__Healing__
By Coast2Coast



Giles stood framed in the entryway that connected the library, the checkout counter and his office. Buffy had remained silent since they had returned. She had completely ignored him, refused to allow him to see to her injuries, had not once met his eyes, had avoided his touch -- even his close proximity. Now she sat slumped in her chair at the central table. Her arms were stretched out on the table before her, as though to prevent herself from slipping bonelessly to the floor. Giles wondered if this were more practical consideration than appearance.

Quentin Travers stood between them, perpendicular to their positions; heedless of their apparent inattention.

"This was not just a test of the Slayer's progress, but also of her Watcher's commitment and competence. While she has passed the test," the Council member shifted his focus to Giles, who was still regarding Buffy with remorse, "you have not. You're fired."

The cold remorselessness of the statement, in addition to its content, commanded Giles' attention. "On what grounds?" he managed to force from his tight throat.

"You have a father's love for the girl. It is unacceptable. It clouds your judgment and impedes her training. Another Watcher will be sent to replace you."

[Replaced? Not to be Buffy's Watcher? Not to protect her and oversee her training? How could he trust another to do her justice?]

"You will conclude your duties here and when the new Watcher arrives you will return to England for reassignment."

A cold rush of fear ran through Giles' veins. "Wha... leave?" [Leave? Not just to be supplanted in his role of Watcher, but to leave her...]

"No."

Travers, unused to being interrupted, much less countered, rounded on her.

"*What* did you say?"

Buffy looked up at the man. "I said 'No'. Meaning don't bother to send another Watcher. There's no point. I won't let him get anywhere near me."

"You still have much to learn, girl," Travers said in a condescending tone. "And your *ex*-Watcher was clearly not getting on with the job."

Buffy rose from her seat and as she stepped towards him she crossed her arms, tossed her hair back, planted her feet and squared her shoulders. Although her back was to him, Giles could picture her face. He knew that stance, that attitude; she was absolutely furious and maintaining a grasp on her temper by the last thread of her control. He stifled a knee jerk reaction to warn the man to run, while he had a chance.

"You underestimate your ability to clearly communicate your lessons."

"And what, in your limited understanding of our purpose, are these 'lessons'?"

"Let's recap, shall we?"

Giles bit his tongue. He recognized that combination of sarcasm and sweet, seemingly innocent, tone. Buffy continued.

"You sent my first Watcher. He blew his brains out and left me alone to fight Lothos and his undead buddies. I do my 'duty'," Giles cringed at the sheer amount of venom she managed to inject into the word "and what's my reward? The loss of all my friends, my parent's divorce over their arguments about whose fault it is that they can't control me, expulsion from school, mandatory therapy -- where I certainly can't be forthcoming about my 'issues' -- and a juvenile police record for arson."

Travers shifted his eyes away. "Yes, well, while Merrick's death was, of course, unfortunate..."

If Buffy hadn't cut him off Giles would quite probably have flung himself bodily at the man for his sheer callousness.

"*So* not the point. But I can understand your disappointment that I didn't learn my lesson the first time. So, you sent my second Watcher. He managed to gain my confidence and my trust. Then he betrayed me."

The bleak desolation in her voice cut Giles to the quick. [I'm sorry], he wanted to shout. [I was wrong. I know it was unforgivable but...]

"I get it now," Buffy continued. "I can never let my guard down or trust anyone. I have no life, no feelings, no rights, no friends, no family -- only my duty. In short, I'm not a human being anymore; I'm the Slayer."

She waited for some reaction, but only silence met her recitation. "No argument, huh? Okay, then -- the way I see it, you have a choice." She turned back to the table and picked up a short sword, one which Giles favored for its superb balance and keen edge. She turned and handed it, hilt first, to Quentin. "Option One: You agree that I'm the Slayer. I stay here and do my duty and Giles reports to you about my effectiveness. He already knows the score and can judge my work ethic from a distance better than someone who won't even catch a glimpse of me."

The Council member tilted his head slightly and regarded Buffy with some curiosity and, however belated, a small amount of respect. "And Option Two?"

Buffy lifted her chin and threw out her arms at shoulder height. "You decide I'm a lost cause and kill me now."

"Buffy!" Giles managed to choke out, taking a step towards her.

"Stay out of this, Giles," Buffy snapped harshly, not moving; not even turning her head. She held Quentin's gaze. He stood before her, holding the sword uneasily, ineffectually. "Make your choice, but get this -- if you don't kill me now, don't try it later. Anyone, demon or human, who comes after me from now on is fair game."

Quentin hesitated. "Killing a human being is automatically grounds for termination for a Slayer."

Buffy knew he meant death, not job loss, by termination. "Then don't send anyone else into harm's way."

The Council member considered her closely for a few moments, then gave her a sharp nod and dropped the sword onto the table. Buffy dismissed him from her attention as she resumed her seat.

Quentin fixed his gaze on Giles, giving a jerk of his head toward the library doors. He turned and lifted his coat and briefcase off the counter as he exited the library. Giles shot Buffy a concerned glance, but followed.

"Well, that ended much better than I expected. Or dared to hope; truth be told," Travers asserted, heartily, as he and Giles started down the corridor together.

"How can you consider *anything* about this... this... monstrous situation acceptable?" Giles asked, incredulous.

"Completely unable to recognize a win-win scenario when you see it, eh?" the man shook his head. "Either her frame of mind makes her the most committed and ruthless Slayer in years or she gets herself killed and we get a new, more tractable Slayer to train. Properly."

Giles, more dumbfounded than ever, simply stared at him.

"Well," Travers said, stopping to hold the front door of the building open, clearly not expecting Giles to follow him any further. "My work here is done; although yours, apparently, is not. If we cease to receive reports from you we'll know that you failed to stay out of her way and she's killed you. Can't say whether that would prompt the dispatch of a new Watcher or an assassin. Something for me to consider on my way home." He strode jauntily away without another word.

Giles returned to the library. He let the door swing shut behind him and moved to lean against the checkout counter, observing Buffy from a distance to see what her reaction to his presence might be. He could barely resist the demanding need he had to go to her. He knew she was injured, but not how badly. He knew she was heartsick and exhausted both mentally and physically. Her threat to kill him if he touched her gave him little pause -- he would risk injury or death to answer her needs. What truly held him rooted to this spot was the fear that any approach from him would cause her more pain.

How could everything have gone so wrong, so completely, so quickly? He thought back over this hellish week. As the images and voices of the recent past revisited him, he realized he was less preoccupied with the anguish he had felt at his role in and inability to prevent the Cruciamentum than he was with what he had observed Buffy enduring. At the time, he had been trying so hard not to react to Buffy's worry over the symptoms caused by the injections that he had overcompensated and ignored everything related to her. Now he recalled the subdued look on Buffy's face when Willow, Oz, Xander and Cordelia spoke animatedly about their post-graduation plans, her poorly masked disappointment at the cancellation of her father's visit and the wistful, then fading, hope when she hinted that Giles might want to help celebrate her birthday.

He also remembered several partially overheard conversations between Snyder and Buffy in the hallways. The man had been taunting her about the slim chance Buffy had of graduating. He made it clear that he would be watching her and that one little slip up on her part would mean expulsion. Giles had developed an unconscious habit of avoiding the little troll and his anti-student sentiments; now he realized that Buffy had not the option to walk away when the obnoxious man confronted her.

All this in addition to her confusion and fear about losing her Slayer powers; the near disastrous encounter with the vampire she had barely vanquished, the boy who had manhandled her so easily and Giles' own apparent indifference to her plight.

His internal reverie was interrupted by a movement from Buffy. She pulled herself more upright in her chair and Giles thought, for a moment, that she would stand. Instead, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on the surface of the table between her outstretched arms. Stillness settled over her again.

[What a complete *ass* I've been!], he berated himself. Even without his active participation in the Cruciamentum he deserved every bit of derision and anger she had directed at him. Perhaps Quentin had been right - God, he didn't want to even consider the possibility! But how else could he explain having utterly failed her? If he had not been doing his duty as her Watcher he could have offered his comfort and support in everything else she had faced. If he could have set aside his affection and concern for her and not subverted the Cruciamentum, she would not have had to face the potential loss of him as her Watcher.

A soft, indistinct sound caught his attention. He couldn't identify what it was, but knew the source. Buffy. He couldn't stand here any longer. Watcher or not, welcome or not, he had to go to her. He prayed silently that he would do her no more harm. Giles stepped to her side and set one hand down on the table next to her arm. He leaned over and stroked her hair back, the movement of his hand causing the back of her head to tilt away from him. Her eyes were closed and she was crying silently. Her cheeks were wet and tears had pooled on the table.

"Oh, Buffy," Giles breathed, as he drew his warm, dry hand across her face to wipe away her tears.

Buffy blinked and opened her eyes. "Hey, Giles," she greeted him softly, with no look of recrimination or even anger, just calm acceptance. "So... how was your day?"

Giles choked on a surprised chuckle. "Horrid. You?"

"Very unpleasant," she agreed pushing her upper body into a vertical position. She watched Giles seat himself around the corner of the table from her. "We need to start associating with a better class of people."

Giles gazed in wonder at her open, almost relaxed, appearance. "We?" Was it even possible that she could forgive him, so quickly and completely, for what he had done? He didn't dare hope. "Er, please don't misunderstand my asking this but, well, after the last conversation we had I, uh, got the distinct impression that..."

"I would just as soon kill you as look at you," Buffy finished for him.

"Not precisely how I would have put it but, yes."

"That was before I met Mr. Wonderful," she said, hooking a thumb toward the doors which led out of the library. "What was he going to do to me if you refused to cooperate with this 'test'?"

Giles looked down at his hands. "Well," he began to answer slowly. "It would have involved..."

"You know what?" Buffy cut him off. "I don't want to know." Giles looked up at her, relieved. She leaned forward and wagged a finger at him. "I'm really disappointed in your choice of friends, young man," she intoned in a serious voice. "You might think they're the cool kids to hang with but they've had a very bad influence on you."

"Yes," he smiled slightly at her "I'm afraid I have to agree." He sobered and leaned forward, reaching out to take her hand. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I don't know what I can do..."

Buffy squeezed his hand. "You can be Giles."

Tears of relief sprang into his eyes at the reminder of another time he had underestimated her capacity to accept him for who he truly was. He lowered his head and reached under his glasses with a finger and thumb to squeeze the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off more tears. As his glasses settled back into place he noticed a splash of bright color on the drab floor.

"Buffy, you're bleeding," he said, looking back up at her in alarm.

"Oh yeah," she said in a bland voice. "That's my main concern right now."

Giles knelt next to her and stopped himself just before he touched her in an attempt to locate and assess her injury. He glanced up at her and received a tight almost-smile and a nod of tacit approval. He lifted the edge of her black tank top to see that her entire side was smeared with blood and the sticky liquid had soaked into her top and the near side of her dark athletic pants from the waistband to a point below her hip where a sluggish drop would occasionally fall to the floor. He found the wound; a jagged gash which curved below her ribcage from front to back on one side of her body. It had bled freely at one point and was still oozing blood and serum.

"This needs to be looked at," Giles said, his forehead creasing in concern.

"And you're doing exactly... what?" Buffy asked.

Giles huffed in frustration. "I mean professionally." He rose and offered Buffy a hand up. "I'll drive you to the hospital."

Buffy accepted his assistance out of the chair, but she was shaking her head. "Uh uh, no can do."

"Buffy, your usual healing abilities have been suppressed by the injections..."

"Which might show up in any blood tests they do." She raised her right arm up for his inspection and tapped the inside of her elbow with a fingertip, indicating three easily visible and one or two fading injection sites. "Even if they don't find anything, these track marks will be enough for Snyder. I can see him celebrating now. He can expel me for drug use and maybe even get you fired if he finds out you're the one who took me to the hospital."

"Damn!" Giles barked, turning away and running his hand through his hair. "Sorry," he apologized, realizing that rebuking himself for having put her in this situation wasn't going to be of any help now. "Do you have any other injuries?"

Buffy gave herself a cursory pat down; her lips pursed, considering. "Nothing as bad; nothing worse than other stuff you've fixed up for me," she answered.

"All right, then. How is your supply of bandages at home?"

"I have a pretty good stash. Do you think butterflies will work on this?" she asked pointing at her side.

"I think so."

"Then we're good to go."

* * * *

When they arrived at the Summers' residence, they found no lights shining from the windows; the front porch light the only illumination besides the dim streetlights. Buffy felt a quick stab of concern for her mother, then noticed a large duffle bag perched near the steps at the edge of the front porch. Buffy heaved a deep sigh and leaned her head against the car window. "Oh, great. Just great," she whispered to herself.

Giles had come around the car and was preparing to pull on the door handle until he realized Buffy would fall out if he did so. "Buffy?" he called to her. She straightened up to allow him to open the door. "Are you all right?"

"Just peachy," she answered, in a flat tone. When Giles offered her a hand out of the car she shook her head. "I think I'll save myself the walk," she said, pointing to the bulky bag.

"What is it?" Giles asked.

"You'll see. Don't bother ringing the bell." She watched Giles walk up the path. He paused only briefly as he passed the duffle, stepped up to the door and rang the bell. He waited a moment, then rang again.

"He really ought to start listening to me," Buffy muttered to herself.

* * * *

Giles recognized the duffel as the bag Buffy used when toting a larger than normal arsenal of weapons and wondered why it was sitting out on the porch. Had she intended to take it to the boardinghouse and then abandoned it here for some reason? Deciding not to waste time on pointless speculation, he continued on to the front door and rang the bell. When his summons caused no visible activity in the house he rang again. He peered in the small panes of glass set in the front door but could see no movement, no lights; listening intently brought no sound whatsoever to his ears. Although he was apprehensive about what might have happened to Joyce, he was more concerned for Buffy. He returned to the car, bringing the bag with him. He noticed when he picked it up that it didn't clank as usual when loaded with stakes and other weapons but reached the car before he could consider the matter further.

"It seems your mother isn't home. Can you think where she might have gone?"

"She's there."

"But... do you mean she might be injured; that she couldn't make it to the door?"

"No, that's not what I meant," she answered tiredly.

Giles waited but Buffy volunteered no more information. "Do you have a key? The chain is on the front door but we could get in at the back."

"No we can't..." she began, then "Giles!" when she could tell he had more questions. "There's no point staying here. You're sure you don't have enough medical stuff at the library?"

Giles frowned. "Not sufficient for our needs at the moment. I have a better kit at home."

Buffy chewed her lip and looked up at him. "Do you mind?"

"What? Mind? Oh... of course not," he replied. "If you're sure your mother is all right this mystery can certainly wait until your wound has been tended." Giles shut the passenger door to the car and walked around to the driver's side.

[No great mystery. Just more bad news.] Buffy reflected, sadly.

* * * *

When they arrived at Giles' flat, he helped her out of the car and stepped toward the door but she pulled him to a halt with a tug on his arm. "Could you bring the bag? I'll need a change of clothes."

Giles gave her an assessing look then nodded, seeing her firm resolve to remain upright; at least until she got inside. As he hooked the bag over his shoulder and locked the car, Giles silently commended her for showing more foresight than she ever had before by including a change of clothes in her weapons kit. He couldn't count the number of times Buffy had returned from a patrol or battle soaking wet, muddy, bloody, covered in demon slime, the list went on - and, although she had two school lockers and access to the showers in the girls' gym, rarely seemed able to get cleaned up without going home.

Once inside, Buffy kept moving until she reached the bathroom, not wanting to leave blood anywhere but the sink drain. She carefully peeled off her tank top then gingerly hauled herself up to sit on the bathroom counter.

"Ah, good," Giles said as he entered with a large box of medical supplies; only slightly startled by the sight of Buffy perched on his bathroom counter wearing only a pair of bloody running pants and a light blue sports bra. Giles carefully cleaned the skin around the wound and gently probed the damaged area.

"It needs stitches," he finally admitted.

"Okay."

Giles insisted she move to the couch. He would be able to do a better job of stitching the wound if she didn't need to adjust her position as he worked. He found, as he had feared, that he had no local anesthetic in the rather large medical kit he maintained. [That makes bloody good sense,] he mentally chastised himself [sutures, suture needles, no bloody anesthetic.] He tried to tell himself that her Slayer abilities had allowed her to escape serious injury until now, when they had been artificially reduced; but her seemingly practiced ease at concealing this wound made him wonder.

He set up a tray of sutures and needles. "I'm sorry, Buffy," he told her when he could delay no longer. "I don't have any anesthetic. It's going to hurt."

"It already hurts. Go ahead."

He picked up a needle and began. After two sutures, she spoke. "Will it ruin your concentration to, um... talk to me, to distract me?"

"What do you want to talk about?"

"My mind's a blank. You pick."

"Would you really have let him kill you?"

"Way to avoid the small talk, Giles," she said, then punctuated her statement with a small hiss as he pulled the third suture through her skin. When he didn't react to her deflection, she went on. "I guess so, but I didn't think it would come to that."

"Why?" Giles knew that Quentin had no reason to attack her, but Buffy had no way of knowing that. It angered him that she had acted in such a cavalier fashion in regards to her safety.

"Why was I going to let him kill me or why did I think he wouldn't?"

"Both."

"I thought I asked you to talk to me -- not the other way around."

"Is it distracting you?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Then answer my question."

"I didn't think he would kill me because there was nothing for him to gain by it. He probably thinks I'm going to run off half-cocked and get myself killed, he'll get his new Slayer and he can pretend my blood isn't on his hands."

"Win-win," Giles quoted, darkly.

"Giles!" Buffy exclaimed. "A 20th century concept from your lips? I'm... I'm..."

"Hold still, unless you want a scar. And I was quoting Quentin."

"See, I was right."

"But what if you weren't," he snapped. "You shouldn't play with your life that way."

"I wasn't playing," Buffy let out a sigh. "Look, Giles; say he did decide to use that sword on me. There were only two ways it could go. First, you were his guy and would let him gut me. If that was the case, I wasn't going to be living much longer anyway. Think about the times I haven't listened to your warnings or haven't waited for you to finish translating and figuring out the meaning of prophecies. What would happen to me, and how soon, if I didn't have any help from you?"

Giles felt warmth seep through him at her blunt admission of how much she counted on him to keep her safe; he hadn't fully realized, until that moment, how much he needed for her to need him. "I see your point," was all he managed to say aloud. He finished another suture before he broke the silence again. "What did you see as the second possibility?"

"That you really were my Watcher and would take him out if he tried to kill me."

"You told me not to interfere," he reminded her.

"Yeah. Like *that* would stop you," Buffy said sarcastically, but Giles could also hear a hint of teasing pride in her voice. "That was for his benefit."

"So he wouldn't consider me a threat."

"Right. If he went for me, he would be watching just me -- to see if I would dodge, or try to defend myself. He wouldn't have spared you a glance and you would have kicked his ass."

"I was ten feet behind you! What if I wasn't fast..."

"Come on, Giles! Think about it for a minute. How was he holding the sword?"

Giles answered immediately, without thinking. "Loose grip, wrist not locked, point off target, edge turned almost perpendicular to the floor..." he trailed off.

"Had he even thought about how to attack me?"

"No."

"And if he had turned the blade parallel to the floor, or swung the point on target or locked his grip..."

"I would have 'kicked his ass'."

"My hero!"

Giles snorted derisively but felt some of his self-loathing dissipate as he realized how she had trusted not only his intentions but his ability to come to her rescue if needed. And after what he had done...

When Buffy spoke again, it was in a subdued and serious manner. "Giles, does this mean you've really made your choice? I don't mean to doubt you, but..."

"But I've given you plenty of reason to do just that in the past week," he finished for her, in a harsh, defeated tone.

Buffy sighed. "You didn't want to believe they were the bad guys; or at least that they would take risks with their precious Slayer."

"And while I learned my lesson you could have been killed. Your mother as well."

"Think you'll ever trust them again?"

"Not bloody likely."

"We can't let them know that."

When he didn't move or speak for several long moments Buffy turned her head, craning her neck in an attempt to bring his face into view. When the movement transferred to her upper body, she felt him switch hands on the suture and place his left hand on her shoulder.

"I distinctly recall asking you to hold still," he said softly.

"Yeah, but it's probably best if *you* don't. At the rate you're going the wound will be healed before you finish stitching it," she countered.

"Oh, ah, sorry."

Buffy relaxed back into her previous position. Giles remained silent while he completed the last few sutures and carefully prepared the bandage to cover the wound. When he had finished taping the gauze in place and began clearing up the mess he had made, Buffy moved to a sitting position and laid a hand on his arm. Giles looked at her with a troubled expression.

"Giles, I know you don't want to have to lie and manipulate them; I'd rather not do it either. I'd rather confront them, tell them how it's going to be and that they'll just have to accept it; but we can't let them know we're still a team -- partners. They'll see us as a threat and we might not see them coming next time. We aren't strong enough, we don't have enough information to have a chance of winning if we oppose them openly."

Giles sighed. "I suppose the Hellmouth and the forces of darkness weren't enough of a challenge for us."

Buffy nodded. "It bites."

Giles gave her a distasteful grimace. "Succinct, if not eloquent."

"That's your department," Buffy said. She shifted her weight in an attempt to rise to a standing position but failed in the attempt.

At her moan of pain, Giles reached out to assist her. "Buffy, what's this?" Giles asked suspiciously as he touched a darkened area of skin on her side, just below the elastic band on her bra.

"Owwww, Giles!" she hissed as she drew away; pouting slightly. He merely stared at her. She knew he was alarmed that she had at least one more injury but seemed more concerned that she hadn't brought it to his attention. She gave in. "A couple of bruised ribs. I don't think they're broken."

He nodded slowly, eyeing her. "And?"

She deflated completely. "I really don't know. Honestly. I hurt all over. It's kinda hard to sort one 'Ow' from another. Unless somebody pokes me."

"Well, then" he said, "lie down again, please."

"Sweet talker."

Although he blushed slightly he did not relent and she somewhat meekly complied with his instructions. Giles started at the top of her head and worked his way down slowly, carefully touching, testing, probing; sometimes with his fingertips, sometimes the flat of his hand. He was all business and kept up a steady series of head tilts and 'hmmms' as he worked. Buffy amused herself with thoughts of bringing his attention back to what, and who, he was touching at certain points, but decided that making him faint from embarrassment might not be the best idea. For either of them.

When he reached her feet, he said "Roll over on your stomach." When she didn't move immediately he looked up.

"Um, I think I need a little help." Her side was *really* talking to her now.

Giles helped her ease over onto her stomach, then continued his examination. Buffy squelched an urge to crane her neck in an untenable position to ensure that was still Giles leaning over her when she felt her bra being unhooked and firm hands curling around her ribs just below her breasts, pressing, testing, then gently moving on. Her credulity was tested again when he used scissors to continue the rip in her ruined track pants so he could peel them off and examine her legs.

"Here, let me help you sit up. I'm going to have to tape those ribs; I think they're cracked," he told her as he eased her into a seated position. Giles turned back to his medical kit and Buffy considered the bra dangling at her elbows. She knew, with her injuries, there was no way she would be able to reach back far enough to refasten it. She finally shrugged and dropped it next to her on the couch. It would have been in the way while Giles taped her ribs and, since he was apparently okay with unhooking it she figured she was okay with leaving it off.

As Giles finished taping a protective layer over Buffy's damaged ribs, he drew one hand slowly along the ribs that were still exposed below the tape, then down over her diaphragm to her slightly sunken stomach. He shifted his thoughtful gaze up to her face. "When's the last time you had something to eat?" he asked.

"You mean something that didn't make a return trip in less than half an hour? Four or five days."

Giles nodded, concern and more than a little shame in his eyes. He turned once again to his medical kit. "Do you think you could handle some broth? Maybe some dry toast?" He pulled two chemical cold packs from the kit, crushing them between his hands, then shaking them out. He draped one over her bruised shoulder and laid one across her wrenched knee.

Buffy shook her head. "I'd rather not. Throwing up with these injuries would be even less fun than I've been having." She thought for a moment. "I could use some water. Or maybe some juice, if you have it?"

"Of course," Giles said, rising and moving toward the kitchen.

"Uh, before you go, could you get me some clothes out of my bag?"

Giles turned, a questioning look on his face until he saw her, actually saw *her* for the first time in about half an hour, and realized Buffy was sitting on his couch wearing nothing but bandages, two cold packs and a pair of blood-soaked panties. "Buffy!" he exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Don't cop an attitude with me, mister," she shot back, surprising even herself that she was more relieved that he had finally noticed she was an actual female person than she was embarrassed at her almost complete nudity. "You took it off me."

"Oh," he said, then realized he was still standing there, staring, while she waited for him to get her some clothes. He stooped to retrieve the bag he had dropped on the floor when they had entered earlier, lifting it to rest across the two stools that stood in front of the counter between the living room and kitchen. He pulled open the zipper and was puzzling over the unexpected contents as Buffy moved slowly down the hallway toward the bathroom.

She had just crossed the threshold into the bathroom when Giles' confused voice came to her. "Buffy, there are a lot of clothes in here. And a note."

"A top and some shorts or sweats would be good, Giles." After a moment, his hand poked through the crack she had left in the doorway holding a long sleeved knit top and a pair of cropped jersey pants. "Thanks," she said, accepting the proffered garments. His hand reappeared, the folded note between two fingers.

"It looks like your mother's handwriting."

"Yeah. Read it if you want. I pretty much know what it says."

Giles' hand withdrew and Buffy bit her lip trying, unsuccessfully, to hold back her tears. She pushed the door to until the lock clicked.

Giles stood outside the bathroom door, regarding the note with a sense of foreboding. Buffy had meant for her voice to be light and uncaring, but he had heard the tense undertone. He glanced back up at the door for a long moment until he heard water running in the sink then returned to the living room, unfolding the note as he approached the desk lamp.

'Buffy,

I had hoped it wouldn't come to this but you've left me no choice.

We had a long talk about responsibility and consequences when you came back from wherever you ran off to the last time I confronted you about this 'vampire slayer' nonsense. I've had to bring it up again and again as it became clear you still weren't listening to me. I'm your mother and I love you and as long as you were a minor I did the best I could to guide you.

Now you are an adult, legally anyway, and the events of today removed any hope I still had about you giving up your destructive and violent behavior. I still love you but I can't allow you to live under my roof unless you mend your ways.

If, in the future, you decide you are ready to be a responsible adult we can talk about whether or not it would be a good idea for you to come home. You can arrange with Mr. Petersen to pick up the rest of your things while I am at work; I have already changed the locks and he has a key. If you haven't come for them in three months I'll put them in storage and leave the information with him.

Believe it or not, I only want what's best for you.

Mom'

Giles read the note through twice and still couldn't believe it. "Bloody hell," he groaned, pulling his glasses off and scrubbing his face with both hands. He thrust the note into his pocket and went into the kitchen to get Buffy's juice and fix himself some tea.

* * * *

The sound of the door knocker interrupted him and he retraced his steps. He glanced through the peephole, sighed and opened the door. He stepped back a few paces to let the visitors in but left the door open and positioned himself to make it clear he didn't expect them to stay.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" he asked Xander and Willow.

The two teens shuffled their feet uneasily, something clearly on their minds and a little uncomfortable about Giles' unusual lack of hospitality.

"Um," Willow said.

Xander, always the more direct, got straight to the point. "We're looking for Buffy."

Willow, emboldened now that Xander had broken the ice, chimed in. "She's been so un-Buffy-like lately. We're really worried about her. Her mom said something about vampires. She didn't go on patrol as weak as she's been, did she?" Willow asked.

"No, she... there was a fight but Buffy will be all right."

"She was hurt?" Giles noticed that Xander had glanced briefly at the dufflebag and was now staring at the wall in a direct line of sight toward the bathroom.

"Nothing too serious. She'll be fine."

Xander switched his gaze from the wall to Giles' face. "Her mother kicked her out." Willow looked down at her feet.

In the tense silence that followed this pronouncement, the sound of the tap in the bathroom cutting off seemed louder than the distant rush of water had. Willow's head snapped up, realizing what Xander had already deduced. The two teens exchanged a meaningful look and said, in unison.

"I don't think it's a good idea for her to stay here."

Giles straightened up to his full height and crossed his arms. "She needs care and rest. Both of which, I assure you, I am capable of rendering." He gestured to the door. "I think you two ought to get along home now."

Xander and Willow exchanged another glance. Xander seemed to be ready to stand his ground, but Willow reached out, touched his arm and gave a tiny shake of her head. Xander nodded marginally and looked back at Giles. "Okay," he allowed, "but tell her either one of us can give her a place to stay if she wants."

Giles took a step toward them, and the door, herding them out. "Don't worry. Everything will sort itself out in short order, I expect."

The teens looked doubtful, but took their leave without another word. Giles shut the door and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He looked up to see Buffy leaning against the doorway into the kitchen, watching him. He pulled the note from his pocket and handed it to her. She glanced at it briefly, then moved into the living room. Giles followed her and saw her drop it into the bag and pull the zipper closed. She tried to lift the bag to sling it over her shoulder, but the movement pulled at the wound in her side and she dropped it to the floor, grimacing.

"Buffy!" Giles admonished her, coming to her aid. He lifted the bag up and replaced it across the stools. "Would you mind terribly letting the stitches stay in for a few minutes before you pull them out?" he said in exasperation. He turned and tried to get Buffy to meet his eyes. "That's why you told me not to bother ringing the bell. You knew she was there but wouldn't answer."

Buffy nodded. "I figured as much when I saw the bag." A shrug. "It's not like she didn't warn me."

"But, she loves you. I don't understand how she can... can..." he trailed off, unsure what to say. Abandon you? Cut you out of her life? Hurt you like this?

Buffy gave him a small smile. "Her only daughter has the life expectancy of a fruit fly and roams the night fighting the forces of darkness. Can you blame her for wanting to believe that, if I would just 'grow up', I could go to college, get a good job, get married, live in the suburbs and give her some grandchildren?"

"But she knows you're the Slayer. She knows you can't just..."

"Whether or not my mother ever accepts the fact that being the Slayer is who I am, not something I took up to annoy her, is out of our hands," Buffy countered firmly.

Giles considered her for a moment. "You seem to be handling this better than I am."

"Well, I've been watching this coming for almost a year; sort of like oncoming headlights."

"Have you thought about what... where...?" Giles cleared his throat. "You know you're welcome to stay here -- for as long as you need." Instead of the relieved expression he expected to see, Buffy turned and disappeared into the bathroom again, returning with the tank top she had shed earlier, now wet but wrung out. She thrust the damp roll of cloth into a large outside pocket of her bag and zipped it closed.

Giles realized the significance of her packing a wet garment. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked. When she didn't answer, or look at him, Giles put his hands on her shoulders, turned her toward him and dipped his head to force her to look him in the eye. "Buffy?" She still didn't answer or look up. Giles gave her shoulders a squeeze. "The correct answer is 'Nowhere, Giles'," he said. He unzipped the side compartment and pulled her wet shirt back out, walked into the bathroom and hung it over the shower curtain rod. He returned to the living room to see Buffy shaking her head.

"This is *so* not a good idea, Giles," she said.

"Buffy, you're tired and hurt. You need a good night's sleep and someone to look out for you while you heal." He took her hand and led her toward the stairs, she followed him meekly enough but when they had made it all the way across the living room without his giving any sign of sitting her on the couch or at the desk she slowed. When he put a foot on the first riser of the stairs she balked -- digging her heels in and trying to pull her hand out of his grip. He turned to see her wide-eyed and shaking her head vigorously.

"Nope, uh uh, no way," she was muttering. She glanced up at the loft, then back to him. She managed to pull her hand away from his and moved toward the front door.

Giles, shocked at her behavior, looked upwards as she had, back to her, down at the hand that had held hers, back up to the loft... where the edge of his bed was just visible in the indirect light cast from downstairs. "Oh, for pity's sake... Buffy!" he snapped, moving toward her.

She had reached the door and put her back against it, her uncertainty and discomfort obvious. Giles held up his hands to show he meant no harm, wasn't going to grab her. "You can't possibly think I was suggesting... that I would..."

"No, Giles. I know you weren't."

"Then what the..."

The knock on the door startled them both. Buffy moved away, toward the kitchen, as Giles stepped forward. He checked the peephole, gave a deep sigh, released the locks and opened the door. "Hello, Angel," he said, resigned. "Come on in."

"Oh, *perfect*," Buffy moaned, her eyes slipping shut. She was swaying on her feet.

Angel and Giles both stepped toward her, each grabbing an elbow to keep her upright. They regarded each other for a long moment, then Giles bent forward to put his other arm behind Buffy's knees. Angel dropped Buffy's arm and stepped back. Giles nodded to him and turned to carry Buffy upstairs. He laid her down carefully and pulled the covers over her. She roused sufficiently to murmur "Really not a good idea..." before she faded completely.

"Sleep well," Giles whispered.

* * * * *

Angel trailed Giles as he headed for the kitchen to make his third attempt at the badly needed pot of tea. "Is she all right? What's going on?"

"A great deal, and none of it good," Giles responded with some asperity. He stopped and put a hand to his forehead, visibly shaken. "Sorry," he said to Angel. "If you'll just have a seat and give me a few minutes I may be capable of regaining the ability to converse in a civil manner."

"Uh, in the mean time - did you know that Harris kid is hiding out on your balcony?"

Giles dug his knuckles into the small of his back, trying to ease the tension there. "Will you keep an eye on the kettle and an ear out for any disturbance from Buffy, please?" he asked Angel, then paced resolutely out the door.

"Xander!" Giles called in a hoarse whisper. "Come down here this instant!"

He heard a soft thump, some rustling in the bushes off to the right, then Xander stood before him somewhat disconcerted but unrepentant.

"What the devil do you think you're playing at?" Giles demanded.

"I was waiting for you to go to sleep so I could get Buffy out of here."

"What possessed you to try something so incredibly stupid and reckless?"

Xander thrust out his chin and glared at Giles. "Because I don't want to see her get hurt. Again."

"Xander, I appreciate your concern for Buffy but I assure you..."

"You did that Cruka-whatsis thing to her, didn't you. That's why she's been such a spaz."

"Cruciamentum," Giles corrected automatically, nonplussed. "How did you...?"

"I read about it a few months ago when we were researching, in one of those Watcher books you keep locked up most of the time." Xander shook his head. "I thought it was an olden days kind of thing. I never thought you'd do it. Not you. Not to Buffy."

Giles sighed. "It's a traditional test of a Slayer's..."

"Oh, shut up! If it weren't for Buffy I'd kick your ass right now."

Giles pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. There was no point arguing with the young man when he agreed with him, in principle at least. "I do not have the patience to deal with you right now. Go home."

Xander pushed past him. "I'm not going anywhere without Buffy," he snapped, moving toward the door to Giles' flat.

Giles turned and followed, grabbing Xander's shoulder as he crossed the threshold. Xander whipped around and seized Giles by his shirt front and slammed him up against the wall to the left of the doorway. Before the hostilities could escalate, both combatants caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of their eyes and froze.

Angel had been headed for the door, Buffy in his arms, her bag over his shoulder. "I'm taking Buffy to my place," Angel explained, unnecessarily.

"No you're not!" Giles and Xander snapped.

"Angel, put me down."

Buffy's voice, soft as it was, startled all of them. Angel moved automatically to comply, but when he set Buffy's feet on the floor her knees buckled and he clutched her to his chest once more.

"Over there in that chair," Buffy corrected her instructions, pointing to a chair between the fireplace and the stairs. As Angel carried her past Giles' desk Buffy smacked Xander lightly on the back of the head. "Let him go, Xander!"

Xander released Giles with a shove that cracked the older man's head against the wall, then stalked after Angel. After a moment of recovery, Giles followed him, pulling his shirt back into place.

Angel set Buffy down on the chair and turned to face the other two. They all spoke at once.

"What are you trying to pull?" "I think you'd better leave." "I just want to protect her."

"Stop it," Buffy moaned pressing her hands to her temples.

The three men looked uneasily at one another. Giles and Xander moved slowly to opposite ends of the couch, Angel to a chair. They all sat down, perched stiffly on the edge of their seats.

Buffy dropped her hands from her head and opened her eyes slowly. Her gaze shifted from one to the next. When she had made the circuit twice, she spoke. "Have you all lost your minds?"

Angel spoke first. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay here."

"Why does everyone keep saying that!?" Giles snapped.

"Because it's true!" Xander barked.

"The Cruciamentum is over. There's no need to..."

"That's not what we're talking about," Angel said.

"Well, I'm not done being pissed off about that; but he's right. That's not the problem," Xander agreed.

"Then what the bloody hell *is* the problem?" Giles demanded.

Angel and Xander stared at Giles for a moment, glanced at each other then looked over at Buffy. The challenging stare she gave them caused both of them to look down at their feet and shift in their seats uneasily.

"They don't think I should stay here because... because something might... happen," Buffy explained.

"Such as?" Giles inquired.

The other two men groaned.

Xander looked at Angel. "How can a guy that smart be so clueless? How is that even possible?"

Angel shrugged. "He's British."

"What kind of excuse is that? He's still a guy, isn't he?"

"Well..."

"Are you done?" Buffy said in a warning tone.

Angel and Xander flinched then nodded.

"Yeah, okay; done," Xander said.

"Sorry," agreed Angel.

"Good, then you can go now."

"But..."

Angel rose from his chair, stepped past Giles and pulled Xander up by his arm. "Come on."

Giles stood and followed. When the door had closed behind them he locked up, then leaned his forehead against the door.

"Are you all right?" Buffy asked gently.

Giles sighed. "I have no idea. But fancy *you* asking *me* that in this situation." He straightened and looked at her. "Just what sort of man do you lot take me for? Or do I even want an answer to that question?"

Buffy fidgeted. "It's nothing personal, Giles. It's just... well, things have been crazy and emotions are running kinda high and we're both sort of... fragile and..."

"All the more reason I wouldn't do or say anything to compromise you or our relationship," Giles said, softly. "But if you'd rather not stay I will take you wherever you want to go. I'll help you talk to your mother if you want -- if you think it will do any good."

Buffy considered his offer for a moment, then shook her head. "Maybe in a couple of days -- after she's had a chance to get over the shock of what happened today. Then, even if she's still angry or scared she might listen, might talk to me but right now?" Buffy shook her head again. She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "For now, though, would you mind taking me to Will's house?"

"Of course I don't mind," Giles replied, gently. He moved over to the counter and lifted her bag as she rose and approached the door.

Buffy hesitated next to her Watcher and looked up into his face. "We're gonna be okay, right?" she asked a little tentatively.

"Yes," Giles assured her. "Whatever it takes, we'll work it out together -- as it seems we're stuck with each other."

Buffy smiled at the teasing note in his voice. "Yeah," she agreed with satisfaction. "Even Mr. I've-Got-A-Big-Ol'-Stick-Up-My-Butt couldn't come between us."

Giles made a 'tsk, tsk' sound of mock disapproval. "Really, Buffy! What have I told you about displaying such a shocking lack of respect for your elders?" he challenged as they exited his flat.

* * *