Title: Giles and Spike: Another English Cuddle
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
E-mail: grant@hagden169.fsnet.co.uk
Summary: William has a headache. Rupert takes care of it.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Giles/Spike (Rupert/William)
Spoilers: Season 3 Angel, 6 Buffy
Warnings: Cuddling
Author Notes: None
Story Notes: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing in Joss's sand pit. With Spike and Giles on the swings, wearing all that hot tweed and wanting to strip… excuse me. No S/G in the show, so it can't be mine.

Rupert POV

We're back in England, bent over books and laptop, trying to find anything that will lead us to the next event in the chain that should lead us to an apocalypse, one of those familiar things you have to avert or die in the process. Predictably, we aren't getting anywhere, because we don't know what to look for.

I glance up from my weighty tome and watch William for a while, as he lies on the sofa, working. In the blue glow of the laptop's screen he looks paler than ever, if possible. The thing beeps at him, and he sighs, closing his eyes.

His floppy honey-blond hair drags down over his forehead, and he reaches up to push it back. When he's done so, he doesn't lower his hand back to the keyboard but rests his head on his palm, eyes still closed and mouth twisted sourly. To say he didn't look happy would be an understatement of the most severe kind.

When I shut my book, he doesn't look up and smile, as he normally would at the end of a long working session. He just stays where he is, head in his hands and eyes shut. I notice that his shoulders are tense, that even the heavy sigh hasn't relaxed him.

Taking my glasses of and crossing the room, I go to stand behind him. "William? I think it's time for bed."

No reply. "William? Are you alright?" I put my hand down to him, rubbing his shoulder lightly through the cotton of his T-shirt.

"No," he says, and filches away from the touch. "Go to bed. I'll be along soon." Go to bed without him? This doesn't sound like the William I know.

"What's the matter, love?"

"Nothing. Go to bed." His voice is thicker than usual, and not with emotion. It takes me a moment to identify what I'm hearing- pain.

"Something is the matter," I tell him. "You're in pain."

"Am not." That bare denial says I'm getting closer.

"William, I'm not leaving until I know. Come here." I kneel by the sofa and take him firmly by the shoulders, putting all my strength into pulling him away from the laptop and towards me. He's heavy, but years of training with Buffy have made me strong.

He doesn't make it easy for me, and I'm panting by the time he's lying on his side, facing me, with his arm over my shoulder. On the other hand, he doesn't resist either, so I take it he can't be disliking it that much.

"William, tell me. Talk to me, love."

Silence. What can it be? Not talking isn't normal William behavior- it's usually more of a problem to get him to shut up. Oh! I know what it could be. I'd nearly forgotten, which is surprising, given the other day…

"William, have you got another headache?"

Another pause, then he nods into my chest.

"That's the fourth time this week, isn't it?"

Again the reluctant nod. Four he's admitted to now, and I'm sure there were others.

"You told me once that bedrooms cured headaches well. Care to test that hypothesis?"

Still no verbal answer, but he moves, and it comes to me with a shock that if he decided to use his strength against me I could be really hurt before the chip stopped him. It isn't a new thought, but the possibility is reinforced when he does things like this… like lifting me up and carrying me, so that before I know it we're in the bedroom.

Conditioning leads me to expect a kiss, leading to another kiss, leading to other things. That isn't what happens, though. He lays me gently down, on the bed, next to him, switches off the nightlight before rolling over and lying absolutely still. He isn't asleep because I can feel his body against mine and every muscle is tense.

Like rigor mortis, says a little voice in the back of my brain, but I ignore it.

"William," I begin. He cuts me off.

"No. Go to sleep."

"No," I say, surprising us both. "You've got a headache, and that's all. Why are you so upset about it?"

"I'm not upset, just tired. Let's sleep."

"William, I know you. I love you, and I care about you, and I know you- and you're upset. tell me why."

I hear him- feel him- take a breath.

"Unpleasent associations," he says. "Now can I get some sleep?"

I notice that, typically, he has turned the subject round from me, to him.

"You aren't going to sleep. I know what happened the other night- you lay there until you thought I was asleep, then you went back to the research. You're not doing that again."

"I'm not?" No 'I didn't do that' so I must have guessed right. The voice, though, is Spike, slightly amused by my attempt to lay down the law.

"No, and you are going to tell me about these unpleasant associations. I want to know why they've upset you so."

"I am?" My best you-will-obey-me voice, carefully developed for use on Slayers, never worked with Buffy but William sometimes plays along, especially if I tap Ripper for added influence. Perhaps I should have done that today, because he displays no inclination to tell me.

"I'm not," he says, nearly laughing now- a grim, determined laughter, but better than the tears he sounded close to earlier.

"Then I'll tell you something about it, and you can fill in the gaps." I only hope my detective work is good enough. I wasn't planning to give it this hard a test.

"Oh? Go ahead, then." he's mocking now, hiding, Xander-like, behind his jovial mask. Xander and William in the same thought- bad Rupert! You're not a teenager, unlike the two of them…ahem, and I didn't know one could cough mentally before.

"I will." That's right, get on with what you're going to say. Forget your naughty picture of Xander. "Your headache's basically eyestrain, isn't it? My guess is that, as a human, you were quite short-sighted…"

"Long, actually, but still." Yes! I exalt in the privacy of my mind. William is back, open, more honest than Spike, and a little hesitant.

"You were long-sighted as a human, and while when you were turned your eyesight improved, it still isn't great."

"How do you figure all that, Sherlock?"

"When you read, you always pick the large print books, and you set the font size on your computer to maximum."

"And how do you know that, oh chap who doesn't touch machines with a barge pole?"

"Willow commented on the font size," I confess. "And Darla told me about your wearing glasses. She said something about reading to Dru sometimes gave you headaches, too."

"The bitch," he mutters, and I couldn't say whether he meant Willow, Darla, or Dru.

"Why don't you simple still wear glasses?"

"It's embarrassing. What would it do to my image?."

"Put it in focus?"

A soft chuckle. "That's not the only reason, though. Dru smashed my first pair, and- well, when I was human I hated the option, you know that?"

I didn't, but have the sense not to say so. "Um."

"Well, I never got up the nerve to go again. And stealing from someone you've killed isn't very efficient." The self-mocking tone in his voice makes me want to cry, 'Oh! My poor William!' and hug him tight. I refrain, however, sticking to, "It wouldn't be."

"Beside the fact that Dru would have had hysterics and smashed them as soon as she saw them. And later one, we had Dalton to do the research for us. He would have laughed right along with her. I tried contact lens once, in the nineteen eighties, but they just made my eyes sore."

I can no longer resist, and tighten my arms around him into a firm hug. he tries to keep his distance of a moment, but then surrenders and molds his body to mine.

"I think one of Charlene's coven is an option," I mummer into his flaxen hair. "Should we ask her to give you an appointment, after dark? It's dark early these days."

He rubs his head against my chest in what I can only interpret as a nod. Before he fully completes the slow gesture, he relaxes further and is sound asleep within one of my breaths.

I reach over and switch the nightlight on, against either of us dreaming, and then give myself over to Morpheus.