Title: Technical Difficulties
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: PG-13
Summary:  Giles and Wesley end up somewhere they never expected to be.
Spoilers:  Set sometime after 'A New Man'.
Warnings:  Not a one.
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com

Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities.  I am neither.

This was written for the Watcher's First Ficathon (masterlist here).  The three words I chose are at the end of the story.  Big thanks to mythichistorian for running this ficathon!  And big, huge thanks to wisdomeagle for the beta magic!


Giles fidgeted with his tie, straightening his posture and letting out a quick breath before he raised his fist to knock on the hotel room door.  It swung open to reveal a nervously smiling Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, dressed in black tie.

"Bugger."  The word simply slipped out of Giles in his surprise.  He hadn't meant to actually say it and regretted it at once when he thought a flash of hurt passed through Wesley's eyes.  If it had been there at all, it was gone before he could apologize.

"Yes, quite," Wesley said with a sigh, disappointment clear on his face though his voice was cold.  "Giles, what are you doing here?  I'm expecting, uh, my-my date."  Wesley's eyes skittered away from his at the mention of a date, but returned to Giles' quickly enough.

"I'm afraid that I seem to be your . . . date."  Giles made an apologetic gesture to his own tuxedo.

Wesley's eyes went slightly wide as he took in Giles' dress before rising once again to meet Giles' gaze.  "Bugger," he echoed Giles' earlier sentiment.

"Quite.  I'm, uh, sorry.  Johnson assured me that it was no one I'd met before and I . . . He had to have known, the man has a memory like an elephant.  This is probably his idea of a prank.  He owes me one, after all."  Giles had no idea what to do with himself.  He thought he must make a rather odd sight, dressed in black tie and standing self-consciously outside a room of a rather upscale hotel.  Thankfully, there was no one around to observe him.

"A prank?  Uh, Yes.  Yes, of course."  Wesley's posture was as close to slumping as Giles had ever seen it and it occurred to him that Wesley had probably been looking forward to a date as much as he had.

"Remind me to stick an axe in Johnson's arse," Wesley muttered, surprising a distinctly nasty smile out of Giles. The idea of axing someone was rather appealing after the awkwardness of their meeting.

"Perhaps we'll have something to discuss during the intermission after all," Giles said with a snort, surprised at the way Wesley's head shot up.

"I'm sorry?"  Wesley looked truly confused, as if Giles had just grown a second head and began beating him with it.

Glancing at his watch, Giles shrugged.  "Even if you can scare up another date this close to curtain," Giles gave Wesley a very serious look, "I am not giving up my ticket.  Do you know what there is to do in Sunnydale?  Bugger.  All."

Wesley glared at him and at least it was better than the disappointed slump he'd been in moments ago.  "Right.  Of course.  I do rather remember that from my short stay."  There was a slightly bitter tang to Wesley's words.  "I suppose you expect me to give up my ticket?"

"Oh, good God, Wesley.  Surely you and I can manage not to be too horrible to one another for one night, yes?  It's not as if we actually have to enjoy one another's company."

"Oh, of course, what was I thinking?  This sparkling conversation we've been having is surely proof that we should go to the opera together."

"There's a good lad," Giles said, just to watch Wesley try not to swallow his own tongue.  "Come along."  He turned and headed back toward the lift, pretending not to hear Wesley mutter about 'insufferable, pigheaded' . . . somethings, the muttering became too low to hear after 'pigheaded'.

Giles promised himself he was going to stop baiting Wesley.  Otherwise the night was going to be a good deal less enjoyable than he'd been hoping.  Actually, it was already less enjoyable than he'd hoped.  Now he could only set his sights on bearable.  He opened his mouth to apologize when Wesley joined him at the lift.

"Don't," Wesley snapped out, not even looking at him as he repeatedly pushed the lift button Giles had already hit.  "I have the oddest feeling that whatever you're planning to say is only going to make me want to tear up my ticket and I've been looking forward to this for a week.  So, please, just don't."

Giles was left blinking as Wesley got into the lift.  He followed after a heartbeat, feeling rather badly for his attitude.  It wasn't Wesley's fault that tonight was turning out so awfully.

They stood silent, eyes fixed on the numbers above the door, as the lift whirred sluggishly to life and they began their descent.

"I was going to apologize," Giles said after a moment.

"Of course you were," Wesley replied in a prim tone that made it clear he didn't believe it.

"Honestly," Giles said, turning to Wesley.  "This disaster is hardly your fault.  You wanted to be stuck with me no more than I wanted to be stuck with you, so--"

Three things happened then, near to simultaneously.  First, Wesley eyes skittered away from his again.  Second, the lights switched off, leaving them in completely blackness for a moment before dimmer emergency lights kicked on.  Third, the lift came to a sudden halt with a jerk that sent Giles' stomach into his throat and had him grasping at the nearest wall.

"What just happened?" Giles asked with a sinking feeling in his gut.

"The lift stopped," Wesley answered anyway, his resigned tone a perfect match to Giles' mood.

"Push the button."  Giles waggled his fingers at the panel of buttons on Wesley's side of the lift.

"Which button?"  Wesley enunciated the words, giving Giles another glare.

"The one that opens the doors!"  Giles growled, pushing past Wesley and blinking at the buttons before sighing.  "It doesn't have one, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Wesley replied, his tone becoming as rough as Giles' had been.  "It's a very old lift, clearly."

"Not even one of those call box things.  Aren't they required to have those now?"  Giles stared at the panel of buttons, but saw nothing of use.

"Take it up with the hotel," Wesley muttered, but there was an edge of something in his voice that had Giles looking over at him worriedly.  Wesley had gone very still and pale, his eyes the only part of him that moved and those were darting around almost wildly.  "We're, uh, we're trapped, aren't we?"

"Please, tell me you're not claustrophobic."  Giles could already see that Wesley would be lying if he said any such thing.

"I'll be fine," Wesley returned, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.  "I'll be fine."  As if his lie wasn't given away by the repetition of those words.

"Bloody lovely," Giles said softly, his eyes on Wesley as he tried to think what to do about this development.  "All right, Wesley, sit down.  I'm sure the lift will start moving again in a moment and we'll even make the curtain."

"You're a good liar," Wesley said with a slightly hysterical laugh.

"I'm not lying.  I'm being hopeful," Giles countered, moving slowly toward Wesley.  "Panicking is only going to make things worse.  Just breathe and sit down."

"Breathe?"  Wesley's voice was something of a squeak.  "There's barely any air in here and you want me to just 'breathe'?"

"There's plenty of air.  Just calm down and let yourself breathe.  Close your eyes and--"

"That is very much not going to happen," Wesley insisted, jerking away from the hand Giles laid on his arm.  Wesley pushed himself into the corner of the lift, his breathing far too rapid and his eyes wide with fear.

"Closing your eyes?  Fine, keep them open, just . . . focus on me.  I'm right here and I can breathe well enough.  If there's enough air for me, then there's plenty for you as well."

Oh, yes, Giles thought, be rational.  The perfect defense against an irrational fear.

Wesley breathed deeply, slowly enough to alleviate the risk of hypervenilation, and he nodded jerkily in response to Giles's words. He even looked calmer.

"Just, uh, don't-don't come any closer.  Please."

Nodding, Giles stopped in his tracks, watching Wesley slide down the wall to sit on the floor.  Thinking it better not to tower over him, Giles sat as well.  "Are you going to be all right?"  Giles wasn't certain why he whispered the question, it simply seemed appropriate.

"I'm fine."  The answer came too quickly.  Wesley turned too-wide eyes to him, the fear still there though he seemed to have subdued it somewhat.  "Uh, could you . . ." Wesley shook his head, looking away from Giles again.

"What, Wesley?  I'll do whatever I can to help."  Giles almost edged closer before he remembered that Wesley had asked him to stay away.

"Uh, dis-distract me?  Talk.  About anything."

"Oh, all right.  Er, I recently translated a-a scroll that--"

"No."  Wesley's voice was strangled.  Giles had no idea what he'd said to set the man off, but it was clear that something had.  "Not translating, not work, just . . . something else.  Anything."

"All right, all right," Giles tried to keep his voice soothing.  "Uh, well, I suppose you know Johnson the same way I do.  He's collected some of the best books, but he's rather an annoying little man.  I should have known nothing good would come of letting him talk me into a blind date."

"Yes," Wesley said, his voice still tight and his eyes still staring straight ahead.  He was definitely not relaxing.  In fact, he seemed even tenser.  Giles decided to try a different topic.  If only he could think of one.

"Uh, I-I'm quite looking forward to the opera tonight," he finally said, though that was probably not quite the subject either, considering.

"Yes," Wesley said with a snort.  "Until you found out we were, apparently, meant to be dates."  Though there was that bitter twist to his tone again, Wesley actually seemed to relax a bit more.

"Well, even after.  Honestly, I've been bored to tears in Sunnydale and . . . I miss the opera.  Museums.  Clubs that not only play real music, but in which a man my age isn't an oddity."

Wesley sniffed then, giving him an odd look.  "Clubs?"

"Oh, no, not clubs.  I'm too old for all that, of course," Giles' voice slipped into the annoyed range without his really noticing it.  "I spend my nights with Bovril and a good book, of course.  All of them.  Every last one since I turned forty."

"I wasn't saying that," Wesley protested with a sigh.  "It's just hard to imagine you in a 'club'.  Especially when you're wearing a tuxedo."

Giles glanced down at himself and shrugged.  "I suppose so.  However, in my youth--"

"Oh, I know all about your youth," Wesley snorted and then seemed to catch himself when Giles glared at him.  "I, uh, read-read up on you.  Your Council file . . . before going to Sunnydale."

"I see."  Giles studied Wesley, wondering why he was blushing slightly.  It wasn't that large a surprise, after all.  It was smart of Wesley to have found out all he could before heading into the situation.  "I can't help but wonder what exactly the Council had to say."

Wesley opened his mouth and then shut it again, apparently considering what he should say.  Giles snorted and shook his head.  "Go ahead.  I doubt anything in there will come as a surprise, after all."  He motioned for Wesley to continue and leaned back against the lift wall.

"Well . . . there was mention of your early test scores and such.  That you'd, uh, been a very apt student until . . ."

"Yes," Giles said with a snort of laughter.  "'Until.'  Until I--how did my father put it?  Oh, yes--until I 'lost my mind, ran away to London, and shacked up with a budding sociopath'?"

"Er . . . sociopath?"  Wesley looked rather interested.  Giles had thought Ethan would be in his file and finding out that those details had been left out was something of a relief.  He certainly didn't want to discuss them now, if he could help it.

"Nothing," Giles said, waving the topic off.  "Someone my father never knew and never cared to.  Certainly of no consequence at the moment."

"Yes.  Well . . ." Wesley seemed to be getting less relaxed again.  "Fathers are . . . uh . . ." he shook his head, eyes darting to the doors of the lift and then back to the panel of buttons, but never coming close to Giles.

Another sensitive topic, it appears.  "However, I'm sure my file had something interesting to say about my 'until'."

Wesley nodded, just a tad jerkily, and then visibly tried to pull himself together.  "Er, yes.  It mentioned that you, uh, dabbled in the darker magics and there were copies of three or four arrest reports for theft or burglary."

"Ah.  Of course there would be."  Trying to keep the discussion light, Giles shrugged.  "The Council would be quite surprised how often those skills have been useful.  Had I not known how to hotwire a car . . . Well, I might have been torn apart by zombies, actually."

Wesley's head swiveled in his direction, wide blue eyes blinking at him before something resembling a smile lifted Wesley's lips.  It was a wan thing, the anxiety still not gone from Wesley's face, but Giles couldn't help returning it.  Wesley had certainly never smiled like that in Sunnydale.

Wesley looked away once again, a behavior that was rather beginning to intrigue Giles because it confused him.  Wesley's eyes would be on his and then the man would duck his head or turn away almost guiltily.

Silence stretched for a moment and Giles could see how it weighed on Wesley.  The man was visibly tensing, his breathing getting faster and faster as his eyes began to dart again.  Giles frantically searched for something to say, trying to think of something that wouldn't make the panic worse.

"Er, were you looking forward to the opera tonight?"  It was a stupid question.  Of course Wesley had been.  Giles had witnessed for himself Wesley's annoyance when he thought he'd have to give up his ticket and his disappointment when he'd learned that Giles was to be his date.  Still, it was something and Wesley looked rather pathetically grateful for the distraction, a fact which made Giles' stomach twist with sympathy.

"Yes, actually," Wesley's voice was a tad wistful and his breathing seemed to be regulating.  Giles was tempted to reach over to check, but he squashed that impulse, mentally shaking his head at himself.  "I adore Puccini.  And Tosca is a favorite."

"Why?" Giles asked, interested in both trying to keep Wesley talking and hearing what Wesley had to say on the matter.  There were few enough people with whom Giles could discuss opera and most of them were on another continent.

Wesley thought about that, clearly considering the question and his posture relaxed a good deal as he did.  "It's about dishonesty and suspicion, about how things are rarely what they appear to be and the . . . and what lies underneath the surface, underneath what everyone on the outside sees."  Wesley looked at him once again, shrugging one shoulder.  "It's reality, in a way."

Giles raised an eyebrow.  "This is the part where I would like to be able to call you overly cynical, without being a hypocrite."

Wesley snorted at that, reaching up to loosen his tie.  "You could have tried lying, but I don't think I'd have gone for it."

"I didn't think so.  I rather like Tosca myself, though my interest in Puccini has waned a bit."

"Why is that?" Wesley asked earnestly and Giles wasn't sure how to respond.  He didn't really want to discuss it, he'd simply assumed that Wesley would know, about Jenny, about La Boheme, for some reason it had seemed he would.  Perhaps because of their past association, or because Wesley had read his journals, or even Wesley's working with Angel . . . of course, that brought a thought to mind, something that could move them from what had the potential to be an uncomfortable conversation.

"Bad memories," Giles replied, brushing the topic off with a wave of his hand.  "I do have a question for you, though.  You live in LA, don't you?"

"Hmm?  Of course."  Wesley looked a tad reluctant, even nervous, but as he wasn't panicking, Giles assumed it was something about the question and not the situation that had induced that reaction.

"Why were you in this hotel?"  The crimson colored flush that spread up Wesley's neck and face took Giles entirely by surprise.  He blinked, thinking for a moment that Wesley was choking or--

"Johnson," Wesley croaked out, laying his head in his hands.  "Uh, it's . . . rather embarrassing, actually.  A perfect addition to the rest of this . . ." Wesley straightened and waved his hand between the two of them, "this fiasco.  I swear I'm going to hurt that man."

Giles shook his head, giving Wesley an inquiring look.  "I don't understand.  What has Johnson to do with your hotel room?"  Wesley met his eyes and then looked away, shaking his head.

"Uh, he's somehow gotten it into his head that . . . Well, uh . . . Oh, good Lord."  Wesley might actually have been getting redder, though Giles hadn't thought that was possible only a few moments ago.

"It can't be that bad," Giles commented, though, honestly, he could think of several things that might be too embarrassing to admit to.  Of course, he didn't actually think Wesley would engage in any of them.  He was, however, quite curious to find out just what Wesley thought was so discomforting.

"He's gotten it into his head that I need to get shagged, all right?"  Wesley sighed, shaking his head.  "He talked me into having a drink with him a few weeks ago and . . . Well, I agreed to this blind date nonsense and this seems to be his idea of a joke, for which I am going to have his head mounted on a wall somewhere."

"Well, it couldn't hurt."  Giles was trying very, very hard not to laugh.  He seemed to be doing something of a good job, as Wesley didn't pick up on it.

"Having his head mounted?  Oh, I assure you, it will hurt quite a lot before I'm--"

Giles couldn’t keep from laughing any longer.  The situation was too ridiculous and Wesley seemed thoroughly distracted from the panic by the embarrassment of it all.

"Actually, I meant getting shagged," he gasped out between laughs, removing his glasses to wipe tears from his eyes as he began to calm down.  Wesley glared at him so hard Giles thought he just might have made the list of people whose heads were soon to be adorning a wall somewhere.

"Don't mock me, Giles," Wesley's voice was more sullen than cold.  "I'll only have minimal regrets about mounting you as well."  And Giles was off again, not even trying to hide his laughter.  "Mounting your head."  Giles was holding his head now, laughing so hard his chest hurt with it.  "On a wall!"

Gasping for breath, Giles looked up to find that Wesley was nearly purple with embarrassment, his hands covering his face as if it might make him invisible.  He felt a little bad, but it took him a moment to catch his breath enough to apologize.

"Wesley, I . . . I'm sorry.  I just . . . you have to admit that even you're going to laugh at that one day."

"I don't generally find it funny when I make an utter fool of myself," Wesley said, rather primly, bringing his hands away from his face and tightening his tie once again, as if that would somehow help him regain his sense of dignity.

"Oh, don't be so tight arsed," Giles winced at his own expression and Wesley glared at him.  "That's wasn't intentional," Giles said immediately, holding up a hand.  "I only meant that that sort of fumble with words is hardly your sole domain.  And, beyond that, I honestly was not mocking you.  I meant what I said."  Giles leaned his head back against the lift wall, closing his eyes to slits and sighing.

Wesley was silent for a moment.  "Meant what you said?"

"Hmm?"  Giles cracked one eye and then raised his head, nodding.  "Yes.  About getting shagged.  Oh, don't turn crimson again; it really isn't your color.  I only mean that taking a chance and going out tonight wasn't the bad idea.  It was trusting Johnson we should both be kicking ourselves over."

"Or," Wesley said, still a bit sullen, but also with a slight hint of amusement, "We could kick one another.  That might make me feel better."

"Only until I kicked you in return."

"Good point."  Wesley snorted and they both fell silent again.  A moment into that silence, Giles realized that Wesley wasn't panicking, didn't even seem terribly anxious any longer.

Wesley looked at him sidelong, raising his eyebrows in question.  "What?"

Giles wasn't fool enough to speak his thoughts and draw Wesley's attention to the fact that he wasn't panicking.  "I was just thinking.  Why did you agree to the blind date?  You said it was nonsense, but you did agree."

"I was half in my cups, actually," Wesley shook his head, examining a loose thread on the knee of his trousers.  "And . . . Wait, why did you?"

"I asked you first," Giles said with a self-deprecating smile.  "As juvenile as that sounds."

"Right," Wesley said.  "And I suppose that if I tell you why I did, I can count on you doing the same?"  He raised his eyebrow in disbelief.  "And you clearly would never mock me, so--"

"Oh, very well, Wesley.  Would you like me to go first?"  Giles rolled his eyes, but even he could bring himself to look directly at his companion when he made his admission.  "I should have known something was amiss when Johnson wouldn't give me a name, but he made it sound so reasonable.  I was lonely.  There's nothing to do in Sunnydale, no one of interest any longer and . . . Buffy and Willow are at college, Xander's either working or apparently having fantastic sex with Anya."  Giles shuddered slightly.  "About which I'm told the details far too often."

Giles finally met Wesley's gaze.  "The prospect of a night out, at an opera I enjoy, with a companion Johnson assured me was intelligent, well-mannered, and charming . . . I suppose I should just be happy he wasn't lying about everything."

Wesley looked dumbstruck by those last words.  He blinked and then suspicion clouded his features.  "Ah, yes, he only lied about the charming bit, right?"

"Actually," Giles said, though he knew he shouldn't wind Wesley up any farther, "I was referring to your manners.  They're atrocious."

Wesley sputtered and Giles sighed, shaking his head.  "Relax, Wesley, I was only joking.  Not everyone is intent on tearing you down."

Wesley's eyes widened still further and then he seemed to find his voice again.  "Oh, of course not.  I don't know what might have led me to expect something like that from you, of all people."

Giles opened his mouth to refute that and then shut it, gesturing a point to Wesley.  "All right, I deserved that.  Though, I wasn't the only one sniping.  Still, I'm sorry for my behavior when you were in Sunnydale."

"Yes, I'm sure," Wesley said and there was that prim tone of disbelief once again, utterly polite.  "I was a prat, Giles, there's no need to apologize."

"Yes, you were," Giles agreed, somehow unable to keep from smiling at the memory.  "But so was I, and for that, I apologize."

Wesley looked over at him, examining his face for a long moment.  Giles simply held Wesley's gaze, wondering what exactly he was looking for and if he found before he turned away.  Silence fell upon them once again.  Giles laid his head back against the lift wall, wondering what in hell was taking so long.  Surely the hotel staff had to be aware that their lift wasn't working.  It wasn't as if the stairs were going to be a terribly popular option in a ten story hotel.  Unless the entire hotel was without power.  God, what a mess that would be.

Wesley began to speak then, his voice quiet and intense in a way Giles had never heard it before.  "I--I knew it was you."  Wesley didn't as much as glance at him, apparently fascinated by the loose string on his knee.

Giles shook his head, shrugging.  "Knew that it was me that what?"

Wesley sighed so hard that his body moved with the force of it.  "I knew that Johnson was setting me up with you.  I, uh, assumed you knew as well, until . . ." Wesley shrugged, still not looking up at Giles.

Giles was staring, however, blinking rapidly as he tried to fit this new bit of information into his views of the night.  The hurt and then disappointment on Wesley's face, the guilty way Wesley's eyes slid away from his . . . "Oh."

"Oh?"  Wesley echoed him and Giles could see Wesley's adam's apple bob before Wesley turned slowly toward him.  "I thought Johnson had told you that I . . . Uh, and when you . . . were disappointed, I--I lied."

Giles blinked again, feeling as if his brain had just deserted him in search of better prospects.  "I don't know what to say," he finally managed, trying to find some way to explain.  "Uh, if-if someone had told me this morning that I would be spending my evening with you . . . I would probably have called to cancel."

Wesley looked quickly back to the thread at his knee, nodding.  "I know--"

"Why?"  Giles blurted out, wanting to stop Wesley from finishing that sentence, stop him looking so blank and remote.  "Why would Johnson . . ." Giles shrugged, unsure how to phrase his question.  "Why would you want to spend an evening with me?"

Wesley swallowed hard again.  "Oh, please," he said, voice a bit cold now.  "Haven't I been embarrassed enough tonight?"  Wesley looked at him then, tired and hurt and still holding back his fear through force of will.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Of course not," Wesley sighed, sending a glare at the lift doors.  "What is taking them so bloody long?"

Giles wanted to say something, but had no idea what he could say.  His mind was still trying to adjust to the idea that Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had apparently thought they'd be going on a date tonight.  A date.  He and Wesley.  It was rather a disconcerting notion considering he'd been certain Wesley rather disliked him.

"I don't know.  You'd think they'd have fixed this thing by now," Giles commented lamely, glancing sidelong at Wesley to avoid detection.  He found himself studying a carefully blank face, noticing that Wesley had broken out in a sweat, his breathing faster than was probably healthy, his body tense and taut.  Wesley, however, hadn't said a word about his condition.

Stubborn, Giles thought with a sigh, though now, with his new knowledge, he found himself considering that trait in a whole new light.  Giles rather liked stubborn, liked the challenge it often presented.  "How are you finding LA?  It's . . . well, all of California is so very different from home."

Wesley looked at him, confusion overwhelming the blank expression for a moment.  "LA?  It's hot and all too often sunny, but I don't have to see my family.  A worthy trade off, I feel.  Why?"

Giles shrugged, not terribly surprised by Wesley's confrontational attitude.  It wasn't surprising if Wesley was feeling a tad defensive at the moment.  "Because it's something to talk about . . ." that won't leave either of us red faced and mortified.  "Besides, I miss home and I wondered if you did as well, or if you actually preferred America."

Wesley looked at him for a moment, as if trying to discern his motives.  It was both disconcerting and sad, in its way.  Wesley was suspicious now, waiting, Giles thought, to be mocked or laughed at.

"Prefer it?  No, not as such.  It does have certain charms, but . . . I miss home too, now and then."  He said it softly, as if it were an admission of something far greater than a little homesickness.  Or, maybe, Wesley thought Giles would laugh at that as well?

"I might miss it a good deal more than you, then.  Even after the last few years . . . the weather especially still gets to me."  Giles snorted, smiling at the thought.  "All this sun can't be health for a body."

Wesley's head turned toward him and there was a beat of silence before Wesley actually began to laugh.  It was subtle at first, but grew louder and Wesley covered his mouth with one hand.  "I'm sorry," he said after a moment.  "That struck me as funny.  All through childhood people were telling me to go out and get some sunshine while it was out and . . . all I wanted to do was read, so . . ."  Wesley trailed off and shook his head.  "Sorry."

"What's there to be sorry for?"  Giles asked, loosening his own tie and leaned forward to pull off his jacket.  He turned back to Wesley to find the man watching him with a slightly far away expression.  Giles said nothing, but Wesley jumped, as if pulling himself back from wherever he had been.  He met Giles' eyes for only a moment before looking away quickly.  Giles watched closely, seeing Wesley close his eyes, swallow hard, and then that blank expression returned.

"I'm sorry, what?"  Wesley didn't exactly look at Giles when he asked.  He looked slightly toward Giles' direction, but his eyes were firmly on the lift doors.

"What's there to be sorry for?" Giles asked again.

Wesley's snort of bitter laughter was startling in the confined space.  "It seems I have a good deal to be sorry for tonight," he said softly.  "For dragging you out here, for lying, for being a complete and total berk."

"Wesley," Giles said on a sigh, "It's hardly as bad as all that."

"Please, Giles, don't condescend to me."  Wesley still spoke softly, once again entranced by the loose thread of his trouser knee.  "I don't need your pity or--"

"Oh, good Lord, man!"  Giles finally growled, staring at Wesley.  "I'm neither being condescending, nor offering you pity.  I'm trying to be nice to you.  Or is that not allowed?  You don't seem to know how to handle it, one way or the other."

Wesley stared at him, but at least his face wasn't arranged into that blank mask and his eyes had some life once again.  "Well, it's certainly unexpected.  Forgive me for judging by past experience and assuming--"

Giles cut him off again, rolling his eyes at Wesley's words.  "So, because I was rude to you before, I am never allowed to be nice to you?  You're always going to assume that I mean whatever I say in some negative and demeaning way?"

"Yes!  Why shouldn't I?  Especially after I've clearly made a fool out of myself."  Wesley and he were yelling now, the sound even louder in the small space, but Wesley didn't seem terribly concerned about their confinement anymore.

Lovely.  Keep him angry or embarrassed and we'll make it through this ordeal without his having a panic attack.

"You know, Giles," Wesley spat out his name, finally looking him full in the eyes, "I wished you'd just get it over with.  Mock me.  Laugh at me.  Something, so that I can stop waiting and knowing it's coming.  Just . . . get it over with."  The fight seemed to go out of Wesley then.  He slumped back against the wall, shaking his head.

Giles was silent for a moment, stunned by Wesley's certainty that that's what was going to happen, that Giles was going to rip him to shreds, sooner or later.  "I . . . had no plans to do either, actually.  I wouldn't, Wesley."

"And why is that?"  Wesley truly didn't seem to understand.

"Because I don't find it funny," Giles answered.  "What do you want me to say?"  His frustration getting the better of him, Giles threw his hands up.  "I don't find it funny that Johnson did this to either of us.  Though . . . maybe he did us a favor."

Wesley blinked at that, one eyebrow arching to his hair line.  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I wouldn't have come had he told me that it was you.  Because . . . Well, to be completely frank, the last I knew you were a stuck-up, tight-arsed prat with no sense of what it meant to be on the frontlines and you were trying to take my place."  Wesley actually flinched at that description, but Giles continued without pause, wanted to get this out before Wesley butted in.  "You're not that anymore.  You've found your own place.  You've clearly grown quite a lot since Sunnydale and, had we not been in this situation, I might have enjoyed a night out with you."

Wesley blinked at him, opened his mouth, shut it and blinked again.  "I'm sorry?"

"I might have enjoyed a night out with you.  Considering the circumstances, you've been better company than anyone could ask.  Not to mention the fact that there are actually things we can discuss and I don't have to remind myself not to talk about Buffy--How do you explain her to a date that knows nothing of Slayers?  I wind up sounding like a lecherous old man obsessed with a former student.  It doesn't go over well."

Wesley blinked at him again and Giles tried very hard not to smile, unsure how Wesley would take it just then.  He didn't want to throw the man into believing he was being cruel.

"Uh . . ." Wesley shook his head and then ducked it, attempting to hide a smile that Giles had never seen before.  It was shy and somewhat abashed, rather appealing, actually.  "Now it's my turn to not know what to say," he said quietly.

Giles ducked his head down to meet Wesley eyes and shrugged prosaically.  "How about--" The lights came up in the lift and Giles looked up.  "Well that was--"

They went down again, leaving Wesley and he with just the emergency lights once more.  Giles knocked his head against the back wall.  "I was going to say that that was convenient, but I suppose it wasn't after all."

"How bloody long are we going to be here?  I could be on a date now, you know," he muttered at the lift doors, making Giles chuckle.

"Well, this isn't my first choice of venue, but . . . it hasn't been as bad as it could have been.  We haven't been attacked by demons, we both have our voices, and I'm fairly certain I won't have to hunt you down tomorrow because you turned me into a Fyarl demon.  I don't have a concussion, or an arrow sticking out of my back, so I should probably count this in the win column.  It hasn't been that bad a first date, given my track record. "

Wesley stared at him for a moment.  "Budding sociopaths, people who turn you into Fyarl demons, who have you been dating?"

Giles knew his smile was more than a little self-deprecating.  "Uh, it's a very long story."

"Clearly.  And I thought I was bad at this."  Wesley gave him a long look and then sighed.  "It's too bad we probably won't get to the opera tonight.  I suppose you'll be heading back to Sunnydale after . . ." Wesley motioned to the lift doors, giving a small shudder.

"Well, I could always stay long enough for dinner . . . if I had company?"  Giles gave Wesley a questioning look.

"I suppose it's the least I can do after dragging you all the way here," Wesley replied with a small, shy smile.

"I was promised a date with an intelligent, well-mannered and charming Englishman."

"I'll do my best, but I think you should know that I've been told my manners are atrocious."

"By a fool, obviously."

"Yes, I rather think you might be right about that."

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My words were: Date, trapped somewhere and anxiety.

Companion Story: Miscommunications