Heat

"Yes," Wesley nodded, shoulder's slumping as he remembered the incident. "Uh, the man killed himself after trying to attack Rupert, or abduct him or . . . God, I don't even know what they had planned." The images played over and over in his head, Rupert, held down, no leverage to fight the bastards. If he hadn't been there. . . Wesley felt a small rush of pride at having been there to help, quickly followed by a surge of fear.

"You all right?" Angel took a step toward him, breaking his thoughts.

"Uh, yes. . . I don't know what they were going to do to him. I . . ." shaking his head to clear the alarm that clenched at his stomach, Wesley swallowed hard. "I'm all right. But, uh, the man killed himself and we put the body in the bathtub and I believe Rupert planned to ask you to dispose of it for us tonight, while we check out a few possible connections."

Angel blinked at him and then nodded. "Uh, right. Sure. Dispose of the body in Giles' bathtub. I can--I can do that."

"Good, uh, thank you." Wesley shook Angel's hand, though the man seemed a bit bemused by the gesture. Wes hardly cared. He walked to his car in a daze, trying to analyze the fear that had wrapped itself around him, seemingly from nowhere.

They'd been after Rupert and the man had threatened their lives. Wes suddenly felt a great need to get back to his lover, regardless of whether or not Rupert was alone.

Wesley stopped by his own flat just long enough to change. He waffled back and forth for a long moment before packing a bag and storing it in his trunk. It had only a few things, necessities in case he should wind up spending another night at Rupert's flat. He found himself feeling vaguely silly when he talked himself into stopping for an extra toothbrush, but if . . . if it were going to be a regular occurrence then he certainly wasn't going to do without.

He felt marginally better as he pulled in front of Rupert's flat, though he was a bit shakier than he'd have liked. The shock, he supposed, had worn off, though he'd thought he'd be more . . . affected. It worried him that he wasn't, that he could wonder whether the dead man had had a family and not feel . . . something.

Sighing, Wesley walked into the courtyard and knocked on Rupert's door. Rupert answered it, a small, worried smile lifting his lips upon seeing Wesley standing there. Wes couldn't help but return that smile, though he hid it quickly as Rupert stepped aside.

The children were still there, gathered in the living room with books and apparently surprised to see him there as well. Wesley wasn't quite sure how to act. Honestly, he felt quite comfortable in Rupert's flat, but he didn't want the children to know that and he only hoped Rupert would understand.

"Well, find a seat," Rupert said as he passed Wesley, heading toward his armchair. He sounded irritated, but the warm hand that rubbed across Wesley's back, out of sight of the children, belied the tone.

His eyes caught on Oz as Willow slid to the floor to make room for Wesley on the sofa.

"Thank you," Wes murmured, wondering whether he'd actually seen Oz's nose twitch or if he'd just imagined that. He'd have to talk to the boy later, though it might already be too late. His own scent would linger here, wouldn't it? A small smile tugged at his lips, but Wesley resisted it as a book was pushed into his hands.

"Here," Oz said with a shrug. Wesley looked down to find himself examining a bound book of older maps of Sunnydale.

"What's this?" He directed his question to the room in general, though he met Rupert's eyes.

"We're looking for sewer entrances into the cave systems at the beach," Buffy explained with a bored air, not even looking up from her own book. "Going in the front door? Usually not the best idea."

"Oh, of course," Wesley nodded, flipping through the book.

"Yeah," Willow chimed in, flashing a smile at him from the floor at Oz's feet. "And we were kinda hoping you could tell us more about these caves, 'cause otherwise? We're gonna be here till the next apocalypse."

"And dead guy's already starting to smell," Oz snorted, "well, little bit. To me, anyway."

Wesley glanced over at that, Oz met his gaze steadily and shrugged. Wes wasn't sure what to make of that, but decided not to let it dwell on his mind.

"Well, I should translate the rest of the passage. I do hope there will be more description there, but I can't be certain." Standing, Wesley set aside the book and moved to Rupert's desk without a thought, flipping through the book he'd been translating that morning and settling back into his work.

He felt eyes on him and looked up to find Rupert watching him. The others all seemed absorbed, or at least bored enough that they weren't watching him or Rupert. He smiled at the man, ducking his head a bit shyly and was glad to get a small smile in return before his lover turned his eyes back to his work.

"All right," Xander said, sometime later, drawing Wesley's attention away from the translation. The young man stood, shutting his book with an audible clap. "My eyes are starting to cross and we're not going to really get anywhere until Watcherboy over there comes up with something."

"I think I may be getting there," Wes shook his head, removing his glasses to rub at his tired eyes. "However, it's quite convoluted and rather rambling."

"Well," Buffy shrugged. "I should go. I wanted to check in on Faith and Mom wants me home for dinner. I'll come back after and see if you guys have anything, 'kay?"

Wesley wasn't even hurt that she addressed the question to Rupert instead of him. "Faith's doing all right," he said without a thought, going back to his book. "And I asked Angel about the body. He agreed to dispose of it tonight."

"Thank you," Rupert's soft voice made him smile and Wes didn't even think to hide it, already slipping back into his research. He barely even noticed as the children left. However, as the door clicked closed, he realized that his lover and he were alone.

Well, actually, it was the brush of fingers across his neck that made him realize. Glancing up, he found that worried smile focused on him once more and felt guilty about his earlier . . . well, whatever it had been.