Aftermath
Author: Coast2Coast

Pairing: Buffy/Giles friendship
Rating: FRT
Spoilers: 'Becoming'
Feedback: Cheerfully received!
Distribution: I'm posting this to WatcherGirls and GilesNaughty. All others please ask.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all characters belong to Joss Whedon. I am making no money by using them.
Summary: Giles bails out of the hospital and goes looking for Buffy.

Author's Notes: As illogical as it may be, I'm going with canon as far as what injuries were done to Giles, Buffy, Willow and Xander in 'Becoming'(everyone out of the hospital in hours or perhaps a day). In the third season Giles tells Buffy that Angelus tortured him 'for hours, for pleasure' but, given Angelus' proclivities, I don't want to go there. I lifted a moment from 'Anne' and plopped it down here - it was too pivotal a concept for me to ignore.

[ ] means thoughts. * * for emphasis.

[Where is she? What happened? Is she all right? Please, God, let her be all right!]

Giles drove much faster than was prudent in his condition, having checked himself out of the hospital against medical advice. The blur of police, doctors, nurses... all of it was nearly as incomprehensible to him now as it had been over the past three hours.

"How did he get these injuries?"

"Sir, can you tell me your name?"

"What is today's date?"

"Sir. Sir, you have to hold still so I can check you over. SIR!"

Dimly, Giles realized that without Xander's presence and the hospital's experience with the previous death and injuries from the 'PCP gang' [Fancy Xander using Snyder's own oft used falsehood to aid them now!] he would likely have been slapped into a straight jacket and tossed into the loony bin. Not to say that might not be in his future...

[Stop it! She's all right. She must be all right.] He would accept no defeat for her.

[Finally!] Giles braked to a halt in front of the brooding mansion. He wrenched himself from the car, heedless of his many injuries; hearing but not quite feeling the grinding of his broken ribs. He dragged himself as quickly as possible up to the huge double doors of the edifice, desperate for any gleam of hope.

Frantically, he flung himself from room to room.

No blood. Good.

No Buffy. Bad.

No vampires. Good.

Only enough ashes to account for two vanquished foes. How many had there been? Bad.

The blade Kendra had brought to them and Giles had caught sight of in a fevered glimpse, wielded by his Slayer; missing. Bad.

The blade that had held Acathla in stasis for centuries, lying discarded on the floor. Bad. Very Bad.

The quiescent statue of Acathla. Good? Bad?

He had no idea. Ignorance had ever been his enemy. The silent emptiness of the place mocked him.

*** --- *** --- *** --- ***

Standing in the sunlight, only marginally aware of the children's hopeful chatter [whistling in the dark] he felt a pall of darkness upon his soul.

[Where is she? What happened?] They had an understanding. Neither would abandon the other. Not for anything. [Where is she?]

As if from a great distance, he heard himself reassure the others that, yes, everything would turn out all right. They only had to be patient.

[Too right, you fraud.] The desperation swelled and ebbed within him and he thought he might succumb to the overwhelming need to weep at any moment.

He felt... he almost felt... he could feel her there; watching him. He closed his eyes, tilted his face to the sun and listened with his heart. [There. That was her, wasn't it?] Or was it only his imagination, trying to give him what he so urgently needed? Or was it only his soul reaching out to touch hers, wherever it had gone?

[No.] He would not believe it. He focused his awareness back into his battered, aching body and hobbled slowly toward the school building.

*** --- *** --- *** --- ***

She was alive!

She had returned to what had been her home to retrieve a pitiful fraction of her belongings. Joyce had let him into the house; possibly hoping for a companion in her grief, or a confessor who might absolve her of her guilt.

She let him survey Buffy's room for clues she had not discovered but he might see with his unbiased, 'rational' mind...

...until she discovered the secret he had held.

"You *knew*? You knew all this time? You're a part of this whole...thing, aren't you?"

Recriminations he could not dispute.

"...I blame YOU!"

[So do I...]

She would come to him. She had promised. They had promised each other. She would come.

*** --- *** --- *** --- ***

Giles wearily pushed open the door to his flat, exhausted both physically and mentally. His wounds had been shrieking at him for hours but he only now felt any urge to dull the pain, and his mind, with the medication he had been given at the hospital.

He shuffled across the dark living room toward the kitchen and release.

"Giles?"

His heart stopped.

"Giles?"

And leapt. He nearly killed himself getting to the floor lamp to snap the switch.

There she stood; bereft, forlorn and alive. He was almost as captivated by her dim reflection in the window behind her as he was by the reality of her presence.

Somehow, he was suddenly there; his arms wrapped around her in an embrace he was not sure he would ever be able to relinquish.

"I have to go. I shouldn't have come, but I promised. I can't stay here; you'll be in trouble if they find me here. Accessory after the fact..." she choked.

What was she saying? It didn't make any sense to his pain-addled mind. "Buffy..."

She stood stiffly against him, arms at her sides.

"Buffy?"

"Giles, let me go. I have to leave."

"Why? What are you talking about?"

"Everything." She wriggled out of his grasp and stepped back. "It's happening all over again, but worse. The police are after me, for murder this time! I've been expelled from school. Thrown out of my home," she gasped in despair. "And... and... there's more. Worse. I can't drag you down with me. I have to go!" She turned to retrieve her small bag from the floor.

"No, Buffy. No! You don't understand. You're... it's all right. Stop! Sit down. I can't... I can't..." He tried to reach her as she moved for the door but his abused body betrayed him and he faltered, losing his balance. She caught a glimpse of his collapse from the corner of her eye and reversed her flight barely in time to catch him against her body before he fell face first into his desk.

*** --- *** --- *** --- ***

He let her support nearly his entire weight as she manhandled him as carefully as she could over to the couch. His eyes slid shut as she slipped off his jacket, pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. He heard her step to the kitchen, run water and return. In response to the touch of the cool compress on his forehead, he opened his eyes once more. Buffy was crouched next to him, her distress easing only slightly as she realized he was conscious.

"You should be in the hospital. Did you even go?"

"Yes, I did. Couldn't stay. Had to..."

"Find me."

"Yes." He waited for her to berate him, but all he saw in her face was complete understanding. Good. They agreed on that much, at least.

"Didn't they give you anything..."

"Kitchen."

She returned with the bulky sack and a glass of water. Her eyebrows ratcheted a notch higher as she lifted each item from the bag. A pile of bandages, salve and outpatient instructions grew on one side of the coffee table as she lined up several medication bottles on the other. After reading the instructions carefully on each she opened the first. She held the cotton batting she had removed from the bottle in front of her face for almost half a minute before turning to him with an exasperated sigh. "Giles..."

"Not now, Buffy. Please."

"Right, sorry." She helped him into a more upright position, handed him the glass of water and then each medication in proper dosage; watching with careful attention as he swallowed.

"Buffy, I'm not about to choke to death on a pill or a sip of water," he chided softly in response to the intense concentration on her face.

She snapped the cap back onto the last pill bottle. "You're right. Things have been going so well lately we should learn to relax a little and take life more for granted."

As she had included him in her sardonic observation of their situation, Giles found he couldn't exactly take offense. "It's not all bad, Buffy. The police aren't after you any more, the charges against you were dropped."

"How? Why?"

God. Her past experience had clearly ingrained on her that she would ultimately and forever be blamed for everything bad that happened around her. "They have the testimony of everyone who was in the library when it happened. They know you didn't kill Kendra, or hurt any of us."

There was no change in the look of uncertainty on her face. It made Giles ache for her, this hard lesson she had learned; there was no hope of acquittal, amnesty or even absolution - only condemnation and punishment.

"It's true, Buffy. Trust me."

Her expression lightened. "That I can do," she admitted. She took a deep breath, then let it out. She obviously wanted to know more, but was unsure she was ready to actually hear the answers she expected. "How are Willow and Xander?"

"Healing. They'll be fine; especially when they find out you're all right." [You are all right, aren't you?] he wanted to ask, but held his tongue.

"I don't... I can't really... face them right now. Not yet," she pleaded, clearly wanting him to run interference for her.

Giles was puzzled, but willing to help her in any way he could. "When you're ready, Buffy," he reassured her. His unquestioning support buoyed her confidence a little further.

"My mother? School?" she finally asked. She saw the truth in his eyes before he could answer in words and bowed her head.

Giles reached out to her chin, tilting her face back up, encouraging her to meet his eyes. "We'll work it out. In time."

Buffy nodded slightly, letting these problems go for the moment. "There's more," she said, simply.

"I know." [More. Yes, there was more. Angelus. Spike. Drusilla. Acathla. 'More' was an understatement.]

"I don't know if I'm ready to..." She dropped her face into her palms. "I'm so tired, Giles," came indistinctly to his ears.

"We both need some rest," Giles shifted on the couch, tentatively. "I think the medication is starting to kick in. Will you help me upstairs?"

"Sure," she started to gather up the bandages and such that she had set aside earlier.

"Buffy..." he began in warning.

"Shut up, Giles."

*** --- *** --- *** --- ***

Even with Buffy's help, the climb up the stairs nearly did him in. He dropped gratefully to a seated position on the side of his bed and made a weak and not entirely successful attempt to toe off his shoes.

Buffy set the bag of medical supplies and instructions down and knelt to assist. Once she had pulled off his shoes and socks she worked her way up, unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his shirt and sliding it carefully from his shoulders. When she reached for his belt buckle, however...

"Buffy!" Giles exclaimed in alarm, slapping her hands away. "What do you think you're doing?"

She straightened up, hands on hips and gave him an uncompromising look. "You're not going to sleep in your clothes. Your injuries need attention. And you need help."

Giles sputtered, "Well, perhaps I do, but..." his grip on his belt tightened.

Buffy tilted her head, considering. "Did we go commando today or something, Giles?"

"'Commando'? What the devil...?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You know. Commando -- sans under shorts?"

"I most certainly did not!"

"Then what's the..."

"Please," Giles lifted a hand. "Please, will you just get me a pair of pajamas from the bottom drawer of the dresser?"

The irresistible force of the Slayer conceded to the immovable object of the British gentleman.

Buffy sat only semi-patiently at the top of the stairs, back turned and wincing in sympathy at every muffled bang or muttered oath she overheard. Finally, Giles told her she could turn around and she rose to see him, ashen-faced, sitting on the edge of the bed. He was breathing heavily, in obvious discomfort, and his pajama shirt hung open, having defied the clumsy attempts by his broken fingers to button it closed. Buffy helped support him as he lay down.

"Thank you," Giles breathed. "I'll be fine now."

"After I've replaced your bandages."

"Buffy..."

"No, Giles! If you don't want to end up back at the hospital someone has to do it. Look, some of these are soaked through."

Giles looked up into her drawn, worried face. "All right. I'm in your hands."

She was unexpectedly gentle. Giles was surprised at how carefully and competently she removed the stained, old bandages, tended each wound and then covered the area with fresh gauze and tape. She even managed to marginally adjust the pressure bandage around his battered rib cage so that it no longer pinched him with every breath. Giles relaxed and let his eyes slide shut as Buffy eased each hurt and the pain medication began to do its work. She was gently spreading salve on one of the cigarette burns Angelus had made on his chest when Giles felt a hot, wet splash on his cooling skin. He opened his eyes to see Buffy crying silently as she worked. He reached up with his less damaged right hand and cradled the side of her face. She turned her cheek into his touch for a long moment, then smiled for him and returned to her task.

When she finished, Buffy bundled up the discarded bandages and tape and turned out the bedside lamp. "Do you want anything?"

"No, thank you," Giles answered sleepily. "Except for you to still be here in the morning. You will be, won't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm very curious to know where and under what circumstances you learned this 'commando' term..." he yawned and then was quiet.

Buffy pulled the folded comforter off the end of the bed, spread it on the floor and settled herself there; unwilling to move beyond arms' reach of her Watcher.

*** --- *** --- *** --- ***

"no..."

It was such a small sound to be invested with so much horror and anguish, but it brought Buffy up to her knees next to Giles' bed before the word even registered in her mind. There was only enough light filtering upstairs from the small desk lamp she had left lit for her to make out the shape of his body. She put a hand on his arm and waited to see if it would be wiser to wake him or let him sleep on. The answer came quickly. He was moving restlessly with occasional jerks of his entire body as though reacting to a blow, but it was the faint, childlike whimper that clinched it for her.

"Giles," she called to him, shaking his shoulder. "Giles, wake up!"

His body jolted and he gulped in several huge breaths. "Oh..." he breathed. "Oh, God."

"It's all right. Are you awake? It was a dream. You're safe now," Buffy told him. She ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to comfort him but unknowingly imitated a gesture Drusilla had made as she initiated the rape of his mind.

Giles threw himself away from her to the other side of the bed. "Don't touch me," he rasped.

Buffy fell back in alarm. She scrambled to her feet and fumbled for the bedside lamp, worried that he would injure himself further if, in his confused state, he tried to get out of bed or, God forbid, go down the stairs. The light dazzled both occupants of the room and they stared wide-eyed at one another, breathing heavily.

"Buffy?" Giles asked.

She nodded. "It's me. You were having a nightmare. Sorry, I guess I startled you. I'm usually on the other side of the getting-woken-up-from-a-nightmare deal." She reached out to help him settle back onto the center of the bed but he recoiled from her touch again. Buffy drew back and looked at him uncertainly. "Giles, what's wrong?"

"How... how... do I... I... know it's r... r... really y... y... you?" he stuttered, clearly terrified.

This stumped her. She simply stared at him for a long moment. "Are you awake?" she finally asked, not having come up with any other explanation as to why he would be unsure of her identity.

"That doesn't matter. I don't know... how can I be sure..."

"Well," Buffy said, seeking a solution for his distress, "you could ask me something only I would know."

Giles shook his head, eyes still wide with alarm. "No, I would know the answer. You... you... have to tell me something I don't know about but that I will know is something only Buffy would know."

Buffy realized his mind was working too well for this to be confusion due to a lingering remnant of his nightmare. She didn't know what was behind this but knew she had better come up with a way to reassure him. "Um, okay, I thought of something, but I'm gonna have to ask for immunity before I 'fess up to this one."

Her obvious discomfiture seemed to ease some of his distrust. Or perhaps it was the familiar, uneasy expression she wore - the one he recognized from previous instances when she found it necessary to admit some failing to him.

He nodded. "Go ahead."

"Okay, um, you know your favorite short sword that you realized was missing and thought you lost out of the bag on a patrol or at a battle or something? I, um, I borrowed it one night and used it to kill a vamp but it went through his neck so easily I couldn't stop my swing before I whacked a marble statue with it and put a big ol' nick in the blade. It took me almost a month to grind the blade down and then put an edge on it. I, um, put it back last week; it's in your weapons chest downstairs."

Giles considered this for a moment before he gingerly slid his legs off the edge of the mattress and straightened slowly into a standing position. He moved stiffly toward the stairs. Buffy came around the bed to help him but Giles put up a hand. "No, you stay here."

"But, Giles..."

"No," he said firmly. "I... I... have to be sure."

Only when Buffy sat herself on the corner of the bed did Giles seem satisfied that she wouldn't approach or follow him. She watched him lower himself step by step down the stairs, leaning his forearms heavily on the railing, until he turned at the landing and disappeared from her view.

The light level from downstairs increased twice as Giles turned on lamps as he passed them on his way across the living room. Buffy heard his grunt of pain as he stooped to reach the hasp on the chest, the hollow thump of the lid hitting the wall, the clank of weapons against each other as he searched, then the silvery, metal on metal sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath. There was a long silence before she heard him replace the sword and close the trunk.

"Buffy," he called.

She rose, moved to the upstairs railing and looked down at him. "Is it safe for me to come down now?" she asked.

Giles tilted his head back to meet her eyes. "I'm convinced it's you," he answered with some chagrin.

"That's good, but it's not exactly what I meant by 'is it safe?'."

Giles barked out a surprised laugh. He grimaced immediately afterward and wrapped one arm around his ribs to support them. "It's safe," he managed to squeeze out in a breathy voice. "Even if I hadn't granted you immunity I'm in no condition to put you over my knee."

*** --- *** --- *** --- ***

By the time Buffy reached the living room Giles had managed to ease himself down onto the couch. She joined him there, feet tucked up, body turned toward him, arm resting on the back of the couch with the elbow bent so she could prop her head on that hand and regard her Watcher. "Do you want to tell me what that was all about?"

Giles sat staring at the fireplace for a long moment. "I... I...," he began, then looked at her. "Not... not just yet if you don't mind."

Buffy nodded slightly. She could certainly understand his reticence. The trauma of what he had endured was too fresh, too raw. They watched each other for minute after silent minute. If one discounted the difference in their features, they might have been looking into a mirror. Each saw their own terror at recent events, the uncertainty of where they now stood and how they could move on from here, the brutal emotional wounds that fear, danger and loss had left behind in the other's eyes.

"Is there anything you'd like to share?" Giles finally asked softly, as much to take his mind off his own demons as to give her the opportunity to purge some of her torment.

"No, at least, not while it's still, you know," she glanced at the window, then back to him. "Maybe when it's daylight..." she trailed off. Giles nodded in understanding. "Do you want me to help you back to bed?" she asked.

"I think I've had all the 'rest' I can handle for one night, thank you. You can take the bed, if you'd like," he offered.

She shifted uneasily. "Um, if it's all the same to you I'd rather sit up and have the company."

"I'll make some tea," Giles said.

Buffy took a seat at the counter between the living room and kitchen and tried to take comfort in watching him go through the familiar motions of preparing tea but the difficulty with which he accomplished the commonplace task, due to his injuries, caused her to mourn the, temporary - she prayed, loss of his normal, graceful manner of movement. As he poured the boiling water into the warm pot, she finally spoke. "We're a pair aren't we?" she asked. "The bold, fearless Slayer and the brave, stalwart Watcher. Afraid to go to sleep, to talk about what happened, to be alone."

Giles settled the cozy over the teapot and turned to her. "We're only human, Buffy. We have our limits."

"I suppose," she sighed. "But do they all have to be tested at once?" She plopped her elbows down on the counter and put her face in her hands.

"Buffy," Giles voice came to her. "Are you aware that you're bleeding?"

She dropped her hands to see him staring at her left arm. Blood had, indeed, soaked through the bandage she had hastily applied to the wound on her arm and the long sleeved knit top she wore. "My mother always warned me about running around with sharp, pointy objects," she said distractedly. "What she didn't tell me is that *other* people running around with them is even more dangerous."

"How bad is it?" Giles asked.

She shrugged. "The usual. Nothing to worry about."

"Mmmm hmmm," he nodded at her. "Come with me." He turned down the hallway toward the bathroom.

"Giles, it's really..."

"Buffy!"

"Oh, fine! Big bully..." she muttered as she followed after him, pulling her shirt over her head as she walked.

Giles shook his head as he removed the old bandage. "Not your best work, as I can attest."

"It's a little harder when you're working on yourself," Buffy countered.

Giles bent his head to meet her eyes. "You need to learn to care as much for yourself as you do for others," he told her softly but firmly, before turning back to finish cleaning the wound. It was a straight slice, no tearing and not too deep but Giles was concerned nonetheless. "This should probably have stitches," he said, hesitating.

"I'm not going to the hospital," Buffy insisted. At the stubborn look on Giles face, she went on. "And if you take me I'll make sure they get a good look at you and..."

"Very well," he cut her off abruptly. "You win. I'll use butterflies, but you'd better go easy until this heals some more."

As he worked, Giles considered the characteristics and location of her wound. "Did he get your sword away from you?" he asked in an even tone.

It was a long moment before she answered. "He... he... had one of his own," she answered darkly.

"I see," Giles replied, thinking of the sword he had retrieved from the mansion; the one that had kept Acathla immobile through the centuries. He fastened the last piece of tape to the gauze that now covered her wound and straightened to look her in the eye. "Anything else?" he asked.

Buffy wasn't sure whether he was asking about additional injuries or for more information about her battle with Angelus. She chose the less painful path. "A bump on the head and some bruises you really don't need to see."

Giles waited to see if she would go on before he sighed and reached out to place a hand on her head. Buffy guided his hand to the lump on the back of her head, a result of crashing into the stone wall of the garden.

Giles turned her around and fingered the injury carefully, noticing the swath of bruises across her shoulders where her skin was visible above the black tank top she still wore. "You took the brunt of the blow on your back?" he questioned, still fingering her hair aside to assess the bump.

"Yes."

He smoothed her hair back down and turned her back to face him. "I'll bet that hurts but it's only skin deep. It was lucky your shoulders hit first."

"Yeah, lucky."

"Buffy," Giles began carefully. "I don't want to push and I understand if you need time before you can talk about... about what happened, but I need to know if there are any... special threats we should be guarding against."

Buffy looked up and met his eyes. "No, Giles. Nothing..." She stopped speaking and simply looked at him for a long moment.

Giles wished he could make all this go away, or at least easier for her; but it was out of his hands. She was the one who knew what had happened. She alone knew what danger, if any, remained. He could see her thinking, trying to determine if there was anything that couldn't wait. Finally, she sighed and shook her head.

"I don't think so, but..." she bit her lip.

"What?" he prompted.

"I... I don't know if I'm thinking clearly enough. Or... or if I know enough to be sure. I... we're all hurt and tired and... What if I'm wrong? I think I have to tell you... find a way to tell you so we can decide what to do."

During her speech she had become agitated, had reached out and grasped his forearm. Giles put an arm over her shoulders. "All right," he offered, guiding her out of the bathroom and down the hall. "Let's get our tea and see what we can work out."

Buffy carried the tea tray out into the living room while Giles searched his kitchen for biscuits or crackers or something to eat, if they could manage. He was struck by the change Buffy had just demonstrated. Only weeks, perhaps days, ago she would have simply told him everything was fine and left it at that. While he might interpret her expressed uncertainty and admission that she needed his help as a weakness or lack of confidence, he truly saw it as a blossoming maturity. She knew what she thought, but wanted to have his point of view. And she was willing to do something very difficult to be sure he had all the facts at his disposal.

As Giles shuffled into the living room with a plate holding half a loaf of nut bread, a glance toward the window showed him a deep indigo sky with a shading of lavender on the horizon; a precursor to dawn. He settled on the couch as Buffy poured out and he watched her unconsciously fix his cup the way he liked it before offering it to him.

They had much to discuss, and most of it would be painful - but he hoped that by sharing that pain they would be able to take a first tentative step toward healing.