Willow walked into the library after first period, looking for Giles. Buffy was already there, just coming out of his office.

“Hey, Will. You seen Giles anywhere?”

“He’s not here?” Willow asked with a sudden sense of foreboding—Giles the Dependable had never missed a day of work, not even after his ordeal with Angelus.

“Do you think he’s okay? Maybe I should go check on him,” said Buffy, picking up on Willow’s anxiety.

“I’ll check on him,” she said a little too quickly. “You’ve missed two Chem. classes already. And besides, I’ve got a book of his I have to return.”

“Well…I really shouldn’t miss another Chem. class…Are you sure you don’t mind, Willow?”

“Nah. Like I said, goin’ there anyway.”

Willow waited until Buffy was well on her way to class before taking off at top speed to Giles’ place. When she got there and found the door slightly ajar, she knew he was in trouble.

“Giles?” she shouted. “Giles, are you here?”

“Willow!” came his voice from upstairs. “Oh, thank God.”

Willow raced up the stairs and burst into his bedroom just as he was saying, “Don’t come up here…” Willow’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide as saucers. She stood frozen to the spot, fixated by the sight of the bruised and bound wreckage that she barely recognised as Giles.

“Giles!” she cried.

“Well, seeing as you’re here now anyway…would you mind getting me out of this? I’ve lost all feeling in my hands.”

Flustered, Willow hurried to the bed, averting her eyes from his nakedness. She concentrated on the cloth cutting into his wrists. His hands were icy to the touch—she wondered how long he’d been left like this. Her hands danced around the intricate knots, unsure how to untie them.

Giles craned his neck and looked at his panicking young friend. “Willow…”

“I’m sorry, Giles…I just—I’ve never seen knots like these before. I don’t know where to start.”

“Shh…it’s okay, Willow. Calm down.” He waited until she’d taken a couple of deep breaths. “Go down to the kitchen and get a knife. I promise I’ll still be here when you return.” He managed to give her a reassuring smile, but the look of worry on her face only deepened when she nodded back at him and left.

When he was alone again, Giles cursed the demon once more for leaving him in this state. It could have at least covered him up with something. Now Willow was, as Buffy would say, ‘freaked’. And who could blame her? He knew how he must look, tied naked to his bed, but he was well past the point of embarrassment.

Willow returned with a long, serrated knife and immediately started sawing at the bonds. Giles’ freed arms fell limp and heavy onto the bed. He couldn’t move them. Willow looked down at him, lost and confused for a moment. When she snapped out of her daze, she realized that Giles hadn’t moved. She put the knife down and pulled the blanket on the bed over top of him. She then lifted his stiff and lifeless arms, one at a time, and lay them down at his side. Giles groaned at the dull ache in his limbs.

“Are you in pain?” she asked anxiously. “Can I get you something for the pain?”

“A new set of limbs might be useful.” His attempt at levity only resulted in making Willow more distressed. “I’ll be all right, Willow.”

“But your leg…Giles, what did Buffy do to you?”

“Nothing serious…well, nothing life-threatening, at any rate. I think she needs me alive. And Willow, you were right—it wasn’t Buffy.”

Willow sat heavily on the bed next to him, too stunned with relief to trust her legs to support her. “I knew it couldn’t be her…she could never…not to you—she loves you, you know.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I was wrong, either.” Giles winced as he flexed his fingers.

“Pins and needles?” asked Willow. “I can help you with that.” She picked up the arm closest to her and began rubbing it.

“Urrrgh.”

“It’ll help get your circulation going. And what do you mean you weren’t wrong?”

“It was Buffy who attacked me—at least it was her on the outside. Buffy is playing host to some kind of parasitic demon. I’m guessing that when she killed that purple demon the other night, it invaded her body somehow.”

“Oh, God—Buffy!”

“Buffy is unaware of what’s happened to her—I think the demon can only take control of her when she’s sleeping.”

Willow got up and walked around to the other side of the bed where she started working on his other arm. “Should we tell her? I think she should know.”

Giles was silent for a moment. “No,” he said at last. “This demon demonstrated what kind of control it has over her body. It could kill her instantly if provoked—and if it finds out she knows…well, there’s no telling what it might do to her. We can’t risk it.”

“Then we dig into the books—find out how to de-demon Buffy.”

“Yes. But we have to do it secretly. If this demon is conscious of Buffy’s actions during the day, she mustn’t find out what we’re doing. So, the fewer people who know what we’re researching, the better.”

“I can’t tell Xander? I mean—I wouldn’t tell him everything. In fact, I wouldn’t have to tell him much of anything. But we’re going to need help if we want to stop this thing fast.”

Giles thought it over—Xander was not his first choice when it came to subtlety and secrecy, but he was fiercely loyal, and could be persuaded not to ask any questions. Besides, he was becoming quite adept at researching.

“Alright. If you can think of a suitable cover story that he’ll believe, you can ask Xander to help.” Giles managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, his hands reflexively going to his chest, where the broken rib seared him. His face drained of colour.

“Giles, I think we should get you to a hospital.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he wheezed. “I’m fine. And I’ve got to get to the library.” Giles made the mistake of putting on a false bravado, and when he clutched the blanket around him and tried to stand, the combined pain from his rib and his tortured leg became too much for him to bear. Blackness pressed in on him and the world dissolved into a dark, buzzing void.

When he came to, he was on the floor, his head pillowed in Willow’s lap. She was fanning him with her hands and looking around the room in desperation. If she could, she would have willed the phone to leap into her hands.

“Willow?” he said, weakly.

The look of sheer relief on her face made him smile.

“I’m all right, Willow,” he said.

“Yeah, right. That’s what you said last time. No more arguing—I’m getting you to the hospital.”

“Willow, there’s no time for that. Just get me my painkillers; they’re the ones in the skinny vial in my medicine cabinet.” She reluctantly agreed, laying his head down on the floor with great care. As she headed out of the room, he added: “Oh, and I’ve also got some tensor bandages. Can you bring those as well?”

“Okay,” she answered, and trotted down the stairs. She couldn’t believe how calm he was being about all this. Yesterday he’d been close to a breakdown. But then, yesterday, he’d thought it was Buffy hurting him. Now he had a demon to fight, and his slayer to rescue. She supposed that once this ordeal was over, he’d probably fall to pieces. She was pretty sure he was headed for a major melt-down. How much abuse could one man take? First Angelus, then his slayer. Willow felt sympathetic tears welling up in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She needed to be strong for Giles. She had to see him through this.

When she got back he was sitting up and poking his bruised leg methodically. Willow noticed that his knee and ankle were so swollen that his leg looked like a big sausage. It was a rainbow of bruisy colours, ranging from a hideous khaki yellow to a livid purple. It made Willow cringe.

“Can you bend it?” she asked.

Giles’ head snapped up in shock—he hadn’t heard her come in. Willow looked at him apologetically.

“No. I’m afraid I can’t.” He paused and looked at Willow as if trying to size her up. “Ummm… Willow?” he paused again, dropping his gaze to his blanket-covered lap.

“Yes?”

“I-I hate t-to ask you this, but…well…I’m going to need some help getting dressed.” His face burned crimson.

“Giles—of course I’ll help you. Did you think I was just going to leave you lying naked on the floor?” She, too, turned a flaming shade of red. She knelt down next to him and handed him the glass of water and his pills. The bandages she laid on the floor beside him. “Just point me to the right drawers and I’ll get your clothes.” She stared again at his leg. “Better wear baggy pants—your knee’s huge.”

Giles grimaced, trying in vain to make the tight joint bend. He looked up at Willow and sighed. “Top drawer of my dresser—socks and underwear. Next drawer down are my undershirts.”

Willow went over to his dresser and started rummaging through his underwear—an act she found embarrassingly intimate. Then she went through his closet and picked out the most comfortable clothes she could find. She was surprised to find that not all of Giles’ clothes were made of tweed. She handed him her selection, waiting to see if he had any comments on her choices.

Giles said nothing, but he did raise an eyebrow at her when he picked up the blue cable-knit sweater he hadn’t worn in years. It had seen better days, but, then, so had he. He was about to refuse it, but one look at Willow’s expectant smile and he gave in. It may not be what he considered proper wear for work, but it was soft and much more comfortable than his usual suit and tie.

After binding his ribs with the tensor bandages, Willow helped him dress, respectfully averting her eyes when necessary. The socks were tricky. Even the slightest touch to his broken toe made him yelp. Willow kept apologising until she finally got mad.

“This is stupid, Giles! You’re in no shape to go to work. You can’t even put your own sock on. And…and forget about putting a shoe on that foot! It’s as big as a football! You can’t walk…you certainly can’t drive…” she sputtered to a halt, her hands gesturing where words failed her.

“I have to do this, Willow,” he said softly. The distress she heard in his voice instantly deflated her anger at his stubbornness. “We have to find a way to free Buffy from this demon. I can’t…I can’t keep doing this to her.” His voice trailed off to a mere whisper.

“Giles, this isn’t your fault,” said Willow, sitting down next to him. His green eyes found hers and imparted a world of misery.

“The demon told me to come to her tonight. She wants me to…visit her tonight in Buffy’s bedroom.” His lip started to tremble, and he turned his face away. “It’s an obscene violation,” he bit out, turning his suffering into seething hatred.

Willow put her hand gently on his shoulder, but he wouldn’t face her. “I’m sorry, Giles.” The words were entirely inadequate in expressing the depth of her sympathy. “I’ll help you. We’ll get you through this.”

He flashed her a sad half-smile. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Willow. I really do appreciate your help. You’ve already helped me more than you could know.” He cupped her cheek in his hand and she placed hers over it, holding it there. After a moment of companionable silence, Giles dropped his hand.

“Okay, then,” said Willow with as much spirit as she could muster. “Let’s see if we can get you on your feet…or at least your foot.”

It took all Willow’s strength and whatever strength Giles had left to get him off the floor. He teetered precariously on his own for a second before reaching out to Willow for support. By using her as a crutch, Giles made it to the bathroom, then used the sink to hold himself up. He made Willow wait outside while he freshened up. It took a while, but when he emerged, he felt more human.

With his damaged foot left shoeless, and Willow propping him up, they got to the car. Giles sat shotgun and gave Willow her first driving lesson. The little Citroen crept through the neighbourhood, often travelling slower than the pedestrians, as Willow made her cautious way to school.

When they finally limped their way into the library, they came face to face with Principal Snyder. His arms were crossed and he made a show of checking his watch. Willow could feel Giles’ muscles tense up and knew he wanted more than anything to punch the smug expression off Snyder’s face.

“I don’t know how they do things in England, but here in America, we have a little thing called a ‘work ethic’. Not only are you late, but you also seem to be getting a little too familiar with the female students.”

Giles’ arm tightened around Willow’s shoulder. Willow saw his barely contained temper about to explode and decided to diffuse the situation before Snyder ended up swallowing his front teeth.

“You’re lucky he’s here at all. He should be in the hospital right now, but he insisted on coming here instead.”

Snyder looked Giles up and down, and had to admit the man looked like hell. That alone might not have been enough to make him drop the matter, but the murderous gleam in Giles’ eyes was very persuasive. Snyder rubbed his neck, remembering his last encounter with Giles’ anger.

“Well, you should have called,” said Snyder, trying to save face.

“I was hardly in a position to do so,” Giles snarled back at him.

“No…no of course not,” Snyder turned tail and practically leapt out the door.

“Weasley little man,” said Giles as the door swung to behind him.

Willow helped him get settled in his office, bringing him the books he requested.

“Willow,” he said, as he took the mug of tea she offered him.

“Uh-huh?”

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Oh, it’s alright, I can catch up. Besides, you need me. You’ll never get through this stack of books by yourself.”

Giles smiled at her gratefully. As much as he didn’t want Willow to put her life on hold for him, he was relieved she’d offered to stay.