"I just want to talk to you," he said to the door, waiting for it to slide open. All the doors slid open. Silently. Everything was so silent here. He would put good money on the whole place being soundproofed to the n'th degree. The Director aka the Bitch struck him as the type to go overboard with these things.
He could have liked her. Hadn't she forced him to work for her, he reckoned they would have gotten on all right. The part where she had kidnapped his girlfriend and framed him for her lover's murder had quickly put her on his 'Mortal Enemies' list, however.
The door slid to the right, revealing the Wingman he was there to see. Glasses silding down his nose (did everything slide here?), one arm braced against the doorway, the other hand holding a book. He was clever, he was. He could appreciate that in a partner.
"William, what are you doing here?"
"I just wanted too," he licked his lips. "Talk to you. Watch a match with countryman.Those things."
A slight frown. "Match?"
He stared incredulously at him. "Manchester - Liverpool! It's the bloody match of the year! ...You're a bad, bad Englishman."
Giles gave one of those quick grins of his. "You're too gullible sometimes. Come on inside. I have beer."
William made a face.
"Proper beer," Giles added, amused.
He brightened. He knew this had been a brilliant idea. Giles moved away from the doorway, and he walked in behind him, looking curiously around. He'd never been in Giles' room before. On first impression it looked pretty much like his own room. Standard issue was a big thing with the Director, he'd noticed. But on second glance, he could see where Giles had left his own personal impression on the room.
Books of all kinds spread about, old records, pads, a guitar hanging in a corner, actual pictures in frames on the desk. He stepped over there, interested. A blonde with a scar over her mouth standing in the middle with a redhead in a pink sweater and a darkhaired boy with intense dark eyes on either side of her. He'd seen them around the center. Hot shots all of them. Interesting... Another picture was of younger Giles and a smirking darkhaired man. He grinned.
"Done snooping around?"
William turned around. "Not really, but I suppose I could prospone the rest if the match is starting and ooh! Beer! Give me!"
Giles tossed a bottle casually in his direction and William caught it defly. He got rid of the cap and took his first sip of decent beer in six months. He groaned in pleasure. "You're a lifesaver, mate, you really are."
"I do try."
They setteled down on Giles' couch to watch Liverpool beat the crap out of Manchester United. William had his arm outstreched along the back. Giles had an impressive vocabulary of cursewords. They shared the last beer.