Chapter Text
Going Under
by Lostgirl
Giles was the first to the library, as usual. Outside the halls were still nearly empty, a few early students here and there, but not the crush of chattering teenagers that would later fill them. He liked arriving early, having a little time to himself to get everything in order before the day started and he was dragged along with it.
He had a routine, a way to minimize the time he spent situating everything and maximize the time he got to spend with a cup of coffee and his thoughts. First he'd go to his office and put away his lunch and the books he'd taken home. Then he'd go over which books were due, which were late. He rather liked that bit, though he doubted the job of librarian would have satisfied him were that all he did.
As his hand closed around the cool metal of the doorknob, the door itself jerked open. There was a flash of black hair and dark, surprised eyes. Startled for a moment, Giles blinked, letting out a startled yelp he'd probably omit should he ever tell the story. The young man pushed past him, but he recovered quickly. Dropping books and lunch, Giles reached out and grabbed the boy's arm.
"What the hell were you--?"
The next thing he knew he was sitting on the floor against the research table, blinking away sparks from his vision as the boy ran for the library doors. Wesley and Xander got in the boy's way as they came into the library, but didn't stop him when the young man pushed past them.
Giles sat, half-sprawled on the floor, trying to shake the pretty colors from his vision and recall how he'd gotten there in the first place. Wesley noticed Giles first and the clatter of his footsteps only amplified the pain in Giles' head.
"Are you all right, Mr. Giles? What happened?"
Blinking, Giles straightened himself. "I'm not sure, actually."
"Is it a concussion?" Xander asked, moving to stand beside him. "'Cause, you know, the doctor's not going to be happy if it's another--"
"I'm fine, Xander. Just . . . dazed." Giles stood, leaning on the table more than he'd have admitted. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would clear away the sparks. "I, uh, was . . . there was a young man in my office. Wesley? Please check to make certain nothing's missing, would you?"
Giles tried to straighten away from the table and his knees seemed to turn to rubber, almost going out from under him. Xander was there, helping him to the nearest seat, glancing back toward the library doors. "The guy that pushed past us?"
"Yes, yes, that was him. Do you know him?" Giles removed his glasses, pressing his fingers against his closed eyes in an attempt to soothe the dull ache that buzzed behind them and seemed to be worsening by the blink.
"Uh, no. Never seen him. Which is weird, 'cause this isn't that big a school. You'd think, even I if didn't know know him that I'd have at least seen--"
"Yes. Xander, could you not, uh, speak?" Giles glanced over to see Xander's expression and realized he'd sounded far harsher than he'd intended.
"Excuse me," Xander grumbled.
"My head," Giles said, giving him an apologetic look toward the young man. "It's, uh, rather pounding, at the moment."
"Here." There was suddenly tea before him and a smooth hand offering him two aspirin. He glanced up to find Wesley standing at Xander's side. Giles' forehead furrowed. He hadn't heard Wesley come from the office.
"Oh. Thank you, Wesley. How . . . how did you make tea so quickly?" Taking the cup, he reached for the aspirin, fingers dragging over those smooth palms.
"It's from my thermos," Wesley said with a small shrug. "I'll, uh, finish checking your office."
"Thank you," Giles said with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead. "This blasted headache is odd. I . . . I don't remember hitting my head."
Xander gave him an anxious look. "Maybe you should go home? Or, you know, let me check for a concussion. I mean, you kinda look like you were on the hurting side of a fist to the face."
"What?" Giles blinked, trying to remember exactly what had happened, his fingers moving over his face to find a cut on his cheek and blood dried along his skin. "Oh, my," he muttered, sighing. "Lovely."
"Well, the boy doesn't seem to have taken anything," Wesley said, coming out of his office. "Everything seems just as I remember it, but you would know your things better than I. You should check again, once, uh, once you're able. What happened? Who was it? How many?"
Giles groaned internally.
"It was just some kid," Xander answered for him and Giles sunk his head into his hands.
"A kid?" Wesley's voice was filled with disbelief and Giles just knew the bastard was going to be gloating over this. Wonderful. He'd just gotten to work, right above the Hellmouth. This was not a wonderful way for things to begin.
"Well, uh, it wasn't anyone I'd seen around," Xander said and Giles could hear the consolation in the young man's voice. He snorted to himself, though a smile did form on his lips, hidden by his hands. Now Xander Harris was protecting his honor; how much stranger could this day conceivably get? "So, you know, it could have been a demon kid. Or, uh, something."
"A demon?" Wesley sounded thoughtful now and Giles was actually grateful to have the gloating put off. His headache was not-so-slowly escalating and at the moment, he wanted to drink his tea and then go lie down somewhere. Possibly die for a few days. Yes. That sounded rather nice. "Well, there are relatively few that can actually change their shape. Glamours and such are, however, fairly common. Did you sense anything on this boy?"
"Uh, what?" Giles looked up at the two men, blinking in an attempt to bring them into focus. He hadn't quite managed the feat when he heard Xander's muttered, 'oh, god' and Wesley's 'dear lord.' "What?" he asked more harshly this time, finally bringing the two into focus and seeing their worried expressions.
"You, uh, look like you're about to fall over," Xander answered, studying his face. "All pale and . . . can you even follow my finger with your eyes? I knew it was a concussion."
"It's not a concussion," Giles replied with a sigh, making to stand. "I think I've had enough concussions to know," he grumbled, even as dizziness swarmed into his head, making him wobble and grab for the table edge.
"I think I should take you to the hospital, Mr. Giles, just the same. You don't exactly seem steady on your feet. And, Xander's right, you do look . . . very pale."
"Yes, Wesley, and that will leave exactly who in charge around here?" Giles started to shake his head and then stopped when it felt as if something had been knocked loose.
"I can do it," Xander said with a shrug. "Checking in books, finding books, stamping books, seems easy enough."
Giles gave Xander a look that would likely have been more impressive had he been able to look over the rim of his glasses.
"What? It's not that hard. Besides, how many people are we expecting to rush the library today?"
"That's not the point," Giles said. "You have classes and--"
"And Willow will stop here when she gets to school and I'll ask her to take notes for me. Come on, if you go now, you'll be back before the after-lunch rush."
Giles gave in, more because at least they'd be able to give him something stronger than aspirin for the damnable headache. Morphine. Yes, morphine would be nice. "All right. Fine. It's not a concussion, though. And you should get started looking for that demon," Giles said, waving at the stacks.
He turned to find Wesley trying to hand him his coat. Blinking, he tried to think when the man had picked it up from where he'd dropped it and failed. "Uh . . . Did . . . when did you do that?"
"What?" Wesley flashed a worried look to Xander.
"Uh, have . . . have you been standing there long?" Giles took his coat, still trying to sort out when Wesley had had time to go and pick it up.
"Well, uh, no. Not-not too long. Though, uh, you . . . did seem to drift for a moment. Really, Mr. Giles, perhaps we should hurry."
"Yes . . . I think we should." Suddenly worried, Giles put on his jacket, ignoring the ache of muscles that hadn't been strained when he came into work that morning.
Trying to clear the fog in his head, Giles followed Wesley to his car. The halls were far more crowded than they had been when he'd arrived and he was thankful to get to the parking lot and away from the noise. Getting into Wesley's car, he fastened the seat belt without a thought, still considering what it meant that he was . . . 'drifting'.
"Are you all right? Er, well, I mean that you seem certain this isn't
a
concussion and--" Wesley leaned over and Giles raised an eyebrow as the man examined his face. "--your pupils are fine . . . What do you think this is? What, uh, what happened?"
It was harder to focus on things when they were right up in his face, but also the look of concerned look Wesley was giving him was . . . disconcerting. He was glad when the man leaned back into his own seat, starting the car and keeping his eyes on the road.
"Uh, well, I'm not . . . not certain. It doesn't feel quite like a concussion, but if I'm . . . 'drifting' as you say, I suppose I should see a doctor."
"Yes. I think that's wise. You still haven't answered as to what happened," Wesley reminded, glancing over at him. Giles shrugged, trying to think how to explain it all.
"I don't remember. One moment I was grabbing the . . . whatever it was by the arm and the next I was sitting on the floor. I just, uh, don't remember."
Wesley gave him a quick, sidelong glance. "I'm not a doctor, of course, but I don't think that's an encouraging sign. You don't remember what happened even before you were struck?"
Giles raised his fingers to his cheek, wincing as they connected with the cut. He knew he should remember something. After all, he'd looked right at the boy. That first startled glance was clear in his head, then his hand closing around the young man's arm and then . . . everything shattered and there was nothing.
"No. Uh. The door to the office opened. There was the young man. Uh, dark hair, dark eyes, then . . . he . . . he pushed past me. I dropped my things, grabbed his arm and then . . . then I was sitting on the floor and you and Xander were coming into the library."
"That's very odd," Wesley sighed. "I suppose it would have been better had you been just a touch later than you were."
"Later?" Giles blinked over at the man. "I was right on time. Uh, few minutes early, actually."
"Uh, no . . . Mr. Giles, it's almost ten as it is. I was quite late and if you were there on time--"
"I was unconscious for almost three hours?" Giles swallowed hard, shaking his head before he remembered the pain. Wincing, he raised a hand to his temple. "That's not possible. The boy was just running out when you two came in."
"Mr. Giles, if you're right that you were on time, then . . . well, it's hardly been a half an hour since Xander and I went into the library. It's not natural to be unconscious so long, not without serious injury or . . . help."
"Help?" Giles blinked, trying to think straight. Two and half hours. He'd apparently been in the library for two and half hours and the boy had been there with him until Xander and Wesley came in. "Either drugs or magic," he said to himself, biting his lip as he thought.
"Exactly." The car sped up and Giles glanced over at Wesley to find a rather confused look on the man's face. "I should have checked for head injury. Damn."
"I don't feel as if I hit my head," Giles argued, raising his own hand to check for bumps or tender spots and finding none. "I feel . . . well, drugged is likely a good word, but that doesn't necessarily mean the cause wasn't magical. Some spells would even produce the headache as they start to fade."
Wesley stopped at a red light and Giles groaned, squeezing his eyes shut again.
"Sorry."
"It's fine," Giles said immediately, more out of courtesy than because the moment of pain had passed. It hadn't. Rather, it had added itself to the growing cacophony of aches filling Giles' skull and pounding on the inside of it with tiny hammers. It felt as if all his worst hangovers had rolled themselves into a package and jammed themselves into his head through his ears.
"It's not fine," Wesley contradicted, though Giles was too busy rubbing at his closed eyes to see if the man were looking at him again. "You've gone even paler, if that's possible. I think even Angel has more of a rosy glow than you at this point."
Giles lost a bit of time then. It wasn't hard to figure that out. One moment they were just a block from the hospital, the next he and Wesley were sitting in the parked car, the other man calling his name.
"Sorry," Giles muttered, holding up a hand. His headache, at least, was beginning to ease. He still felt odd, but the pounding in his head was receding, leaving it feeling hollow. Giles stood for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and supporting his weight on the car. He heard Wesley's door close and pulled himself up. "All right. Let's get this over with. Whatever happened to me this morning, we have to let Buffy know. Call Xander at the library and make sure he goes to tell her everything.
"I know, Mr. Giles. I'll take care of it." In Wesley's voice, Giles could hear him rolling his eyes, but chose to ignore it. At the check-in desk, Giles was vaguely disturbed to find he recognized the nurse.
"Oh," she said, looking up to find them standing there. "Mr. Giles. Not another concussion?"
"Uh, no. I don't believe so," Giles said with sheepish shrug.
-----
Giles got out of the car with a sigh of relief. The doctors had poked and prodded to their hearts' content and found nothing. Oh, they found the signs, of course. He told them about his headache, they found a bruise on his arm, and his cut cheek was obvious, but there was no concussion that they could find. When they'd heard about his drifting, they'd wanted to do scans. Giles had flatly refused. Not that anyone had listened to his firm refusal the first dozen or so times.
"You really should have let them--" Wesley began for the second time. Giles sighed, glancing over at the man.
"Thank you for taking me to the hospital, Wesley, but please . . . we don't have time for this. You and I both know there is nothing wrong with my head, not physically. They did as much blood work as I gave them time for; they'll call me if anything comes up there. However, I can't see this being anything other than . . . a spell, something. It was . . ." Giles shook his head.
At the very least, he was thrilled that he could do that again without pain. That and standing were his two great accomplishments of the day. Lovely.
"And if it isn't?" Wesley actually sounded worried and Giles blinked tired eyes at the younger man. "Uh, well, I'll go back. I'll get whatever tests they like and . . . we'll see."
"I suppose you have a quick and handy way to find out if you were or are still being affected by a spell?"
"Well, no. Not, uh, not to hand, but I'm sure we can find something." Giles shrugged, leading the way to the library. "There's a reason we have so many books," he said with a less than amused laugh.
Wesley glanced at him, no amusement on his face, either. "I doubt--"
The next thing Giles knew, he was staring up at Willow and Wesley, who both looked very worried, talking too quickly for his rather confused mind to keep up. "Uh, what-what happened?"
Silence. Both Willow and Wesley stopped talking, glancing at each other and then back to him. Finally, Wesley answered the question.
"You dropped. Uh, like-like a stone," Wesley said, leaning and examining his eyes once again.
"It wasn't really that stone like. More, uh, pebble." Willow said, her tone and words apparently meant as reassurance. "You-you dropped sorta pebble-like."
"I . . . I half caught you," Wesley said with a worried shrug. "So, uh, I don't think you hit your head, but . . . are you all right?"
Giles swallowed hard as Willow and Wesley helped him to his feet, his stomach flipping as if he were on a roller coaster instead of simply standing. He felt heavy and disoriented. His headache had come back with a vengeance, now banging against his skull and making it hard to think. He felt foggy as well, as if he were seeing everything through a veil of gauze. Giles groaned, raising his hand to make certain he was wearing his glasses and then rub at his forehead.
"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, blinking at Wesley, who still had a hold of his arm. The man's grip was firm, as if he thought Giles might need the help to stay upright.
"I asked if you were all right," Wesley glanced worriedly at Willow and Giles knew he couldn't look good, not with the worry on both of their faces.
"No," he finally said with a sigh. "No, I don't believe I am."
-----
Giles really couldn't resent being all but carried into the library. Neither Willow nor Wesley gave him any choice and, beyond that--as much as it burned his dignity--he wasn't sure his legs would fully support him.
Fumbling into the nearest chair and ignoring the worried look Xander gave him, Giles sighed and removed his glasses. He polished them as he thought, looking up to find everyone staring at him as if they expected him either to know what to do or to fall out of the chair, and even they weren't sure which.
"I don't know what happened," he told them with a shrug. "One moment I was fine and then I found myself flat on my back with you lot staring down at me."
"What did the hospital say?" Xander asked, glancing at Wesley for an answer instead of him. Giles sighed, shaking his head.
"They didn't find anything--"
"Of course he refused the x-rays," Wesley said in a superior tone that usually made Giles want to throttle him. Now, it only made Giles wish they would all shut up for few moments, let the pounding in his head subside before attempting to chastise him.
"I did. I don't think they'd find anything. So, let's get to the other options and if we rule those out, I'll go back to get x-rays."
"X-rays?" Buffy's voice was worried and Giles looked up to find the girl just coming into the library. "Who needs x-rays? Is everyone all right? Where have you guys been? I--"
"Someone attacked Giles--" Xander started only to have Willow talking over him in an attempt to answer Buffy's questions as well.
"I looked for you, but then I saw Wesley outside with Giles and Giles fainted or something and I--"
Giles laid his head in his hands, swallowing down the nausea that rose as his head began to pound harder. He thought he might have groaned, made some noise, it really was the only way he could explain Wesley's suddenly being at his side.
"Are you all right? Do you need more aspirin, or . . . cover your ears for a moment."
Giles looked up at the man in time to see Wesley turn toward the children. Forehead furrowing, he flinched at Wesley's voice.
"Silence!" the man snapped, making Giles wince and wish he actually had done as Wesley asked. "The noise," Wesley said much more quietly, nodding toward Giles. The children were immediately contrite, murmuring apologies and huddling together to talk more quietly as they told Buffy what had happened.
Flashing Wesley a thankful glance, Giles put his head on his arms and breathed slowly in and out. As soon as the noise died down, his headache began subsiding again, though it didn't go away entirely. This time, it took up residence at the back of his head, a bit of pain lodged against his thoughts.
"All right," he said, raising his head and meeting Buffy's worried eyes. "I need to check the books in the office, see if the boy . . . or whatever, took anything. The rest of you start researching, please." There was a chorus of nods in response and Giles picked up his glasses, slipping them on as he stood. "Wesley, would you grab a pencil and notepad and come with me?"
"Of course," Wesley replied and Giles turned toward the office, blinking and wishing his legs were a bit steadier.
"Giles?" Buffy came to his side and he smiled to reassure her.
"I'm fine. We're not sure what happened yet, but aside from my head and occasionally rubbery legs--"
"Giles, you passed out," Buffy gave him an incredulous look, putting her hands on her hips. "That's not normally considered 'fine' and . . .what did this? I can't just sit around and . . ." Giving him a helpless look, she motioned to Xander and Willow, who were already at the table with opened books.
"Buffy, there's nothing else we can do at the moment. We need to find out what this . . . thing was after, what or who it was, and . . . . until then, I'll be fine."
Sighing, Buffy nodded, reaching out to pat his arm a little awkwardly, as if she were afraid she'd hurt him. "I'll . . . get started. We'll go through every book, find anything about headaches, or-or kid-shaped demons. We'll find something."
"Thank you." Continuing into his office, Giles sat on the edge of his desk, raising a hand to rub his forehead once again.
"Does everything look as you left it?" Wesley's voice was softer than normal and Giles flashed him a grateful smile. Glancing around the office, he couldn't see anything out of order, but there was still much to go through. His desk, the books he kept here, the files. He couldn't see why anyone would want something other than the books, but one never knew and it was best to be careful.
"Everything seems to be just as I left it, but we won't know until we go through it all." Sighing, Giles moved to the bookcase, as that was the best place to begin.
"Uh, what am I to do?" Wesley asked, still standing by the door and looking rather uncomfortable.
"Oh. Sorry. I was hoping you'd start with the books over there. The top shelf should contain Levy's fifteenth century works, the middle's a split of all the Orthin journals and the Bartein texts, and bottom's my journals, with which you've made yourself familiar." Giles sighed, blinking at the books in front of him and attempting to focus.
"Uh, yes, I'll . . . I'll look them over. Uh, Mr. Giles . . . I didn't want to mention this in front of the children, but I'm, uh, quite worried. What if this . . . thing wasn't after anything in the library? What if it was doing something to the Hellmouth? What if... what if you, specifically, were the target?"
Giles sighed, nodding. "Both possibilities had crossed my mind. There isn't much use in speculating, however, until we have some idea of what we're dealing with. I don't think that--ah!" Giles dropped his head into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut against a growing pressure in his head.
"Damn," he heard Wesley curse and then his colleague was kneeling next to him. Giles was merely happy to remember it happening this time. "Is there anything I can do?"
"If there was, I'd tell you," Giles snapped, then sighed, removing his glasses. "I'm sorry. No, there's nothing you can do. Not until we, uh, find something out. All these books are here. Will you, uh, help me stand?" The last he pushed out through gritted teeth, partly because his head was pounding once again and partly because he hated to have to ask at all.
Wesley made no comment, but simply offered his hand. Giles found his head began to feel better once he was standing, receding a bit to that dull ache that clung to the back of his skull. Turning toward his desk, Giles came face to face with Wesley, the man still giving him a rather worried look.
"It's better now," he said with a shrug, oddly touched by the man's obvious concern, even if Wesley was hovering.
"So, this boy . . . or demon, didn't take any of the books," Wesley said, changing the subject and turning back toward the bookcase. "Those, uh, your journals are out of order, so I'm guessing it went through them. To what purpose I can't say."
"Out of order? How?"
"Well, when I went through them I made sure to put them back just as you had them situated. They were in chronological order and now they're most definitely not."
"What's been moved?"
"Uh, well . . . it, I believe it contains your accounts of Angelus. Uh, including . . . well, everything."
Giles went still, feeling his eyebrows draw together. "What? Why would anyone to read through that? Is, uh, is that the only one out of place?"
"Yes. It looks as if it is, though . . . obviously, he could have read the others and simply put them back correctly. We don't know how long the demon was in here, or . . . anything, actually."
Giles simply nodded. He went quickly through his desk drawers and didn't remember anything that should be there and wasn't. So, unless it was a pencil or paperclip stealing demon, he doubted his desk had been touched.
"All right, so what have we got?" Giles slumped in his seat, shaking his head. "A demon, that . . . honestly, may well have been a teenager, who was in my office. My journal, in which the facts about Angelus were written, out of place. Me missing a good two hours of my morning." Shaking his head, Giles looked to Wesley. "Any ideas?"
"Well, uh, this . . . thing was after something. Now we just need to know whether that was you, or something from the library, or something having to do with the Hellmouth. The missing time has continued and we know it's not good for you to be standing when . . . if it occurs again."
"Lovely. I'll just sit here and moan, shall I?" Giles snorted, shaking his head
"Well, at least then I won't have to follow you around and attempt to catch you before you hit the ground and crack open that thick skull of yours," Wesley muttered and somehow Giles could only laugh at that. Of course, once the laughter started, it seemed to decide to stay and Giles had to stifle it, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "Hysteria? Lovely." Wesley sighed, examining him.
Giles shook his head, smiling slightly. "No, just . . . I thought that was rather funny, actually. You, calling me thick skulled. It's, uh, a bit like the pot and kettle, yes?"
"I am not thick skulled," Wesley replied, though there was a slight smile on his lips as he sputtered. The man lifted his head haughtily and looked down his nose at Giles. The action, somehow pulled off with an air of self-deprecating humor, made the older man laugh rather than snarl.
"No, no. Of course, not. Just, er, perhaps a bit stubborn and a smidgen dense." Giles replied, finding himself giving the first real smile he'd felt all day.
"I'll have you know, sir, that I am far from dense." Wesley said, a shy smile on his lips that Giles had never seen before. "I'm actually . . ." Wesley turned, shrugging a bit as he re-shelved a few of Giles' books, "quite a fast learner, if given the opportunity."
There was something in his tone Giles couldn't interpret. He raised an eyebrow at the other man, about to ask what exactly Wesley meant by that when Willow appeared in the office doorway with a book in her hands and smile on her face.
"I think I found something!"
Wesley jumped a little and Giles had to wonder what had the man so nervous that just Willow's appearance would have him acting that way. Shrugging, Giles pushed himself to his feet, motioning the girl to his desk.
"What is it?" he asked, handing the book back to her after a single glance proved that trying to focus his eyes was a very bad idea.
"Well, there's a section in here on hypnotism and how it can have lingering effects in certain cases. If the person isn't adept at doing it, it can leave . . . they call it a fragment, in the subject's mind."
Feeling his eyebrow raising, Giles leaned forward a bit, glancing at the book. "What, uh, what . . . kind of effects?"
"Well," Willow shrugged, "it doesn't say anything about missing time, but it says that, because hypnotism forges a link between the psyches of the person doing it and the subject, it can lead to other things. Headaches, passing out, nausea. It's . . . uh, it's easier to do to someone who's been . . . hypnotized before."
Willow cast a glance at the others, Xander and Buffy, who had joined her in the doorway, and then Wesley.
"Oh," Wesley said, glancing at the bookcase. Giles followed his gaze, his eyes landing on the volume of his journals that contained the accounts of what had happened with Angelus, including the bits about Drusilla.
"What?" Buffy asked, apparently seeing the thoughtful expressions on the faces of both Watchers. "You guys know something?"
"Uh, no-no," Wesley said, sighing. "It's just that Giles' journal, uh, the-the one that mentioned Angelus and, uh, Drusilla, it was out of place and it seems to be the only thing that was moved."
"What?" Buffy's eyes went wide and she shook her head. "Then, someone targeted you! I mean, you're the go-to guy for information-y things and . . . hypnosis . . ."
They all stared at one another for a long moment and Giles knew exactly what all of them were unwilling to say. Hypnosis had gotten information out of him before. If this . . . this person, demon, if it knew that . . . then of course it would try that to get information out of him again. Good, lord, had he told it anything? Why didn't he remember? He'd remembered Drusilla's trick, remembered seeing Jenny, hearing her and feeling . . .
He swallowed hard, fighting back memories. Closing his eyes tight for a moment, he took deep breaths until he was once more under control, or as close as he was going to get until he knew what had been done to him. There were many forms of hypnotism, many ways this . . . thing could have damaged his mind. It would take a while to figure out exactly what they could do to learn what questions he'd been asked, what answers he'd given, what effects there might be . . .
"I'm going to go see Willy," Buffy announced, crossing her arms, "if there's some sort of hypnosis-y demon running around we need to get it quick, especially if it can take human form."
"And if it is human?" Wesley asked, drawing all eyes. Giles sighed, shaking his head.
"He's right. It could be a human. Demons aren't the only ones known to possess such skills. In fact . . . Drusilla's abilities are just that, so . . . uh, it could very well have been a human."
"Well, if it's a human . . . I don't know, maybe Willy's heard. I can't just . . . I have to . . ." Buffy gave him a helpless look and he nodded, attempting to reassure her with a smile even he knew was weak.
"Go on, we'll, uh, continue with the research and, uh, well, hopefully come up with something of-of use."
Buffy sighed, glancing at the others before going to get her jacket and marching purposefully out of the library. Giles smiled at Willow and Xander, nodding down to the book in the girl's hands.
"Does it say anything else?" Honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was looking more and more as if he'd been the target, and now he couldn't help but wonder if what Drusilla had done to him had somehow made him . . . weak, made him an easier target than he might have otherwise been.
He didn't like that thought at all, of course. In fact, he hated it with a passion. As Buffy's Watcher it was his job to be more resilient than that. Now he'd failed her, not only once, but perhaps a second time as well. Perhaps the Council had been right in their decision to replace him, though their reasoning was faulty.
"Well, it-it says that . . . um, that . . . sometimes, if a person is hypnotized against their will more than once, it can, uh, open the old connection too, even though it makes a new one. It can . . . well, it says rip away the scabs of the first incident."
Giles went still, his jaw clenching tight as memories tried to assault his mind. He held them back through sheer force of will, his headache growing more insistent. The voices around him, Wesley, Willow, Xander blurred into indistinguishable noise.
Collapsing into his desk chair, Giles laid his head in his hands. There was someone next to him, someone touching him, but he couldn't bring himself to look up, to move his head at all and if they were speaking, the voice was lost in the cacophony. Gasping, the pressure in his head increasing, Giles felt as if he would pass out, as if he would be pressed from his own head.
There was darkness. Still the voices, coming from everywhere, all familiar, but incomprehensible. His hands hurt, arms shaking with some effort he couldn't identify. Something was wrong, but he couldn't say what.
Blinking as the world exploded once more into his vision, Giles saw Wesley's face, contorted in pain, his own hands around Wesley's neck, hands pulling at him, voices loud, calling.
"Dear god!" Letting go, Giles threw himself backward, breathing hard and staring at his hands. He looked back to Wesley, his mouth hanging open though there were no words. Wesley crawled backwards away from him, raising one hand to his throat as he gulped in air.
"Giles?" Willow was next to him, calling to him, but Giles couldn't take his eyes off Wesley, off the fear in the man's eyes. What had he done? What had happened? That he didn't know appalled him, that he'd hurt someone and didn't remember a moment of it was . . . totally unacceptable and . . . terrifying.
His heart was hammering in his chest, beating so hard he could feel it rushing the blood through his body. "Oh, God," he said softly, his voice so hoarse one might have thought he was the one who'd been choked. "Wesley, I . . . I didn't . . ."
"Giles!" Willow finally caught his attention. His eyes snapped to her, standing beside him and he couldn't help but wander what might have happened had he attacked her instead of Wesley. Such a small neck and . . .
"Oh, god," he said again, bile burning his throat. "I have to go," he said with a shake of his head. "I have to . . . I can't be around you, any of you."
"Giles, you can't go anywhere by yourself," Xander objected. "You can't drive and--"
"Then lock me in the book cage," Giles interrupted, handing the keys over to Willow, glancing at Wesley with apologetic eyes. The man had climbed to his feet with Xander's help, his hand still against his throat. He looked at Giles, his eyes wide, both confused and worried.
That Wesley was still worried for him, even after . . . "Lock me in the book cage," Giles said again, sighing.
"Uh, no, we . . . can't do that," Willow said, shaking her head.
"I can," Xander said, holding out his hand for the keys.
"No," Wesley said, voice hoarse and ragged, making Giles flinch with the knowledge that he'd caused it to sound that way. "It's a full moon tonight," he explained with a shrug, accepting the cup of water Willow handed to him.
"Damn," Giles growled, raising a hand to rub at his aching head without a thought. The action was becoming too common to think about. The pounding was back, stronger than before, making his stomach turn. Swallowing the bile in his throat, Giles reached out to lean on his desk, wondering what it felt like just before one fainted.
"I'll get you home," Wesley said, suddenly appearing at his side. "Some rest will do you good."
"Yes, because it would be the perfect cap to the day if I attacked you again. While you were driving would be just the right time, don't you think?" Giles couldn't actually bring himself to glare at Wesley, mostly because he still felt too guilty to even look at the man.
He'd choked him, might have killed him and never . . . had the chance to stop it. He felt odd, completely out of control and . . . more frightened than he'd like to admit.
"Well, it isn't as if you can take a cab. I wouldn't trust the driver to untie you when you got to your flat." Wesley's voice was still rough around the edges, but the water seemed to have helped. Giles glanced up at him and nodded, still not quite ready to meet the other man's eyes.
"You're right. I certainly can't be here, around all of you." Giving Willow and Xander an apologetic glance, he held out his wrists for them to tie him.
-----
Buffy glared at Willy, tightening her hold on his lapels, though it was mostly for show. Willy was rambling on about Spike and Drusilla being back in town, but he wasn't getting to the part 'he knew she'd find interesting' and it was beginning to get to her.
"Look," she said, punctuating the word with a slight shake. "I don't have time for this. So get to the part you know I want to hear!"
"They have a kid with them. Teenager. He's even creepier than Dru. He just stares at you and stares and doesn't say anything or blink and he's . . . he did something to a Gorlock demon. Guys been babbling in my corner ever since." Willy nodded toward a huge demon sitting at a corner booth. The thing was holding its head in its hands, rocking back and forth and blubbering.
Buffy swallowed hard, her mind putting Giles in the creature's place, the thought making her sick to her stomach.
"What does this kid look like?" She shook Willy again, suddenly anxious to get out there, do something.
"Skinny. Dark hair. Dark, creepy, eyes. Latin, something like that. Real scary little guy."
-----
Bound wrists hidden under his coat, Giles walked with Wesley to the man's car. He was trying to fathom why Wesley would want to be anywhere near him at the moment, but found his mind kept circling back to the look of concern in Wesley's eyes. For him. He'd nearly choked the man to death and Wes was still worried about him.
Of course, that phrasing wasn't sitting well with him, but it wasn't until he was getting into the car, Wesley quickly buckling his seat belt for him, that Giles realized why.
He'd gone for the throat. That wasn't like him at all. Of course, he obviously hadn't been in his right mind at the time. Whatever he'd been thinking, if, indeed, he had been thinking, it had driven him to attack Wesley by strangulation.
Not at all like him. If his intention had been to kill . . . there were easier ways, quicker ways. A twist of the neck would have done the trick, clean and quick. Sighing, Giles told himself to stop thinking about it. It wasn't as if he'd been in any state to think of those things, whatever state he'd been in.
"What is it?" Wesley asked, glancing over at him before starting the car and pulling out onto the street.
"What?" Giles blinked, forehead furrowing.
"You were thinking about something, likely the situation, and you ran into a wall." Wesley replied easily, not even taking his eyes of the road.
"How do you know," Giles asked, a trace of bitter-edged humor slipping into his words.
"Uh," Wesley actually blushed and Giles felt his eyebrows rise, intrigued enough by that response that it took his mind off the pressure in his head for a moment. "Nothing. Never mind."
The rest of the ride was silent, Wesley apparently nervous. Giles couldn't blame him. Even though he was fastened into the seat, unable to undo the seat belt with his hands tied, there were still far too many things that could happen.
He actually sighed his relief when they arrived. He sighed when Wesley undid his seat belt, waiting for the man to open his door for him and feeling a fool for that. He got out of the car quickly, attempting to rearrange the coat just a bit. Honestly, his neighbors didn't need any more proof of his oddities then they already received on a weekly basis.
When they reached the front door, he held out his wrists and remained silent as Wesley cut the bindings. He wanted to apologize to the man, but didn't know what to say. 'Sorry for almost choking the life out of you. Now, off you go back to researching what the bloody hell is doing this to me,' seemed rather trite.
"Thank you," he mumbled when the rope snapped free. Nylon rope would not have been his first choice; his wrists felt rather raw. Turning to go into his flat, Giles paused, glancing back over his shoulder. He didn't want to send Wesley away without saying at least something. "I'm . . . sorry. I, uh, I don't know what . . ."
Giles nodded to the man's neck, watched Wesley's hand fly up to it, and felt even worse.
"There's no need to apologize," Wesley said, though it took Giles a moment to process the words. He certainly hadn't expected to hear them. "Really, you were half out of your mind. It isn't as if you had any control over your actions."
Gritting his teeth a bit, Giles only nodded, turning back to his door and digging for the keys. The events of the day had already worn on him and, given their context, made it just a bit easier for other thoughts to slip in. Memories he'd rather have not thought of at all, let alone been forced to think on now.
The thought of spending the day in his flat alone with his thoughts was not an appealing one. It did, however, cause a bit of surprise when Wesley simply followed him in. Blinking, Giles shut the door and turned, raising an eyebrow at the man.
"This is very nice," Wesley said, glancing around, his tone a tad wistful.
"Uh, thank you. It, uh, it suits my needs." Feeling his forehead furrow as Wesley made to take off his jacket, Giles blurted out, "You shouldn't be here."
Wesley turned to look at him, clearly confused. "Well, I can't leave you here alone. If, uh, if that happens again there's no telling . . . someone needs to keep an eye on you. You could hurt yourself . . . or any number of others."
Giles opened his mouth to refute that and found that he couldn't, not with any degree of sincerity. He didn't want to wake up from his next blackout, if there were another, and find he'd done something even worse.
"Or, I could hurt you," Giles said, not quite sure why he was arguing. He didn't want to hurt anyone, he didn't want to be left alone, and yet having Wesley looking after him, especially after what had happened, felt wrong. He didn't deserve it.
"Yes, well. I'm better prepared this time. At least I'm not some innocent jogger or what have you." Wesley pulled a small packet from his pocket, apparently letting it absorb him for a moment. "Uh, I-I have some Valium in here, somewhere. They should help you rest."
"Valium?" Giles couldn't keep a small smile off his face. "Wesley, unless you've got rather a lot of them I wouldn't bother." Reaching past the man to grab his Scotch, his arm grazed Wesley's back and Giles found himself blinking, his mind analyzing the feel of firm muscle beneath the man's shirt.
Wesley jumped at the contact and Giles moved quickly away, confused by his own reaction. "Drink?" he asked, quickly going to retrieve glasses from the kitchen.
"Uh, yes, thank you. I'll, er, call the children and let them know I'll be here to . . . keep an eye on you." Wesley said and Giles nodded absently, his mind inwardly focused. He stared at the Scotch, trying to figure out when this had happened. He wasn't blind, of course. Wesley was attractive, anyone could see that, but the man wasn't his type, well . . . not really.
Oh, no, not at all. Challenging, sarcastic, brilliant, knowledgeable, and very nice to look at. Never been attracted to that sort, Giles' own mind snarked at him. Throwing up images of Ethan and long ago. The thought shocked him, his forehead furrowing as he considered. Wesley was nothing like Ethan, not beyond body type and hair color. Ethan had been . . . overwhelming, vital and Wesley was . . . completely out of his depth.
Every difference seemed to stand out in his mind, the similarities of intelligence and wit where it ended. Wesley would never nudge him toward that side of himself, never urge him to disregard his responsibilities and duty, never push him the way Ethan had.
And some part of him wanted that, wanted something fairly normal, something stable and . . .
Oh, dear lord, am I actually contemplating . . . Glancing over at Wesley as the man talked to Xander over the phone, Giles thought, somewhat to his own surprise, that yes, he just might be.
Shaking his head, and then wishing he hadn't, Giles forced himself to concentrate on pouring the drinks. He had enough to think about. Pushing thoughts of Wesley aside, though, allowed other things to well up.
That boy or demon, whatever it had been, was the first thing to come to his mind. If he had been hypnotized . . . well, there were two hours of time, plus cuts and bruises to account for, not to mention this new effect. He'd attacked Wesley, for no reason, with no control; he couldn't even remember how he'd wound up with his hands around the man's neck. It was all black and he remembered feeling distant, but other than that, he'd apparently lost the space of time in which he'd decided to attack someone.
-----
"I'm worried about him, Angel. Willy said they're back in town and the description of the boy fits. I just need to find them. Willow's already on the trail of some protection spells, but . . . we can't do anything until we know exactly how Dru's doing it, how she's getting into his head." Buffy sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Willow said that he wasn't all there, or . . . Wesley went to make sure he was okay, touched his arm or something, and Giles . . . he jumped on him, started strangling him!"
She turned, looking toward Angel in the hopes that he knew something, that there was some answer she wasn't seeing. The thought of Giles just losing it like that . . .
"I don't know of anything that would cause that." There was worry on Angel's face as well and the thoughtful look she just knew couldn't be a good sign. "If he's dangerous . . . do you think this Wesley guy can control him? I mean . . . from what I've seen of the guy . . ."
Buffy shrugged, shaking her head. "I don't think Wesley could handle a remote control car." Snorting, she thought of the way Wesley had been hovering around Giles, of the way he'd looked at him. "But . . . I think it might be good for Giles to have him around. I just don't want him getting hurt. Giles would never forgive himself. So . . . would you go keep an eye on them? Nothing too upfront, I mean . . ." Buffy shrugged again, but knew Angel would understand. Giles still wasn't comfortable around him. "Just . . . lurk. You're good at that."
-----
"Giles?" Wesley sounded worried and it pulled him from his thoughts. Realizing he'd been standing there, staring into the glasses of Scotch, he had to wonder whether he'd just been lost in thought, or whether time had passed him by again.
"Sorry. Just, ah, lost in thought. I think." Sighing, he handed Wesley his drink and brushed past the man to head for the living room. He had some books he could research here, and he could keep in touch with the others by phone. Giles nodded to himself, trying to believe this wouldn't be a long wait. It couldn't be. Buffy needed him. Official or not, he was her Watcher. Sitting in his armchair and laying the books he'd gathered on the coffee table, he stared at them for a long moment.
"I'm sorry," Wesley said, following him and taking a seat on the sofa. "I simply couldn't tell. I thought you might . . ." Wesley shrugged, a polite way of suggesting the problem without him actually saying he thought Giles might be about to attack him. Of course, Wesley could have just meant that he'd thought Giles might be losing time again.
Sighing, taking a deep swallow of his Scotch, Giles shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It hardly matters. Just, uh, perhaps you'd best not get too . . . close to me if, uh, if it happens again."
He glanced up to find Wesley looking at him strangely. Not at all enjoying the scrutiny, Giles turned his attention back to his books . . . and his Scotch. Opening the first of the many volumes he'd stacked, he was surprised when Wesley's hand came into his view, covering his own.
"Giles?"
Glancing up at the man, Giles blinked, sighing. He could tell at once, from the man's worried look and the taser that hadn't been in Wesley's hand a few moments ago, that he'd skipped a bit of time again.
"Damn," Giles muttered, raising his free hand to his temple and only then realizing that Wesley hadn't let go of his other hand, nor had he pulled away. "Uh . . ." Giles stood, his hand slipping quite naturally from the other man's grip. "Uh, my head isn't doing too badly this time. There's pressure, but . . . it's not nearly as painful as it was earlier."
Giles wandered over to the mantel as he spoke, seeking a distraction from the warm spot on his hand where Wesley had touched him and the pressure pulsing behind his eyes.
"That's good," Wesley said, "perhaps the effects are fading and this won't take too long. You could be back at the library by tomorrow."
"No," Giles spun around, fear and anger bubbling to the surface at the thought of being anywhere near Buffy and the others. "It's not that simple, Wesley! I can't go near them like this, you shouldn't even be here. We have to catch that . . . boy or demon, or whatever the hell it was. If . . . I'll never know I'm safe to be around otherwise!" Giles found himself trembling, realized he was shouting. Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, he shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"No," Wesley's voice was nearer than he'd expected. He opened his eyes and found the man standing not a foot from him, those too-blue eyes holding his own. "I understand. I do. It has to be terrifying to know that . . . to know that you could do something like this to the children next time and . . . I do understand. And there being nothing you can do to change it has to be--"
Giles blinked at that, his resolve suddenly hardening. That was the problem. He was sitting here waiting for Buffy and the others to solve his problem and it was driving him mad. He couldn't do this, couldn't just sit and wait and hope.
"I can do something," he said, nodding. He took a step toward the door, but Wesley was suddenly in front of him again, shaking his head.
"Giles. Please, you can't leave. If . . . if something like that happens again, you'll be putting people in danger." Wesley crossed his arms over his chest, standing firm. "I can't let you do that and you know I'm right."
Giles stared at the other man, still trembling, fear and anger warring inside. He felt hollow, as if everything in him had taken up residence inside his muscles and if he didn't move, didn't do something he'd fly apart at the joints.
"I know," he said, voice tightly controlled to keep himself from yelling. "But if I don't do something, I'm going to lose my mind. I can't . . . how can I just sit and wait?"
"We can research," Wesley suggested with a nod to the books piled on the coffee table. "We can . . . I don't know, there has to be something. Uh, we'll fence. Showing me up seems to cheer you." The last was said with a snort, but there was no bitterness in the man's voice, as Giles might have expected; rather there seemed to be humor, a small smile tilting the edge of Wesley's mouth. A place Giles should most definitely not be looking.
"Fencing?" Giles forced his eyes up, away from the man's lips. "Uh, there's no room for that here." Wesley shifted his stance just a bit, his face going thoughtful as if trying to come up with something else. It pulled on his shirt, exposed the beginning of a bruise on the man's throat. A bruise he had put there. Giles was almost overwhelmed by the urge to kiss it, lick it, make it better.
-----
"I found them." Buffy charged through the library doors, ignoring the growls and shaking from Oz in the book cage. Willow and Xander were on their feet at once, both with worried and yet determined faces. "Willow, I need you to put Oz out, just for a few minutes. I need weapons."
"What's the sitch?" Xander asked as Willow put on a determined face and went to get the tranquilizer gun.
"They're holed up in a warehouse. There's too many to fight right now. We can't risk Dru and Spike slipping away."
"Right. So, we . . . what?"
"We sneak in. First priority is going to be getting to Drusilla and finding out what she's doing to Giles. We'll go back for them later if they haven't gotten out of town. Besides, Giles deserves a piece of them after we get him fixed."
"We're not neutering him," Xander grumbled, both of them turning to watch Willow as she neared the book cage. Willow loaded the gun, apologizing to Oz even as he threw himself against the cage door.
Buffy sighed, looking back to Xander. "Okay, after we get his head on right, better?"
"Yeah. Do whatever you like with his head, just don't touch his . . . I'm not even going to finish that. Wrong on so many levels."
Buffy just stared at her friend, blinking and then looking back when she heard Oz yelp.
-----
"You're right . . . I can't leave." Giles took a step closer to the man, his mind screaming that he shouldn't be do this, shouldn't be thinking of doing this. Still, it was something he had control over, something he was choosing to do, whether he should be or not. It sent a thrill through him and eased the ache of fear.
Wesley seemed to sense the change between them. The man straightened, looking at him with cautious but unafraid eyes. "Giles?"
"Yes, Wesley?" Giles' eyes had fixed on that edge of bruised skin. Even as he stepped close enough to be invading the other man's space, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of it. He hated it, wanted to soothe it away. It had to hurt. Wesley's voice was still rough and hoarse, though it deepened a bit on the man's next words, took on a husky, wistful tone.
"What are you doing?"
"Hopefully, something to keep us both from going mad," Giles answered, a slight smile flitting over his lips. He leaned in, saw Wesley's lips part, heard a small gasp. He was close enough to see, almost to feel, the small tremor that went over the younger man's body.
Wesley didn't draw away from him, didn't back up an inch. Giles could feel the man's breath against his cheek, feel it coming in faster and faster gasps. He met Wesley's eyes for a moment, long enough to see the want and worry there, before he leaned in so slowly he felt as if the tension of it all might just snap them both.
Wesley's Adam's apple bobbed as the man swallowed. Echoing the action, his mouth gone suddenly dry, Giles licked his lips and then brushing them along Wesley's jaw. He slid them over the man's skin to taste aftershave and, under that, Wesley.
There was a small sound from Wesley, something that had no name and still managed to speak volumes. The man was trembling under his lips, the only point at which their bodies touched. The sound made Giles' cock twitch and he could feel it hardening in his suddenly too-tight trousers.
His lips brushed lightly over the bruise and Wesley was tilting his head, the man's hot breath gusting against Giles' neck and shoulder. "Giles?"
There was a trace of fear in Wesley's voice now. Immediately, Giles ceased kissing the bruise, but couldn't seem to pull away from the soft, warm skin. "Wesley," he said, his voice muffled. Another shudder went through Wesley's body. The man stood so still that Giles had to wonder whether Wesley was afraid of drawing the notice of a perceived predator, or of breaking the moment.
"How do I know that . . . that this is you?" Wesley's voice was small, the longing in it squeezing something inside Giles, calling out to him and raising the same submerged wanting. "How do I know that you won't come back to your senses and, uh, and regret you ever t-touched me?"
"I'm here, Wes," Giles answered, kissing between the words. "I've chosen every move, every kiss. That's the best I can do to prove it. Should I stop?"
There was another small sound, the hitch of a held breath, another tremble along Wesley's body and Giles felt it against his lips.
"I . . . no . . ."
Giles breathed in deep, the warm smell of Wesley's skin filling his nose. He nipped gently, cock throbbing at the husky, breathless quality in Wesley's voice. Working slowly up to Wesley's ear, he licked down along the rim, scraping his teeth over the earlobe.
"You're sure?" Giles went back to light, open-mouthed kisses, laying them along the man's jaw and at the corner of Wesley's lips. "Just say the word and I'll stop."
Wesley let out a ragged breath; there was a moment when Giles was all but certain he would pull away, would end this . . . whatever it was. Then Wesley's body swayed forward, pressing against him, firm and lithe, drawing a soft groan from Giles.
"I want this," Wesley whispered against his lips, voice achingly soft. "God, I . . . I do, but not now. I know this is probably my only chance to-to have this, have you, but I-I can't. Not when . . ." there was a break in Wesley's voice and Giles found his hands rising, brushing soothingly up and down the man's arms. "Not when I can't be certain
you
. . . you want it, too. That you won't hate me for it. Or yourself."
Giles swallowed hard, taken aback by the yearning undertones of Wesley's voice. He leaned in, licking along the man's lips, that thrill rushing through him again as he pressed inside. The kiss was quick, wild, filled with things Giles hadn't even realized he wanted. When he pulled away, he pulled away completely, leaving only his hands in contact with the other man's body.
"What was that?" Wesley asked, his eyes a bit dazed, but a small, confused smile on his face.
"A promise," Giles said with a shrug, before letting go of Wesley and turning back toward the books with a sigh. Researching with a hard on, and the object of said hard on not five feet away, was one of those things in life that didn't get easier with age. "I suppose we should hit the books, then." Giles didn't even try to hide his disappointment. He wanted Wesley to know that this wasn't so easy for him as turning off a light switch. "The sooner we figure this out, the better."
"Uh, yes. Yes."
-----
Buffy made her way into the warehouse undetected. The catwalks were old but well built, at least strong enough to hold her weight. She'd expected minions or whatever, guards, other vampires. She found an empty warehouse, dark and dusty, but with the faint smell of candles just snuffed. Getting down to the ground floor quietly was a bit tougher. She dropped down, crouching, ready, waiting.
Nothing.
Forehead wrinkling, Buffy scooted close to the wall, ears alert for any sound as she stood and made her way toward the back of the warehouse where there seemed to be rooms. Her own breathing and the pounding of her heart seemed almost too loud in the quiet. Her gut was clenching in a way that never proved to be a good thing.
She checked every one of the rooms and found nothing, but there was evidence that someone had been there. A circle of snuffed out candles, a forgotten doll. Sighing, Buffy went to get Willow so the girl could look over everything, figure out what needed to be done for Giles. She just hoped the answer was here.
Willow spent forever looking at the circle, the symbols along its edge, the candles. Buffy paced, agitation growing with every step, every moment not doing something.
"Oh!" Willow said, glancing back at the books spread out before her on the floor. "She's trying to control him! To get inside his mind and . . . use him. It needs blood and a spell to be said over him, but . . ."
"But what, Willow?" Buffy knelt down next to her friend, glancing down at the books.
"Dru couldn't have done this. Her minds not . . . cohesive enough. Giles would be . . . twirling around like her, and saying weird stuff if she were the one . . ."
"The boy," Buffy said, nearly trembling with her need to get moving. "Can you counter it? What can we do?"
"I'm sure I can work something out," Willow said, face determined.
------
CONTINUES