__Untitled__
By Cathryn
"Wesley . . ." Giles reached over absently to get the younger Watcher's attention, lightly brushing his upper arm.
Wesley tensed suddenly, and his reaction was abrupt and violent: He lashed out blindly with his hand, catching Giles across the face.
"*Don't*!" he snarled. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the moment passed, and Wesley realized, too late, where he was. He looked in horror at Giles. Giles, along with everyone else at the table, was staring at him in shock. Wesley's blow had been hard enough to cause a nosebleed, and Giles's hand was pressed tightly over his nose, blood seeping through his fingers.
"I . . ." Wesley began, not knowing what to say or how to explain himself without giving anything away. "I . . . oh, dear." He sighed weakly and silently produced a navy blue linen handkerchief, which he handed to Giles. "Don't tip your head back," he cautioned absently, "you'll just choke yourself."
"I know that," Giles replied sharply, muffled underneath the handkerchief.
"Okay," Buffy said slowly. "Psycho Boy. Wanna fill us in on your childhood trauma?"
"No," Wesley replied shortly, returning to his book.
* * *