Heat

Wesley was nearly stumbling by the time they reached Rupert's flat. He'd made the excuse that his car was there and so the others hadn't looked at all suspicious when he turned down Oz's offer to drop him by his place. Buffy, unfortunately, was determined to have a talk with Rupert before going home.

However, that meant he just might have to go home as well, might have to spend the night in his lonely flat, without Rupert's warmth beside him as he slept. Wes was slightly surprised to realize how much that simple thing had come to mean to him, especially so quickly. He'd slept alone for a good many years, and after just two nights with Rupert he was suddenly quite fond of not having to do so. However, he supposed it had to happen some time; he'd have to go home eventually. He only wished it hadn't been now. The day had been exhausting in so many ways. His still-battered body was extremely stiff and he ached everywhere. Somehow that meant he should get to be with Rupert.

Shaking his head at himself, Wesley wished he could at least give his lover a proper goodbye before he left. He couldn't, of course, with Buffy right there. He was about to stumble to his car when Rupert's voice stopped him.

"Wesley, you can hardly drive home half asleep. Why don't you come in for a cup of coffee while Buffy and I speak."

"I wouldn't want to intrude," he found himself saying as he turned to face Slayer and Watcher, immediately cursing himself for the automatic words.

"Nonsense. You're barely half-awake." Rupert glanced at Buffy, shrugging. "We can talk out in the courtyard."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

Wesley was unsure what to say, how to accept without seeming overly eager. He finally settled on simply nodding, letting his weariness show on his features. He followed them through the courtyard and into the flat where he took a seat on one of the stools as Rupert moved into the small kitchen and Buffy leaned against the desk.

She looked down at the knife, which they'd decided was best kept at Rupert's flat. These people already knew its location. There was no sense in leading them to the Slayer's home when they didn't have to. Shrugging, she set it on the desk and then looked up to find him watching her.

"What?" Buffy asked, her voice suddenly more tired as well.

"Nothing," Wesley said with a shrug, leaning against the counter and turning his eyes into the kitchen where Rupert was putting on a pot of coffee.

"You should have let Oz drop you off at your place," Buffy said, as conversationally as she'd ever spoken to him. "You could have come to get your car tomorrow."

"Yes," he said softly, "You're probably right." Wesley glanced at Buffy out of the corner of his eyes, finding that his assent had apparently surprised her. Her eyebrows lifted and furrowed together.

"I'm right about something?" she asked, her tone slightly bitter.

"I'm just as surprised as you are." The words slipped out of his mouth before Wesley's tired mind could think to censor them. He wanted to cringe and, in fact, thought he saw Rupert do exactly that.

Damn.

Buffy gave him a glare. A rather hostile silence settled in the flat.

"That, uh, that didn't come out the way I meant it," he said softly, glancing his apology at Buffy. "I'm sorry. Reflex."

Buffy's eyebrows rose again, higher than the last time. "Uh, did you just apologize to me?"

Wesley snorted, his lips twitching a bit at the confusion on her face. He couldn't help it. She looked half-stunned. Now I know how to get the upper hand on a Slayer, he thought ruefully.

"Yes. I didn't, er, didn't mean to be hostile . . . just then."

Buffy turned to look into the kitchen by way of the pass through, meeting Rupert's eyes as he turned around to place a cup of coffee at Wesley's elbow.

"Giles? Is there another apocalypse coming? I mean, there would have been an earthquake or something, right? Some warning?"

"I, uh, I hardly think that Wesley's contrition counts as a sign of an impending apocalypse." A small smile touched Rupert's face then and Wesley had to duck his head so that his answering smile wouldn't be so obvious to Buffy. "Nonetheless, I'll look into it."

"Yeah, and keep an eye on him, 'cause I wouldn't put it past him." Though the words were in a clearly joking tone, there was a hint of slyness in Buffy's eyes that made Wes feel like shifting uncomfortably on the stool. Was she teasing him?

"Didn't I already assure you both that I wasn't evil?" Wesley tried to keep his tone light, but he wasn't used to this, wasn't sure what to say. More importantly, he wasn't sure what not to say. "What does a Watcher have to do?"

"Be fired," Buffy instantly supplied. However, along side the humor, Wesley thought perhaps she was being completely honest, which didn't sit well with him.

Well, let my father or the Council find out about how I've been . . . handling things recently--in either sense in regards to my father--and I might not be far away from that, he thought, hating the tangle of confusion that brought to mind.

"Yes. Well." Rupert seemed to sense his discomfort, and came out of the kitchen. "Buffy, shall we go to the courtyard to speak?" She nodded.

Wesley didn't watch them go. He was too busy trying to follow any thread of his thoughts to its end. He could hear their voices, though not their words and he didn't particularly care to try. Shaking his head, because he was so very tired of thinking, Wesley stood. He had the strangest urge to poke into things. Find out what Rupert kept in his desk drawers, what books he read for leisure, assuming the man had any leisure. That last bit was a fact Wes was quickly beginning to doubt.