Title: Who Needs to Dream? (11/13)
Author: Sandra Pascoe
Disclaimer: Giles doesn't belong to me - I'm only borrowing him. Can I keep him, please?

< >indicates thoughts

Giles stood at the graveside, staring fixedly at the coffin as it was slowly lowered into the grave. He was aware of Henry and Quentin, flanking him on either side, but they seemed inconsequential and unimportant. The soothing presence in his mind was silent and respectful, although Giles was aware of a certain amount of fascination at the proceedings taking place before him. He tried to block out the dull and monotonous tone of the priest; the sounds of impatient shuffling of feet; the bird song that seemed so incredibly out of place and the faint sounds of waves breaking on the nearby beach. <Life goes on,> thought Giles, <it's no respecter of death or sadness or pain. It 's life - and life just IS. Probably a lesson to be learned there, Bernard - if I could be bothered to think about it. I don't want to think but I'm going to have to. I don't have a choice. Do any of us? Would you have made different choices, old friend? No, of course you wouldn't. I can 't get into this - not today. Today, I need to be focussed. No distractions. I know I should say goodbye - but the time isn't right. There's too much happening - I'm sure you understand that. When all this is over, I'll come back and say goodbye properly. So for now - farewell, Bernard.> Aware of eyes on him, Giles looked up to see Bernard's mother, an elderly, frail-looking lady watching him with more than a hint of concern. He nodded slightly in an attempt at reassurance but it was met with a deeper frown and a flash of the eyes that convinced Giles that, unless he made a quick getaway, he would be facing a rather difficult conversation. With a shock, Giles realised that not only had the priest finished speaking but also that people were starting to drift away - and Mrs Hodgkinson was making her determined way to him. There was an almost guttural groan from Quentin, who stepped forward to try to forestall the surprisingly spry elderly lady. <Like King Canute trying to turn back the ocean,> thought Giles as he watched Mrs Hodgkinson stop and look up.

"Now Mr Travers," she said, never breaking eye contact with Quentin, "young Rupert is only going to escort me to the car. I'm sure you can spare him for a few moments."

Quentin looked hard at the lady staring impassively up at him before nodding and stepping aside, an unreadable expression on his face. Mrs Hodgkinson moved forward, her thin hand gripping Giles' arm.

"I haven't seen much of you recently, Rupert," she said, taking one long lingering look at the grave before they slowly started walking towards the gate.

"I've been away for a while, Mrs H," replied Giles. "Business - you know."

"Ah yes - and how is the export business, Rupert?" The barely perceptible emphasis on the word 'export' caused warning bells to ring in Giles' mind.

"Oh as busy as ever," he replied evenly.

"Yes, that's what Bernard used to say." Mrs Hodgkinson glanced behind and lowered her voice. "He was a worse liar than you."

"Mrs H." Giles began, his voice trailing off as she gripped his arm tighter.

"Rupert, I never pried. I never asked Bernard for the truth - maybe because I didn't want to know. But now." she stopped and looked up at Giles. "Now, Rupert, I've just buried my only son and they won't even tell me how he died. All I get is platitudes - empty words, Rupert, nothing but empty words."

"I don't know if there's anything I can say that will help," replied Giles with a touch of despair.

"The truth, Rupert. I don't know what Bernard was involved in - but I know that you and Mr Travers are part of it. I'm not going to question you about it - I know you can be as stubborn as Bernard when pushed. I just need to know." She trailed off helplessly and shrugged. Giles nodded as understanding finally came to him. A phrase from the service drifted to mind and he put an arm around Mrs Hodgkinson's shoulders.

"Bernard fought the good fight, Mrs H. He made a difference. And that's not a platitude - that's the simple truth."

"Thank you, Rupert," she smiled slightly and patted his arm. "I needed to hear that."

With a brief nod to Quentin who, together with Henry, had remained at a discreet distance, Mrs Hodgkinson left the graveyard, walking purposefully towards the line of cars parked along the road outside. Giles watched until a middle-aged couple helped her into a car and then he turned to face Quentin and Henry.

"Are you alright, Rupert?" Asked Henry with concern.

"Yes, I'm fine. Let's get this over with."

They walked to the car in silence. Quentin and Henry getting in the front and Giles settling himself in the back. Giles put on his seatbelt and leaned back, closing his eyes. He felt the car pull away, the gentle motion relaxing and soothing him.

<That is better. You are rested and prepared.>

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," muttered Giles. "Have you located him yet?"

<I have not tried. Should I have done so last night, you would not have rested.>

"Fair enough."

<You have a question.>

"Yes," Giles smiled, "I have. Once I'm in that other realm, is there any way I can release you so that you can return to the Sphere?"

<That would leave you stranded. That is not an option.>

"Is there a way?"

<No, there is not. We can only be severed by death. >

"Would you tell me - even if there were?"

<Of course. Trust and honesty between us are important.>

"So, our friend has done his homework."

<Indeed, but now is not the time to dwell on that. Now you should be relaxing - and preparing for the task ahead. The funeral helped - it appeared to give you a certain amount of closure.>

"A certain amount - yes. It's not something that you can accept overnight. It takes time."

<I understand. It was a peaceful occasion - your memories showed me that it would be; however, actually to experience it was fascinating.>

"You sound a bit disappointed though."

<I carry many experiences - these have influenced me in ways I cannot begin to understand. I change and adapt as much as you do. I rather think I have developed more of a sense of the dramatic - and for exhilaration and drama a Viking funeral is the pinnacle.>

"I think Bernard would have liked that - and I would have paid to see the expressions on certain faces if we'd chosen that method."

"Rupert?" Quentin switched off the engine and turned in his seat.

Giles opened his eyes and raised his head. "Hmm?"

"We're here."

Giles looked around, his eyes widening at the large number of security guards he could see patrolling the grounds.

"You've been busy, Quentin," he said, getting out of the car and instinctively loosening his tie.

"I merely made a few phone calls," replied Quentin as he and Henry clambered out of the car. "I wanted this place locked down and security so tight that not even a mouse could get onto the grounds without us knowing about it."

<He is certainly organised and efficient. It is disappointing not to have had the opportunity to examine his mind closely.>

"I'm sure he would have liked the opportunity to examine you at close quarters as well," muttered Giles as he followed Quentin and Henry into the house. Snippets of their muted conversation drifted to him and Giles smiled, finding it reassuring that Henry was more interested in questioning Quentin about the history of the house than anything else.

"I thought you'd find this easier in here," said Quentin, nodding to the security guards flanking a large, oak door. He opened the door, ushering Giles into the room he'd slept in days previously.

"This is perfect," replied Giles, taking off his jacket and draping it over a chair.

"I say," said Henry, looking around, "this section of the house appears slightly older than the rest."

"I'll get you a bloody guidebook later," muttered Quentin, causing a slightly hurt expression to cross Henry's face.

"Only showing an interest, old man," he said calmly.

"If you two are going to keep this up," interrupted Giles, taking off his tie, "then I'm rather glad my mind is about to trot out of here."

<Lie down - you will need to be comfortable. Your body must not be a distraction.>

"No last minute change of heart?" Asked Quentin. "You're sure about this?"

Giles nodded and lay on the bed, shifting around to get comfortable.

"What do you need us to do?" Henry pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed.

"Just watch over me - don't let anyone come in - no distractions."

Quentin grabbed a chair and sat on the other side of the bed. "That's it?"

<If you are wounded, the wounds will appear on your body here. They could try and soothe your injuries - it may help - it may not - but it will give them something constructive to do.>

Giles raised his head and looked at Quentin.

"You could try bathing any wounds I happen to pick up."

"Be careful, Rupert."

Giles nodded and lay back down, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Henry opened his mouth to comment, then frowned and closed it again. Quentin glanced at Henry and motioned for silence. A mouthed "I know" from Henry had Quentin rolling his eyes and briefly wondering how on earth he was going to be able to cope with Henry's interminable questions over the next few minutes, hours or even days. Quentin glanced down and noted Giles' shallow breathing and state of complete relaxation. He glanced at Henry.

"Here we go."

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