__There's A First Time For Everything__
By Head Rush



"You know, I always suspected that inventing one's own cataloguing and classification system was the highest form of vanity," said Wesley, running a finger down the spine of the nearest book. "It's nothing more than a power trip for the librarian, and a migraine for his successors, who are bound to struggle with an arbitrary and idiosyncratic system."

Giles whipped off his glasses. "It's *not* arbitrary, as it happens. My system is a form of truncated Dewey so clear even Cordelia Chase can understand it."

Wesley's face warmed as a vision of Cordelia filled his mind. "Isn't the head teacher curious as to why there are twenty books on the occult to every one on subjects that are actually taught at this noble institution?"

"To my knowledge, the principal has never laid eyes on the books in here."

Wesley swallowed his irritation. Pedant! Head teacher, principal, what difference did it make? Still, no sense in making this prickly ex-watcher any more recalcitrant than he was obviously determined to be. All right, let's try being helpful, and see where that gets us. "You are familiar with the BLISS bibliographic classification system?"

Giles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wesley – "

"It's faceted and synthetic, fully ordinal, and infinitely more rational than Dewey. It's a far superior system. The notations alone are – "

"Wesley, in case it's escaped your notice, I'm not a bloody librarian, and neither are you! I'm here as Buffy's watcher – "

"Actually, you're here on sufferance," he cut in, which earned him a glare that made him feel diminished, somehow, even though he was in the right.

"I arrange the books so that students can find things with minimal intervention from me," Giles snapped, "and, more to the point, so that they *don't* find the texts I don't want them to. What the hell do you care what classification system I use, and how the hell do you know so much about it anyway?"

Wesley opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came out. When he was a boy he'd had a mania for classification. Labelling, storing, researching ideas and items of interest. He'd no control over any other part of his life, and was obviously compensating, but still, it had been a balm at the time.

"You must have done well at the academy," Giles went on. It wasn't a compliment. "Head Boy, I expect?"

He wasn't going to be complicit in this. "I fail to see what that has to do with – "

"Exam results higher than body temperature?"

"Yes. There was only one student who achieved a higher mark on their exit examinations than I did."

Giles pushed his chair back from the desk with unnecessary force. "I think that's enough for one day," he said. "I'm going home, and I'd advise you to do the same. We need our rest if we're to keep up with Buffy and Faith."

"Home. Yes, of course." `Home' was a stinking hole of a motel room where the rich tapestry of humanity played out its sordid little dramas on the other side of the thin, dingy walls, and along the corridor outside. Wesley glanced at the clock on the wall. 8.23. It was going to be a long evening.

"Where are you staying?" said Giles. "I'll give you a lift."

"Oh, no, that's not – "

"It's no trouble."

"Well, all right, then. That's very kind of you. It's the Sunnydale Motor Lodge." It was clear from Giles's expression that he was familiar with it.

* * * * *

The citroen chugged along a dark Sunnydale street until they could see a faint blue light emanating from a nightclub doorway. Giles slowed, pulled over, and parked the car. "Buffy and Faith are otherwise engaged this evening, so we agreed I'd do a quick patrol on my way home," he said. "Do you mind?"

Wesley's stomach lurched. Since the confrontation with Balthazar the other night, he'd been dreading the next time he'd be called to do something in the field. His weakness was despicable, unforgivable, and he could hear his father's voice already. *Such a disappointment you are, Wesley.* "It's for *me* to decide who patrols where!" he said, hoping indignation covered the fear. "But as we're here, we might as well."

"Right," Giles said wryly, as though *Wesley* was the one in the wrong, and Giles was the one being oh-so-tolerant and humouring him. Dear God, he was infuriating.

Giles got out of the car, opened the boot, and handed Wesley a small bottle of holy water, a crucifix, and a stake, and watched with open amusement as he struggled to accommodate all of these unwieldy items about his person.

Giles selected a crucifix and a stake for himself. "Faith told Buffy that this is a hotspot for newly vamped teenagers to meet up with older, more experienced vampires and get recruited into gangs." Giles opened a shopping bag and handed him a grubby t-shirt and a pair of rough, baggy trousers with huge pockets. He selected a similar outfit for himself. "We need to change into these, or we'll never get in." Wesley obeyed, though he was not going to undress in public, and so fought his way into the clothes while lying on the back seat. When he emerged, feeling revolting already, Giles was ready to go. "This way." He started walking, and didn't look back to see whether Wesley was following.

He did follow, annoyed though he was, and not because he realised that he needed Giles for protection. Just before they reached the entrance, Giles turned round and messed up Wesley's hair, then his own. He grinned slightly. "Not bad. Now we look like a couple of pathetic old gits desperately trying to recapture our youth."

"Rather than a couple of pathetic old gits who've come to drive a stake through their scrawny, hairless chests?" To Wesley's pleased surprise, that actually got a laugh out of the man.

"Yes, but don't underestimate them, Wesley. Even human American teenagers are built more solidly than English ones. Xander's a typical example. Remember, we're not here to fight, we're here to gather information."

Wesley was gratified to hear it. "You don't have to worry about me starting a fight."

Giles grinned. "Glad to hear it." He leaned closer to Wesley. "Right. Move quickly, laugh loudly. Pretend to be slightly drunk. It'll put the bouncer off questioning us."

They did, and it worked. Inside, the noise that passed for music was deafening, and all around him young people writhed and screeched in time with, and over, the din. "Excuse me. Pardon me. Sorry. Can I just? Thank you."

"You don't have to be so polite," said Giles.

"What?" yelled Wesley.

"I said, you don't have to be so polite about it! They'll respect you more if you – " Giles was suddenly pinned against the bar by a young woman wearing not much more than a smile.

Wesley felt a pang of jealousy. Never in his life had a gorgeous young woman accosted *him* in such a manner. He couldn't help but stare as she put her hands flat against Giles's chest and began stroking them down.

Giles shot Wesley a look over the girl's shoulder and mouthed, `*vampire*'.

Wesley stood frozen in fear and fascination as the heaving bodies swirled around him. The girl – vampire – held Giles with one hand twisted in his shirt, and the other moving swiftly towards his belt. He saw Giles's eyes widen as she worked her hand into his jeans. The man was trying to play along – quite convincingly by the looks of it – making subtle efforts to extricate himself, but Wesley could tell it was useless. Either she had him in thrall, or else he was just being held too tightly. He'd never be able to reach the stake tucked into the back of his trousers, but it was only a matter of time before the girl discovered it.

She was nuzzling Giles much more aggressively now, nipping up his shoulder and towards his neck. Wesley dug the stake out of his pocket. He had to stake her, though doing so would set the whole place on them. Wesley assessed the surroundings. The light was low, that was good. The crowd was thick, which might also be useful. He shoved through the crowd and rammed it into the girl's back as hard as he could, penetrating the rib cage, and, hopefully, the heart.

The next thing he knew, he was choking on a mouthful of dust. Giles had him by the scruff and was dragging him through the noise and confusion towards the green exit sign.

"This way! *Move*, Wesley!"

There was a loud grunt then, as Giles was tackled to the floor by a couple of vampire fraternity yobs. Wesley looked around frantically. More were on the way. He grabbed one of the vampires and succeeded in hauling it off Giles. For his pains he received an almighty blow to the ribs, swiftly followed by an uppercut to his face. For a moment, Wesley was completely blind, and could hear only the ringing in his ears. When he came to his senses, he was covered in dust, and Giles was struggling with another vampire. More stood round to watch, silhouetted against dry ice fog and blue light. Wesley was much relieved that they were in no rush to help their compatriots, but seemed content to stand in a circle, chanting, "Turn! Turn! Turn!"

Wesley unscrewed his bottle of holy water and threw it in Giles's vampire's face. It screamed, and let him go. Giles staked it, grabbed Wesley, and they pelted for the exit.

"So much for being inconspicuous," Wesley gasped as they flung themselves into the car. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine." When the club was safely a fast receding splodge in the rear-view mirror, Giles glanced over at him. "Thank you. You saved my life."

"And you saved mine." Blood from Wesley's forehead ran into his eye, and he rubbed at it, succeeding only in getting it all over his face and shirt.

Giles dug into his pocket and handed him a handkerchief. "You all right? Hurt anywhere else?"

Wesley gingerly lifted his shirt and prodded his ribs. A huge bruise was forming already, and there was a wrong-feeling lump there.

"May I?" Giles reached over and pressed it. Wesley bit down a yell. Giles nodded. "We're stopping by the emergency room."

Wesley nodded, not caring, still in shock, just so very glad to be alive. He laughed suddenly, and groaned with the pain. "I killed my first vampire." He corrected himself. "Vampires. The world is a little safer because of me."

Giles grinned. "It is." He paused. "Hang on. I thought you said you'd killed two vampires before."

"Ah, no, I said I'd *faced* them."

"And then run screaming in the opposite direction?"

He pushed down the irritation that flared at the barb. Hadn't he just proved himself? "Not quite." The instructor had dusted one of the creatures; his training partner the other. Wesley had always wished he'd been the one to dust it, just to know that he *could*.

"I'm sorry," said Giles, derailing his train of thought. "I don't mean to belittle what you did back there. It could easily have gone very differently, and I owe you an apology; it was my fault in the first place, for letting that girl get hold of me. I was lucky you were there."

Wesley flushed with pleasure. "Well, I suppose I couldn't blame you," he grinned, remembering her little red dress, her long black hair, her captivating eyes. "She was… quite attractive." Lovely, actually.

Giles shook his head. "No, I was an idiot, and she took me by surprise. Older vampires can usually tell a watcher when they see one, just as more experienced watchers can tell a vampire."

Wesley couldn't resist. "A bit unfortunate if the watcher can't tell the vampire till her hand's down his trousers."

Giles's jaw tensed. "I knew *before* that! In any case, nobody's perfect."

Wesley could only agree. "Nobody's perfect."

"Though we try."

"We do."

They drove on, and Wesley let himself give in to the exhaustion that followed the adrenaline rush. Giles glanced over at him and grinned, and Wesley grinned back. Perhaps this assignment wasn't going to be such a disaster after all.

* * *