“What?” Wesley says, the picture of righteous indignation.
After a minute of Wesley becoming more and more irate, Rupert sobers. He explains, in halting words, that the mere idea of Wesley having to pay for sex is patently ridiculous.
Wesley smiles for a bit, then his frown returns. “But then— why am I still a virgin.”
Rupert looks at him. He looks at him and looks at him until his eyes go blurry from it. And when Rupert tells Wesley that he has no bloody idea, he sees.
He sees that the way Wesley has been looking at him hasn’t been hope for acceptance or equality or anything else. Wesley has been looking at him not with hope, but yearning.
The kiss that follows that revelation is perfect. It’s dry and a bit off-center and almost completely different from any kiss Rupert’s received, but it’s perfect because it is Wesley.
And what happens after is even better.
*
After it’s over, after it’s all done with nothing but the cleanup left, Rupert cannot help but feel relieved. The apocalypse hasn’t come. The world hasn’t ended. And Principal Snyder’s been eaten (good riddance, the rodent).
He checks on his children, and no they are not his, and no they are not children, but yet they are both. He makes sure the fire crew has everything under control. And then he drives home to his lonely apartment.
It’s hours later when he hears a knock at the door. Wesley wobbles in looking pale and strained and avoiding Rupert’s eyes.
“Well, I’m off, then,” Wesley says with forced joviality. “Off to see the world. Places to go, demons to kill.” He looks up at Rupert then, sad little smile painted on. “It has been a true pleasure to know you, Mr. Giles.” He offers Rupert his hand.
Rupert takes Wesley’s hand and shakes it slowly. He looks in Wesley’s eyes and sees… exactly what he’s looking for. “Stay,” Rupert says, not letting go of Wesley’s hand.
Wesley’s eyes widen and his smile turns into something new, something like happiness.
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I really like the depth of feeling that shows through - Giles' own displacement and insecurity, and the progression of how bit by bit Wesley becomes less an outsider, and Giles isn't quite sure how he feels about that for multiple reasons.
And I especially loved this line - "He checks on his children, and no they are not his, and no they are not children, but yet they are both." That's beautifully perfect.
Well done.
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Though it's not a pairing I've ever considered, this fic made me wonder about what the relationship between these two might've been like behind the scenes, in whatever sense. An enjoyable read! :D
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