Title: Going Towards Yes 2/7
Author: K.V. Wylie
Disclaimer: Permission to use these characters relating to BtVS & AtS, has not been given. Joss, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB & Mutant Enemy own TM and copyrighted them. This is purely for fun, and no copyright infringement is intended

Ira shut the curtains in their room. Giles reached around him and pulled them open quickly. "If you do that, the old lady out back will think we're up to something. She's probably on the phone already."

Ira waved through the window. "Hello, Mrs. Downweather." Then he closed the curtains again.

"Oh lovely," Giles sighed. "Give it a few minutes, and people will start driving by the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of the boys at it."

Ira made a little noise.

"Are you laughing?" Giles asked suspiciously.

"I'm trying not to." Ira sat on the bed, touching the back of his neck tenderly. He'd spent most of the day at the place where Mr. Ria had died, and received little but a profound sunburn for his efforts. Though there were walls bracing the sides of the dig, a stone of enormous weight had shifted. It broke the bracing and half a ton of debris followed. Workmen would be there through the night to repair the open area.

"I have something for your burn," Giles said. He retrieved some cream from the bathroom, then knelt on the bed behind the other man.

Ira leaned into his touch. "What is that, Rupert? It feels good, yet smells rather flowery."

"It's, uh, meant for women," Giles admitted, "but it works. After my first skirmish with the California sun, Buffy bought it for me. This is a scent...she favoured."

He stilled. Ira turned around and kissed him gently. Giles returned the kiss before saying, "You should wear long sleeves."

Ira nodded as he glanced at his bright-red forearms.

Giles stroked more of the scented cream onto the sensitive skin. The warmth under his fingertips, and the feeling of the other man's breathing against him, sent a tingling arousal through Giles.

"There are too many extremes," Giles mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"This being at a loss." He met Ira's eyes. "And happy. Both at once."

"I didn't know it was possible to feel only one thing at a time."

"I used to be on a more even keel."

"Would that have been before you loved someone? Was your life better then?"

"It was easier," Giles said, before he thought to stop himself. "I had a time like that," Ira said. "When one day was the same as the next day. A blur in which nothing ever happened. I went for years, and then I met you. It has been an eventful ten months, Rupert."

"...yes..." Giles said softly.

Ira leant forward and put his lips to Giles', but waited to deepen the kiss. He'd had to move carefully in their intimacy since the night at the tower.

At first, Giles had been silent. He gave nothing away, not during the funeral, and not afterwards when Dawn was settled and there was nothing left to do. When Ira was offered the summer teaching position in Druggins, he hesitated, but Giles suddenly wanted to go and was packed before Ira was able to send his acceptance.

Finally Giles began to talk, but it was raw, angry, sometimes an attack which could be directed at anyone nearby, a store clerk or someone on the phone. Living with Giles, Ira saw it more often and more clearly than any of the others did.

Anger didn't frighten Ira, however. He'd once been an angry man himself.

He felt Giles move, but the latter had come forward. Ira felt a pulse against his leg, the other man's groin. He opened Giles' mouth under his, felt it accepted and Giles responding almost urgently as their breathing mingled.

He pressed Giles back onto the bed, reveling in the scratch of unshaven skin and the smell of flowers and the male warmth shifting under him.

Abruptly, Giles sat up, choking, shaking, pushing himself free. He was strong in these bursts of panic. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Ira said.

"I want to."

"I know, Rupert. I know."

"It's just..."

"We have time," Ira said. "We have lots of time."

But Giles was up on his feet, completely out of the bed. The moment in orgasm when he surrendered control to Ira was more than he felt able to do. Yet, only a few seconds ago, he'd ached for it.

Ira sat up, tugging at the front of his trousers as he did so.

"I could, uhB" Giles said.

"No." Ira shook his head. "I don't think I'd enjoy that very much. I'd rather it be mutual."

He got up to use the bathroom, but at the doorway, Giles stopped him by saying, "We might not. You said we had lots of time, Ira. We might not, though."

"True," Ira said. "I prefer to be hopeful."

- - - - -

Giles woke late and with a headache. He took a cold shower, letting the water pound on his forehead, then went downstairs to see if Ira had left yet.

He was greeted by someone he'd never seen before. A man, wearing only jeans and running shoes, was dusting the living room. He smiled at Giles, a impish grin which highlighted a sensual mouth and glorious features.

"Dr. Giles?"

"...yes."

"I'm George. I take care of the house."

"Nice to meet you," Giles said, hardly trusting his voice as George bent over a low coffee table with his cloth. The young man was either well developed or his jeans were too small.

Or both, Giles decided.

"Dr. Rosenberg said to tell you he's gone to the university," George said. "Mrs. Steffler called. She invited a few other people for dinner tonight, but wanted to let you know that it's still informal. It's probably a barbecue. Mr. Steffler adores his propane grill." He winked at Giles before going into another room.

Giles sucked in a sharp breath as he continued to the kitchen. He had just settled with tea and toast when the phone rang.

He answered, and Ira said, "Morning, Rupert. When did you get up?"

"A few minutes ago."

"I'll be here until after lunch. I need to prepare the course outline. If you come by, my office is F264."

"All right," Giles said, distracted by the sound of a vacuum.

"Did you meet the housekeeper?"

"Yes."

"A casual gentleman, don't you think?"

"Impudent about it too," Giles said, and Ira laughed.

"Rupert, I trust you know how to keep yourself intact."

"Good God, Ira. I'm twice his age," Giles protested. "And I could make the same comment back to you."

Ira took a moment to answer. When he did, his voice was sober. "It has just occurred to me that this is something we've not actually discussed."

"I thought it was implied."

"Keeping ourselves unto each other is a vow we have *not* taken," Ira pointed out.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Giles questioned.

"No, Rupert, but you've given me something to think about," Ira said. "May I ask a favour of you?"

"What?" Giles asked grumpily.

"I don't believe there is a temple here. Would you find out? If there isn't one, would you check the neighbouring towns? Shabbat starts tomorrow at sundown."

"All right, I'll look around."

"By the way, I love you."

In a softer tone, Giles said, "I love you too."

He hung up and had just finished eating when George stuck his head in the kitchen.

"Hey, doctor, is there any room in the house you don't want me in?"

"Pardon?"

"I take care of a few places, and people have rooms they like to keep to themselves. Offices and studies, you know?"

"We haven't settled in yet." "Ok." George gave Giles another charming smile before disappearing.

"Wait, Mr. uh, George!"

The housekeeper poked his face back in. "Yes, doctor?"

"Do you know if there are any temples in town?"

"You mean Jewish? We got churches. Anglican, Baptist, R.C., Lutherans. They're a rocking bunch," George said. "A few Mormons. No temples." He brightened. "There is one in Stenholme, just across the river." He came into the kitchen and opened the map that Sahrene had left. "There, not far from where the ferry docks."

"Not walking distance," Giles mused.

"It is from the ferry," George said. "The ferry runs a lot on Saturday. That's a big tourist day. I guess you and Dr. Rosenberg are orthodox, eh? No driving on the seventh day?"

"He is orthodox."

"Does the ferry count? You wouldn't be driving it," George said.

"I don't know. I'll have to ask him," Giles said, aware that George was standing very close, nudging like a cat.

"You could ask Steffler about temples, too," George said. "He's the religious studies prof, though he can't fill those classes, only the old language ones. You're going over there tonight. If he starts hitching up his pants, that's a warning he's going to go on forever when he answers."

"You've taken his classes?"

"Sure, first and second levels Greek. We had to read this play," George made a face. "Antigone. Steffler acted out the girl's part at the front of the class."

"Antigone is a wonderful play," Giles said.

"It is until you have to watch a guy pretending to be a girl burying her brother under a desk."

Giles' mouth twitched. George said, "I knew I could make you smile, doctor." As he started back to the living room, he said, "The pool company's coming this afternoon. They're noisy, but they won't be here long."

"Thank you."

The phone rang again. Giles picked it up. "Hello."

"Rupert, it's Linda. I'm going to open Ria's crate. Do you want to have a peek?"

"I'll be right there."

Giles half-walked, half-jogged to the Museum. He chose a route down the main street of town, and was delighted to see, in among the offices and restaurants, a used-book dealer.

He resisted going in. It wasn't as though he was eager to open the crate. On the contrary, his experience with Acathla (among others) had taught him the virtue of leaving boxes closed. But he would feel better being there when Linda opened her box.

"This isn't Sunnydale, Rupert," he said to himself. "The crate is full of shale. Ria was human. His death was an accident."

When he arrived at the Museum, Linda handed him a crowbar.

"My husband and I will be at the Steffler's tonight," she said.

"Is your husband an archeologist as well?"

"Boris? He's an accountant. He's also a weight-lifter."

Giles' eyebrows rose, and Linda laughed.

"He's a sweetie, Rupert. All muscle and wouldn't hurt a cockroach. He pretends to be interested in my work. In return, I go to all the weight-lifting championships."

"Sounds fair," Giles said. "How long as this been going on?"

"We'll have been married nineteen years in September. And now, fair's fair. Since you asked me, I'm going to be nosy. How long have you and Dr. Rosenberg been together?"

"Just under a year."

"Not very long," she said.

"We plan to make it longer."

"I'm glad. He seems a nice guy, though he's *very* formal."

"Not all the time," Giles said, and she laughed again.

"Good, Rupert. Life is too short not to have some fun. Are you going to open the crate? You look a little worried about it."

"I was just noticing that the address is incorrect. The British Museum is on Great Russell Street. The code is wrong too. It should be WC."

Linda came up beside him. "So where's Great Ruddell Street?"

"Nowhere. There is no such street."

"So, this eventually comes back because of the address."

"One of the easiest ways to keep something safe for a little while is to have it travel through the postal system," Giles said.

They both eyed the crate. At last, Linda said, "Here we go." She reached for the crowbar, but Giles stepped away.

"Do you have any chalk?"

"Why, Rupert?"

"I'll ward the crate first. As well, I know a spell which will keep the contents contained."

"A *what*?" She gave him a dubious look. "If you're that worried, I'll get a flame-thrower."

"Humour me," he said. "Do you have any chalk? I also need a tape measure."

She got both items, then sat on a chair at the other side of the room and watched him.

First, he drew a circle. He overlaid it with a pentagram, measuring the points carefully. He finished the ward, added a second one just outside the boundary of the first, then walked around the perimeter while casting a protection spell.

"Don't step on the chalk when you enter in," Giles told her. "Better yet, let me open the crate and you keep clear."

She neared him, but stayed away from the chalk outlines. "You were serious."

"Don't you believe in magic?"

"Lovin' Spoonful," she said. "I used to have that song on a forty-five."

He gave her a quick, strained smile before setting to work on the crate. The nails came out cleanly, without splintering the wood. Giles took that as a bad sign, and paused before opening the lid.

"Do you want a flame-thrower?" she asked.

"Do you, in fact, have one?" "No," she replied. "I have two. Now open the box."

He tugged at the lid. It spun off the top and crashed to the floor, scattering the nails. They jumped at the noise, then leaned forward together to peer cautiously inside the crate.

The interior was filled with small, gray spheres.

"Packing material," she said.

Giles nodded and reached into it.

For a while, he felt only the styrofoam balls. Then his fingers touched something hard and cold.

"Rupert?" Linda asked anxiously.

"I found it." He groped, searching for edges, then reached underneath the object and lifted it up.

The packing material fell away, leaving Giles holding a rock.

"There has to be something else in there," she said.

There wasn't. Giles set the rock down as she emptied the crate. Then she sat on her heels beside him and commented, "All this for a lump of granite."

"This is a piece of something," Giles said. "You can see where it has been broken." He pointed at a crisp line in the otherwise smooth, gray surface. Along the line, the stone was pale gold and gritty to the touch.

"Either someone has been polishing this or it's been underwater," Linda said as she stroked it. "I wonder what it came from? It's not from anything here."

"Where did Mr. Ria come from?"

"Equador," Linda said. "Are you saying he brought this rock with him? But he came here to find something."

"Perhaps the rest of this?"

"No, Rupert. I've lived here most of my life, and this stone isn't native."

"Well, it had to have been here, or he brought it."

"Thanks, Sherlock," she smiled, then stood.

"Or it was sent to him by someone else. Have you gone through his desk? Where is his office?"

"Sahrene cleared out his stuff. If you're looking for personal papers, she'd have them."

Giles contemplated the stone. "Do you mind if I borrow this?"

She shrugged. "No. Until I find the papers on it, I can't really claim it as Museum property, but I'd like to have it back."

"I promise to return it. Do you know if Mrs. Ria is up to having a visitor?"

"I don't know. Of the two of you, the best one to go and see her would be Dr. Rosenberg. He's one of her heroes."

"Really?"

"Archeologists have their groupies too," Linda said.

"I missed out on that," Giles said, as he picked up the stone.

She laughed, and said teasingly, "I didn't."

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