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Ashcroft.

[ Automatic. A name remembered from a life only fleetingly lived, a conversation held over whiskey under the gaze of a memorable portrait. Stephen stills under Giles' hand, casts him a sheepish glance, sorry both for the state of him and for the slip. Then he shakes it off and pushes through, accepting the help until he's more or less sitting upright. ]

I tried to take a look at him. Probably shouldn't have.

Take a look?

[ Once he's reasonably sure Stephen isn't going to fall over, Giles lets him go to start searching carefully around the room. He finds what he's looking for on a sideboard, a carafe of water and a glass, arranged almost as if anticipating this very need.

Bringing the brimming glass back to the bed, he frowns at Stephen in the dim shadows. ]

You mean you used.. some other means? [ Extrapolating off what he thought was a very impressive rattling off of skills in the library. It seems as though Stephen -- the real Stephen -- is capable of far more than he could have ever thought possible. ]

Mm.

[ He lifts a hand to accept the glass as Giles brings it for him. Difficult to tell in the dark, but it trembles with his tremor just as much as it ever had - then steadies a little, as Stephen remembers to do what used to be innate. Pause for a few hearty sips. He reaches with his free hand to tap at the centre of his forehead, though there's nothing to see but the usual crease. ]

Third eye. Lets me see the unseen. Except this time the unseen was looking right back at me.

[ A thought pulls him briefly from his own encounter, attention fixing on Giles as he rests the glass on his thigh, a little crease of concern between his eyes. ]

Did you talk to him?

[ By the time he gets that concern reflected back at him, Giles has settled himself on the edge of the bed next to Stephen's legs, clearly not about to go anywhere just yet. He mirrors the frown, reaching up to take off his glasses so he can polish them on the edge of his sweater, a gesture that wasn't part of his previous self's bodily vocabulary. ]

I tried to avoid him. Though I was too.. occupied to really think about it.

[ In the wake of the baptism, he had been distracted, too bound up in sorting out his own memories to confront the man who seems to have been responsible. Not a great outcome for a Watcher. ]

At least we've discovered the heart of it. I hope. Or the -- the creature that might be the reason we're all here.

[ A light shake of his head as he notes the subtle ways this man differs from the one he remembers knowing so well. What he doesn't quite notice is the way it doesn't feel uncomfortable to have him in here, sat on the edge of his bed. Bringing water, keeping watch. Old ties in new clothes. ]

That wasn't him. [ Stated like a fact, though he doesn't know it to be one. In spite of everything he said in the library, he just has a feeling. ] Not directly. We're closer. He's part of it.

[ Eyes close, pinching the bridge of his nose, aware of his sentences coming jumbled and short as thought. He takes a moment to breathe, regather. ]

You were smart to avoid him. [ Especially after... oh. In the aftermath of the seizure, the unhappy familiarity of unfathomable overwhelm that came before it, he'd almost forgotten that most people do not have to house the echoes of more than one life. Or make an abrupt return to never having lived them. His gaze settles on Giles, focus sharp, concern deeper than before. ] You okay?

[ The deflection -- because Giles judges it to be a deflection, even though he doesn't know this man nearly as well as he knew Stephen before -- earns a wry laugh as Giles shifts on the bed, resettling his weight to be a little more comfortable. He fiddles with his glasses in his lap, wondering if he's going to be able to talk about any of it. ]

Good question. But this isn't the first time I've been.. ah, incapacitated in this way. [ A wry, tired smile. ] I'm just grateful I wasn't turned into anything.. unsavoury.

[ He looks back over at Stephen. ]

Is there anything you need? Shall I fetch.. someone?

[ It's an interesting glimpse into the man he hadn't had much time to know. They'd exchanged words on fields of expertise, but nothing very detailed - a relief, to have somebody else around that isn't entirely new to the whole song and dance this last month and a half has put them through.

A shake of his head at the question. A wince at the shake of his head. ]

No. Not my first supernaturally instigated seizure. I'll be fine.

[ On the topic of other things that are not normal except when they are.

Another sip of water, and he really should excuse Giles now. But he swallows, spends a second looking down at his glass, then relents to the wry pinch of his smile. The next question is asked in good faith: sharing work stories of bad days at the office. ]

What unsavoury thing were you turned into last time?

[ It might not be Stephen's first supernaturally instigated seizure, but that doesn't mean that Giles isn't concerned. He frowns, not fooled, but willing to allow Stephen his scrap of pride, even if it hurts. It's his business, and despite the last month of assumed friendship, Giles doesn't have the right to tell him what to do.

But that doesn't mean he's going to just leave, either. Instead, he puts his glasses back on and watches him sip his water, wondering if he ought to check the bathroom for painkillers.

Stephen is obviously thinking of other things. Giles raises his eyebrows at the question, then relents to the change in topic. ]

Oh, well. [ He lets go of a laugh that's really more of a huff of breath. ] A Fyarl demon, most notably. Do you have those.. no? [ Off what is likely to be a look of sheer incomprehension, he elaborates: ] It's a -- a, well, sort of infernal henchman type. Very strong. Frighteningly strong. Horns. [ He raises his hands to illustrate the ram-like curve of the horns above and around his head. ] I spent a rather unfortunate few days frightening the life out of everyone and breaking most of my furniture. Wrote off my car, I'm sorry to say.

[ He pauses, then adds: ]

I gave the man responsible a good thrashing, I promise you. Though it was strangely liberating. The, um.. the ability to express one's pure and total rage, utterly uninhibited. I can see the appeal.

[ His incomprehension duly noted by its source and obligingly taken care of, the ensuing storytime is better than anything else Stephen could've prescribed. Brows raise, and he does a highly inconsistent job of keeping his mouth from mapping his reactions, concern into bemusement into - amusement. A little sympathy might go a long way, but instead by the time the tale is finished and he's given up trying to wrap his head around what a rampaging Giles might look like, all that he offers is— ]

Do you have a lot of suppressed rage, Rupert?

[ Only slightly teasing. He suspects the answer's yes. ]

[ It feels rather pointless to dissemble any more in front of Stephen; the teasing and honesty is well-earned, even if their closeness was artificially induced. Giles coughs a little, embarrassed, reaching up to adjust his glasses. ]

More than I would care to admit. Still, no excuse to.. come over all demony.

[ He sighs and returns his attention to his surroundings, glancing absently around the room as his thoughts inevitably circle back to their existential circumstances. ]

How much of it was true? What you believed about yourself.. about your life?

[ It comes back around. There's too much new shared history for it to not, and there's no use in deflecting. They're sharing already, and they'll have these conversations eventually. Better now than when he's regained enough strength to overthink it.

A deep breath, purged in a huff. Then - ]

Never married, never studied abroad. After the accident I never tried teaching. Other than that...

[ An unflattering amount, in hindsight. A life not far enough removed from what his might have been for comfort. He gives a wry twist of his mouth and then lapses into quiet, expression sobering. The next question is inevitable, but the answer might be harder to stomach. Giles had lost more than he had. ]

For you?

Edited 2025-07-19 10:59 (UTC)

[ There's very little that sympathy can do to fix what's been done to them, but Giles offers it anyway, at least as much as he can convey in a glance, in the way he doesn't press Stephen for more details, just nods, accepting what he's offered. There's no need to pry, when the regret is clear in Stephen's tone and the sparse details.

Perhaps it's worse that it was close. An almost, rather than an impossibility. ]

Likewise. Never married. Joyce was.. she was Buffy's mother. And I did.. [ He reaches for his glasses again, so he doesn't have to see the expression on Stephen's face, looking down at them in his hands. ] I did love her, as much as I could. But we weren't together. She died. Just over a year ago.

[ He pauses for a moment, getting through the most painful part, then continues. ]

Buffy is my.. ward. [ Slayer is something he'll explain eventually, but not now. ] I promised her mother I would take care of her. I'm not a professor. I dropped out of Oxford. Obviously, my line of work is.. rather less mundane. [ He attempts a smile. ] I hope I'm not quite as much of an insufferable prick.

Birds of a feather flocked close. [ A huff, almost laughter. Smile met with smile. Insufferable pricks together, he really hadn't noticed anything amiss. Though as happy as he is to let this be as easy as it can be, there's one thing he can't help but to say. ]

I'm sorry.

[ About Joyce. Gaze steady on Giles' face, sympathy clear in the set of his jaw. He won't linger on it now, can read that earlier body language well enough to understand Giles would rather not, so as a balm to ease a salted wound— ]

Christine and I were something for a while. She's not— [ what was made of her, in the only memory of her Giles has ] she's a surgeon. Brilliant - a brilliant surgeon. We worked together on a revolutionary new surgical technique for— [ focus up, Stephen, a shake of the head to get himself back on track mid-sentence ] something I don't need to bore you with right this second. The, uh - the rest didn't last long. In hindsight. But we're friends. You'd like her.

[ Thankfully, Giles is more than capable of reading between the lines of brilliance and their being something -- not nothing, significant enough for her threads to be tangled with Stephen's across worlds and metaphysical boundaries. He nods in slow acknowledgement, then slides Stephen a small but genuine smile. ]

Well, you do have good taste. At least, he thought so -- I thought so.

[ He lets out a breath, then moves off the bed, levering himself wearily back to his feet. ]

I should let you rest. Try to get some sleep. I'll pop back in a few hours, bring you some dinner. And maybe something stronger than water.

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