Title: Going Towards Yes 3/7
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

With a shoulder, Giles nudged open the door of room F264, and peered in.

"So this is where you plan to hide out during the summer session," he said, glancing around the cluttered office. Piles of paper lay on desks, filing cabinets, tables, and on the seats of chairs.

"Hide?" Ira protested, humoured. "If I planned to do so, I'd choose my office at the museum. It's much nicer. What is that you have?"

Giles let the stone thump down on a table. "A rock."

"Thank you, Rupert, but I'd already traveled that far on my own."

"It's as far as I am," Giles said. "But Mr. Ria thought it important enough to keep concealed. It was in a crate that would have eventually returned to him through the bowels of the postal service." He lifted some papers from a chair, but when he was unable to find a clear space to set them, sat and put them on his lap. "Is this mess from you?"

"I share with a mathematics professor."

"Is he handsome?"

"He must eat onions at every meal, and has such severe allergies, his nose whistles as though it is full of clarinet reeds. That's his desk, topped with six empty tissue boxes."

"You and I have emptied tissue boxes, though for other reasons."

"Rupert!" Ira protested, though he wasn't really shocked.

"I asked George whatever-his-name-is and Linda. The only synagogue around here is in Stenholme, the Anshe Sholom, which requires a ferry to get to. I called them from Linda's office, and they have both Friday night and Saturday morning services."

"A ferry is not allowed on the Sabbath, Rupert," Ira said.

"I don't know how else to deal with the river," Giles said gently, knowing how Ira felt about his faith. "As there's a synagogue, there's probably also a market with kosher food. I'll make a shopping trip tomorrow. Now, about the rock..."

"Your rock," Ira said, looking at it.

"Our rock," Giles sighed. "Mrs. Ria cleaned out her husband's desk, and I'd like to know why this stone was so important to him."

Ira went over to it. "What a peculiar golden colour," he mused, touching it hesitantly. "It feels..." he paused.

"It feels heavy," Giles said.

"It almost hums," Ira commented, and pulled his hand away.

"I'm told you have the best chance of getting Mr. Ria's papers."

Ira turned around. "Because?" he prompted.

"Mrs. Ria is your groupie."

"Rupert, the young lady is in the period of Shiva. It would be unseemly for me to ask her for anything."

"I'll make home-made challah for tomorrow's dinner . I'll even make kugel."

"Rupert, no."

"What I keep hearing is that the young lady was afraid of her husband. I don't think you'll find her in mourning. Shock, perhaps. And," Giles persisted, "no one is going over there. Mr. Ria wasn't liked. There's no funeral, no nothing. She's probably sitting there by herself, waiting out the company-paid bereavement leave."

"I hardly think that no one has visited her," Ira chided.

"Still, she worked hard to make things comfortable for you. It would be nice for you to visit."

"Which I did this morning, on my way here. Whether you call it shock or grief, she looked unwell. I can't fathom returning the same day, especially with an ulterior motive."

"Then go back and pretend you lost something, like a ring. Did you take flowers this morning? I hear Mrs. Ria likes chrysanthemums. There's a florist downtown."

"This is why we have arguments," Ira said. "You are pushy."

"And you are stubborn." Giles eyed the rock. "Sometimes, pushiness is necessary."

Ira sighed loudly. "What colour chrysanthemums?"

- - - - -

Ira didn't return to the house until late afternoon.

"I was going to start phoning around," Giles said. "We'll be late for the Steffler's."

"The young lady is voluble." Ira dropped a cardboard box onto a couch and sat tiredly beside it.

"And you have a demeanor that makes people want to confide their innermost thoughts. Xander calls it a stare of doom. Very relaxing to be around," Giles said. He pulled off the lid. The box was crammed with papers. "Anything about the rock in here?" "I hope so," Ira muttered with feeling. "These are all of the papers which Mrs. Ria took from her husband's desk at the museum. Rupert, the young lady seems afraid."

Giles gave him a sharp look. "But her husband's dead."

"Yet she is still afraid of something. I believe that is why she spoke to me and allowed me to take these papers. Another thing," Ira said, "and this must be kept between us. She is pregnant."

"Is she, uh, happy about that?"

"She seems overwhelmed," Ira said. "Rupert, suppose Mr. Ria was not human."

"Demons don't crush easily. Generally, it takes more than a rockslide to kill them. What's happened to his body?"

"He had family in Equador and they insisted his body be flown out for immediate cremation. Mrs. Ria didn't handle the arrangements herself, and no accommodation was made for her to travel there."

"Lovely snub," Giles said.

"As this was out of her hands, we have no proof that he went anywhere," Ira said. "I think the young lady should stay with us for a little while, so that we may keep an eye on her."

"That sounds like a good idea," Giles said. "Did you ask her?"

"I'll call her before we go out." Ira stood, rubbed his back, then went to the phone.

- - - - -

Ira was forced to park five houses away from the Steffler's, due to the number of cars. When he and Giles stepped out of the van, jazz music wailed at them.

They exchanged a look before going forward.

"We're here!" Chris Steffler called when they were on the front walk. He opened a gate behind the driveway and led Giles and Ira into the back yard. "I thought we'd have a barbecue. I hope you guys are hungry." He shoved beers in their hands and motioned them towards lawn chairs.

A dozen people were sitting in a clump, attempting to talk over the CD player and stay upwind of the smoking grill. Linda Brommel jumped up when she saw Giles, and dragged a gigantic, long-haired man over with her.

"Rupert, Dr. Rosenberg, I was starting to think you'd ditched. Not that I'd blame you. This is Boris, my husband."

Giles shook Boris' large hand while looking at a plethora of tattoos which disappeared up the sleeves of a Neil Young T-Shirt. "I hear you're an accountant." "Took it up after I got too old for the Nationals," Boris said good-naturedly. "I don't need any business cards for it. I'm memorable enough."

"Is that your Honda out the front?" Giles asked.

"An eighty-four. I have a sixty-seven Panther at home."

"I used to have a seventy-nine Norton," said Giles.

"And now?" Boris asked.

"A ninety-eight BMW."

"You went to four wheels?"

"And we came in a mini-van," Giles admitted, and Boris shook his head in sympathy.

"Poor man. Should've stuck with the Norton. Come to our place sometime and see the Panther."

Trudy Steffler appeared with a plate of crab puffs. "Please help yourself. There are salads on the patio table and pop in the cooler. We might as well start eating now. Chris will take forever getting the chicken cooked."

Chris, who couldn't have heard his wife, but must have guessed what she'd said, shouted, "The hamburgers are almost ready, hon!"

"Notice he didn't say chicken," Trudy said. "It's been on the spit for three hours and is still clucking."

Boris risked a crab puff before Trudy moved to another group of people. Linda took Giles' arm and said, "I'll introduce you around."

"Before holes are stared into your head," Boris chuckled.

Giles and Ira were introduced in a whirl to professors from the university (who were crouched around a compressor), neighbours of the Steffler's (who were watching the professors in amusement), two female students who regarded Ira with wide eyes, and an octogenarian presented as Grandmother Belle. She had the best spot in the yard, under the dome of an expansive shade tree, so Giles and Ira pulled up chairs next to her.

"You're the newest professor, eh?" she asked Ira, peering at him through trifocals.

"I am here for the summer, Madam," he said.

"And you're American?"

"I was born in Massachusetts."

"I was there once when Franklin D. Roosevelt visited. Such a hoopla. My mother bought me an ice cream and a boy on a scooter stole it."

"Did you chase him?" Giles enquired.

"Of course not. I was a lady in those days. If a boy dared do that to me now, though, I'd give him what-for."

Giles eyed her, unsure, until he saw her smile.

"Don't tease your elders," Grandmother Belle told him, and Ira coughed to hide a laugh.

A little girl came up, balancing paper plates with hamburgers. "Momma said to give these to you," she said. As the plates were tilting precariously towards their laps, Ira took them quickly.

"Thank you," he said, but the girl remained, staring at him.

"I'm Megan. What's that on your head?" she asked.

"It's a kippah," he answered as he gave both plates to Giles.

"My daddy wears a hat. It has a baseball on it."

"It must be a very nice hat," Ira said solemnly.

"It's blue." She walked around the back of him. "Yours doesn't have anything on it. You should get a blue hat."

"I will think about that," Ira said.

The girl grabbed onto the chair armrest as she tried to see the top of Ira's head. "Do you have hair under it?"

Giles snorted, but Ira replied with a straight face. "Yes, I do."

"My daddy doesn't have any hair under his hat," she said, then ran back when her mother called her.

Grandmother Belle watched the retreating child as long as she was able to. "You'll get a lot of that."

Ira nodded. "I must be the only Jew in town."

To Giles, she asked, "What are you?"

"I, uh, don't go to church."

"Like that other one, the one that died. Didn't like him," she stated. "Go to church. What faith were your parents? Go to that church."

"Yes, madam," Giles replied. "Why didn't you like Mr. Ria?"

But she'd turned back to Ira. "When I was a little girl, I had a friend, Rachel, but my mother said I couldn't play with her. She had braids. They were so long, she could tuck them in her socks when she was sitting down. I wanted braids like that."

Ira stood. "I'm going to get some salad. Would you like anything, Grandmother?"

"If she's made some of that macaroni, yes." After Ira left, she said, "He is a gentleman, not like that other one."

"You mean Mr. Ria?" Giles asked.

"The boy on the scooter. Weren't you listening?"

Though Giles tried several times to bring the conversation back to Mr. Ria, Grandmother Belle talked of her childhood, of her nosy neighbours in the senior's home, and of a canary that either died or flew away. When he realized he didn't have to contribute anything to keep her going, he ate the hamburgers and looked at the people around them.

The doomed compressor repair was still going on, and Ira had been roped into it on his way to the patio table. The women, including Linda, were in a group away from the men, and, judging by their laughter, were talking about their husbands. The rest of the party was at the barbecue, offering opinions on the chicken that would not cook.

When Ira finally returned, the chicken was a piece of charcoal, but the women had not run out of steam. Chris and Boris came along with him.

"That's bad news," Boris said, gesturing at the women. "After we go home tonight, I'll have to spend an hour apologizing, and I won't know why."

"It won't do you any harm," said Grandmother Belle. She said something more, but it was drowned out by a car with a thumping stereo. The Steffler's house was on a corner lot, and a road was just past their hedge.

"Does that happen often?" Giles asked.

"Ever since folk music died," Chris said.

Boris pulled up a lawn chair beside Giles. "Linda said you wanted to know about that Ria guy. You should ask Grandmother here. Sahrene's her great-granddaughter."

"I didn't like him. I'm glad he's gone," said Grandmother Belle.

"A strong feeling," Ira commented.

"He was all sweet when he was courting her, but that changed the moment she married him, and why she married him, heaven only knows. He was too old for her."

"Did he hurt her?" Giles asked.

"Didn't want her to go anywhere, didn't want her to see anyone. Not even me. There's something wrong with men like that."

Ira repeated Giles' question. "But, did he hurt her?"

"He never put a mark on her," Grandmother said. "Like we never put a mark on our animals, but they were for our dinner, just the same. What's that? What's that?" She craned her neck around, trying to see behind her.

"Just some more kids with a loud stereo," Chris said.

As the car in the street came near, the music cut off. All of a sudden, stones began whipping through the air.

Ira and Boris nearly collided as they rushed in front of Grandmother Belle. As Ira swung around to face the street, he caught sight of Giles holding his arm.

From the street, voices yelled out of sync, then the car squealed away. When he was sure it was gone, Ira glanced around. Chris was by the hedge, staring at the road, his face white. The women were standing, some clutching children in their arms. The rest of the party were looking at each other in confusion. Then Ira saw the blood on Giles' shirt sleeve.

"Rupert!"

"It's just a scratch," Giles said. He bent and picked a piece of green glass from the ground. "Part of a soda bottle."

"Bastards," Boris muttered darkly. "Rotten bastards. There were children here!"

"I'll get a bandage," Trudy cried and dashed into the house.

Linda stepped forward warily, looking at the street. "Are they gone?"

"Yes," Ira said.

"Grandmother?" Linda asked.

"Is it over?" Grandmother Belle asked in a frightened tone. "What did they do? What happened?"

"Just boys throwing rocks," Linda said. "They're gone." To Boris, she said, "We should call the police. Did you see the car?"

"It was small and brown, one of those little ones with no power. That's all I saw," he said.

"Leviticus," Giles said.

"What?" Linda asked.

"They were misquoting Leviticus," Giles said. "The part about men who lie with men being stoned to death."

"Rupert, ssh. At least they're reading their Bible," Ira said as Trudy returned with rubbing alcohol and bandages. He pushed Giles' sleeve up gingerly and began cleaning the gash.

"We've never had anything like this happen before," Trudy said. "I'm so sorry."

"This is not your fault," Ira assured her.

"My God, look at your arm, Rupert!" Trudy exclaimed. "Chris! Call the police!"

Her husband startled. "Ok, but IB"

"Now!"

"I don't think they'll come back," Boris said. "I'll keep watch."

Chris nodded and ran into the house.

"Come on," Linda said to Grandmother Belle. "I'll take you inside."

Some women with children came over. "I think we'd better go."

"Sure. I'm sorry," Trudy said.

"You ok?" one of the women asked Giles.

"It's fine," he said.

"We're not like that," she said. "I don't know who they were, but most of the people in this town wouldn't care if you...you know." She trailed off awkwardly.

"Is your daughter all right?" Ira asked.

She hugged her child. "Yeah, she'll be fine. It happened so fast."

She left, as did the other mothers with children. Two officers arrived soon after that. As they looked at the stones in the yard, one of them said, "We get more calls in the tourist season, but they usually throw stones at store windows."

"This wasn't done by drunk, bored people," Boris said. "It was specific." The officer frowned. "They were, ah, quoting bible verses?"

"Screaming," Linda corrected. "Verses from Leviticus. Isn't that the one you said, Rupert?" she asked Giles, but he shook his head and didn't answer.

"Religious nuts," the second officer shrugged. "Too bad it happened to you folks."

When Giles and Ira got home, Ira paused by the doorway and looked out into the street. "Nice little town."

"Yes, isn't it?" Giles said acidly. He went in the house. "They don't live around here, Ira. If they did, they'd be pelting our windows."

Ira came in and locked the door. "By that officer's standards, would I be a religious nut?"

"Definitely," Giles said. He was standing by the couch, a book in his hands. Ira peered at the title, then at Giles.

"Just checking Leviticus," Giles murmured.

"It is the book in which Moses receives the laws from God."

"It's vile."

"Don't say that," Ira said quickly.

Giles flipped a few pages, then made a sound of disgust and dropped the Bible on a table. Ira picked up the book and placed it gently on a shelf.

"Ira, Leviticus is one of the five books of your Pentateuch. How the hell can you be Orthodox yet sleep in the same bed as I do?"

"I haven't been able to reconcile it," Ira said softly. "I just have to believe it is all right to love someone. Don't call the book vile, Rupert."

"Read it out loud then, and tell me how bloody lyrical it all is," Giles retorted. "Let's read all the promises in there together, shall we? And perhaps afterwards I'll understand where He was when Buffy was plummeting off that tower and when Angel was murdering Jennifer Calendar."

"And where He was when Angel was torturing you?"

Giles looked abruptly away. "What I mean is that, among other things, the Bible gives people a licence to wing rocks and shards of glass into a yard where little children are playing."

"No, it doesn't."

"Do you want me to quote page numbers? I just saw it!"

Ira sat down heavily. Giles glanced tentatively over, but Ira didn't say anything. He was looking out the window, his expression taut.

"We're on our own in this world," Giles said. He started towards the stairs, and there was no answer from behind him.

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