Buffy glared at Willy, tightening her hold on his lapels, though it was mostly for show. Willy was rambling on about Spike and Drusilla being back in town, but he wasn't getting to the part 'he knew she'd find interesting' and it was beginning to get to her.
"Look," she said, punctuating the word with a slight shake. "I don't have time for this. So get to the part you know I want to hear!"
"They have a kid with them. Teenager. He's even creepier than Dru. He just stares at you and stares and doesn't say anything or blink and he's . . . he did something to a Gorlock demon. Guys been babbling in my corner ever since." Willy nodded toward a huge demon sitting at a corner booth. The thing was holding its head in its hands, rocking back and forth and blubbering.
Buffy swallowed hard, her mind putting Giles in the creature's place, the thought making her sick to her stomach.
"What does this kid look like?" She shook Willy again, suddenly anxious to get out there, do something.
"Skinny. Dark hair. Dark, creepy, eyes. Latin, something like that. Real scary little guy."
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Bound wrists hidden under his coat, Giles walked with Wesley to the man's car. He was trying to fathom why Wesley would want to be anywhere near him at the moment, but found his mind kept circling back to the look of concern in Wesley's eyes. For him. He'd nearly choked the man to death and Wes was still worried about him.
Of course, that phrasing wasn't sitting well with him, but it wasn't until he was getting into the car, Wesley quickly buckling his seat belt for him, that Giles realized why.
He'd gone for the throat. That wasn't like him at all. Of course, he obviously hadn't been in his right mind at the time. Whatever he'd been thinking, if, indeed, he had been thinking, it had driven him to attack Wesley by strangulation.
Not at all like him. If his intention had been to kill . . . there were easier ways, quicker ways. A twist of the neck would have done the trick, clean and quick. Sighing, Giles told himself to stop thinking about it. It wasn't as if he'd been in any state to think of those things, whatever state he'd been in.
"What is it?" Wesley asked, glancing over at him before starting the car and pulling out onto the street.
"What?" Giles blinked, forehead furrowing.
"You were thinking about something, likely the situation, and you ran into a wall." Wesley replied easily, not even taking his eyes of the road.
"How do you know," Giles asked, a trace of bitter-edged humor slipping into his words.
"Uh," Wesley actually blushed and Giles felt his eyebrows rise, intrigued enough by that response that it took his mind off the pressure in his head for a moment. "Nothing. Never mind."
The rest of the ride was silent, Wesley apparently nervous. Giles couldn't blame him. Even though he was fastened into the seat, unable to undo the seat belt with his hands tied, there were still far too many things that could happen.
He actually sighed his relief when they arrived. He sighed when Wesley undid his seat belt, waiting for the man to open his door for him and feeling a fool for that. He got out of the car quickly, attempting to rearrange the coat just a bit. Honestly, his neighbors didn't need any more proof of his oddities then they already received on a weekly basis.
When they reached the front door, he held out his wrists and remained silent as Wesley cut the bindings. He wanted to apologize to the man, but didn't know what to say. 'Sorry for almost choking the life out of you. Now, off you go back to researching what the bloody hell is doing this to me,' seemed rather trite.
"Thank you," he mumbled when the rope snapped free. Nylon rope would not have been his first choice; his wrists felt rather raw. Turning to go into his flat, Giles paused, glancing back over his shoulder. He didn't want to send Wesley away without saying at least something. "I'm . . . sorry. I, uh, I don't know what . . ."
Giles nodded to the man's neck, watched Wesley's hand fly up to it, and felt even worse.
"There's no need to apologize," Wesley said, though it took Giles a moment to process the words. He certainly hadn't expected to hear them. "Really, you were half out of your mind. It isn't as if you had any control over your actions."
Gritting his teeth a bit, Giles only nodded, turning back to his door and digging for the keys. The events of the day had already worn on him and, given their context, made it just a bit easier for other thoughts to slip in. Memories he'd rather have not thought of at all, let alone been forced to think on now.
The thought of spending the day in his flat alone with his thoughts was not an appealing one. It did, however, cause a bit of surprise when Wesley simply followed him in. Blinking, Giles shut the door and turned, raising an eyebrow at the man.
"This is very nice," Wesley said, glancing around, his tone a tad wistful.
"Uh, thank you. It, uh, it suits my needs." Feeling his forehead furrow as Wesley made to take off his jacket, Giles blurted out, "You shouldn't be here."
Wesley turned to look at him, clearly confused. "Well, I can't leave you here alone. If, uh, if that happens again there's no telling . . . someone needs to keep an eye on you. You could hurt yourself . . . or any number of others."
Giles opened his mouth to refute that and found that he couldn't, not with any degree of sincerity. He didn't want to wake up from his next blackout, if there were another, and find he'd done something even worse.
"Or, I could hurt you," Giles said, not quite sure why he was arguing. He didn't want to hurt anyone, he didn't want to be left alone, and yet having Wesley looking after him, especially after what had happened, felt wrong. He didn't deserve it.
"Yes, well. I'm better prepared this time. At least I'm not some innocent jogger or what have you." Wesley pulled a small packet from his pocket, apparently letting it absorb him for a moment. "Uh, I-I have some Valium in here, somewhere. They should help you rest."
"Valium?" Giles couldn't keep a small smile off his face. "Wesley, unless you've got rather a lot of them I wouldn't bother." Reaching past the man to grab his Scotch, his arm grazed Wesley's back and Giles found himself blinking, his mind analyzing the feel of firm muscle beneath the man's shirt.
Wesley jumped at the contact and Giles moved quickly away, confused by his own reaction. "Drink?" he asked, quickly going to retrieve glasses from the kitchen.
"Uh, yes, thank you. I'll, er, call the children and let them know I'll be here to . . . keep an eye on you." Wesley said and Giles nodded absently, his mind inwardly focused. He stared at the Scotch, trying to figure out when this had happened. He wasn't blind, of course. Wesley was attractive, anyone could see that, but the man wasn't his type, well . . . not really.
Oh, no, not at all. Challenging, sarcastic, brilliant, knowledgeable, and very nice to look at. Never been attracted to that sort, Giles' own mind snarked at him. Throwing up images of Ethan and long ago. The thought shocked him, his forehead furrowing as he considered. Wesley was nothing like Ethan, not beyond body type and hair color. Ethan had been . . . overwhelming, vital and Wesley was . . . completely out of his depth.
Every difference seemed to stand out in his mind, the similarities of intelligence and wit where it ended. Wesley would never nudge him toward that side of himself, never urge him to disregard his responsibilities and duty, never push him the way Ethan had.
And some part of him wanted that, wanted something fairly normal, something stable and . . .
Oh, dear lord, am I actually contemplating . . . Glancing over at Wesley as the man talked to Xander over the phone, Giles thought, somewhat to his own surprise, that yes, he just might be.
Shaking his head, and then wishing he hadn't, Giles forced himself to concentrate on pouring the drinks. He had enough to think about. Pushing thoughts of Wesley aside, though, allowed other things to well up.
That boy or demon, whatever it had been, was the first thing to come to his mind. If he had been hypnotized . . . well, there were two hours of time, plus cuts and bruises to account for, not to mention this new effect. He'd attacked Wesley, for no reason, with no control; he couldn't even remember how he'd wound up with his hands around the man's neck. It was all black and he remembered feeling distant, but other than that, he'd apparently lost the space of time in which he'd decided to attack someone.
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