Waking Up in a Coma

by Jeanne DeVore

PART 1

Giles had a headache.

Not that that was too unusual; he'd been prone to them most of his life, and lately they seemed to be getting worse. But this one was a real cracker. His skull throbbed and his vision blurred. Too much work, too little sleep, too much stress, the pattern was a familiar one. He wasn't surprised at the headache; he'd have been more surprised if he didn't have one.

He took a swig of tepid tea and returned his attention to the book in front of him, willing his weary eyes to focus. But the words swam across the page crazily, refusing to form themselves into neat little sentences, and his brain refused to wrap itself around the ones he could see.

He sighed in frustration. Might as well give up, no point in fighting it. He wasn't going to get any more done tonight and better he should quit than he should misinterpret something because of fatigue. That kind of mistake could be deadly. No, go home, find some food, get some sleep, try again tomorrow. He had pills at home he could take for the pain, leftovers courtesy of his last hospital stay. Perhaps that would help.

He stood up, reaching for his jacket when he was overwhelmed by a wave of dizziness. He clutched at his desk chair, trying to keep upright as the world around him tipped wildly and his vision grayed to mere pinpricks.

As his knees collapsed and he crashed to the ground, his last conscious thought was, Dear God, not again...!

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Buffy returned to the library, her two "slayerettes" in tow. Lately they'd been so busy -- Willow and her reconciliation with Oz, Xander and ... well, whatever Xander did with himself these days, and Buffy herself patrolling with Faith and spending time with Angel -- that they hadn't been spending as much time together as they used to. None of them liked the idea of drifting apart, so by mutual consent they'd spent the evening "bonding": a little pizza, a little cemetery hangage.... They'd make a quick check in with Giles, then head back to Buffy's for some mindless television. The TV Guide promised a pivotal episode of "Melrose Place", and while Xander couldn't care less about the story, he enjoyed the ... scenery.

Willow was trying to explain the plot to him as they pushed through the library doors.

"See, Amanda's married to Kyle, but he's gone back to drugs. And Kyle's younger brother, Ryan, he thinks his old girlfriend Megan's gone back to being a prostitute, but she hasn't. She's...."

"And Megan's the blonde with the, ehm...." Xander stumbled to a halt, looking embarrassed.

"That's the one," Buffy confirmed with a smirk. "I'm just surprised you noticed she was blonde."

"Ha ha," Xander snorted. "I'll have you know I always notice what's important."

"Giles?" Buffy called

"Hair color, eyes. Chest size...."

"Hmm, wonder where he is?" she frowned.

"It's you shallow femmes who only pay attention to things like..."

"Giles?" Buffy called again.

"...type of car, bank balance...."

"Giles." Buffy went into his office. "Oh my God! Giles!" Her watcher lay crumpled on the floor and she dropped to her knees beside him. He moved his head and grimaced, a hand going to his brow.

"Ohhh," he moaned.

"Giles, what happened?" Buffy asked.

"Uh...." He struggled to sit up.

"Don't move, stay still," she ordered, pressing him back to the floor. "Were you attacked?" She looked him over, searching for injuries, turned his head gingerly, checking for bite marks.

"Don't..." he struggled to speak. "Just ... got dizzy...." He turned away from her and propped himself on an elbow.

"Got dizzy?" she exclaimed. "More like passed out."

"No, I...." he began, starting to argue with her, then seemed to deflate. "I had a headache, but...." He rubbed at his head like he still did.

"I think you should go to the hospital," Willow said.

"I'll be all right," Giles countered, sitting up.

"Giles, you don't just pass out for no reason," Buffy insisted. "That's something."

"She's right," Xander added. "I mean, usually when we find you on the floor, it's because you've been knocked out. But this time...."

"All I need is something to eat, some sleep, and I'll be fine," Giles replied. But when he tried to get to his feet, he swayed and sat back down again.

"You can't even stand," Buffy said. "We're gonna take you to the hospital. Now you can come along quietly or I can knock you out and drag you there."

"Oh, that'll do my head a world of good," he muttered.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Come on, Giles, please? If it was one of us you'd insist."

For a moment he just sat there, like he was going to argue some more. But instead he nodded wearily and extended a hand, and she and Xander helped him to his feet.

"Do you think we should call an ambulance?" Willow asked.

"I don't need an ambulance," Giles answered. "I don't even need the bloody hospital, but if it will make you happy...."

Buffy smiled grimly. "Oh, yeah, hospitals are my favorite place. But it's the right thing to do, Giles. You know it is."

"I know you won't let me alone unless I do," he said with a sigh. "But I don't need an ambulance. We can drive ourselves."

"Does this mean I get to drive your car?" Xander piped up cheerfully.

"Oh God," Giles groaned, but dug into his pocket for his keys, handing them over. "Only ... be careful. It's ... skittish."

"Giles, cars aren't skittish. Horses are skittish," Buffy explained patiently.

He cast a glance at her. "You've ridden in my car," he said, and she reconsidered.

Giles leaned heavily on Xander as they made their way out of the library. Buffy walked worriedly behind with Willow. Giles just randomly passing out in the library was Not Good. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he just needed to rest. But she'd rather know for sure.

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Giles hated hospitals. He'd seen far more of the inside of Sunnydale General Hospital than he cared to think about, sometimes as a visitor, more often, unfortunately, as a patient. It was one of the things the Watcher's Council never mentioned in their training -- how dangerous this business was for the watcher. Somehow it never occurred to him, back in England, learning how to best support the Chosen One, that he'd wind up in the line of fire. He wondered if other watchers had taken the same kind of beating he seemed to do, or if he were somehow doing it wrong. Except that he knew he couldn't do it any other way. Perhaps he was more proactive than the usual watcher, and perhaps that was why he kept getting himself bashed about. But he couldn't simply sit back and wait while Buffy and the others put themselves in danger night after night. That wasn't his way.

The irritating thing, of course, was that this time he wasn't here because he'd been on the wrong end of a demon somewhere. No, he was here because he'd fainted. Simply keeled over in his office. He'd be more cavalier about it if it had been the first time it had happened, but it wasn't. It was about the fourth in a little under two weeks. He tried to slough it off, tell Buffy he wasn't worried. But truthfully ... he was.

The doctors and nurses knew him by name by now, and when he explained his symptoms, they looked at each other and nodded solemnly. They ran a battery of tests -- all the usuals: blood pressure, temperature, a blood test, reflexes, as well as things like an EEG and a CT scan. It took them bloody hours, and all the time Giles' head throbbed, his blasted headache getting progressively worse. He told them that if they would just give him something for the pain, the dizziness and nausea would probably pass. They merely nodded and did nothing.

Finally, one of the doctors came into his cubicle. The look on her face was grave.

"You're going to tell me to go home, get rest, and stop getting hit over the head, right?" Giles asked.

The doctor didn't smile. "I wish it were that simple," she said. "But it's not. Here." She held out her hand, revealing two small white pills. "This should help with the immediate headache. But you and I need to talk."

Giles went cold and swallowed the pills mechanically.

"You're from England originally, Mr. Giles, is that correct?"

"Yes," he agreed.

"Do you have any family here in the area?"

Giles shivered again. "No. Why?"

"The kids who brought you in...?"

"Friends."

"Good friends?"

"I suppose. Why, what's this about?"

The doctor pulled up a stool. "Perhaps, when we're done, you'll want to call your family back in England."

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Buffy hated hospitals. Really, really hated them. Hated their smell, hated the sound, hated how everybody smiled at you and never told you anything, and especially hated how long everything took. Being a visitor was better than being a patient, she guessed, but just barely. And at least if you were a patient, you usually felt too lousy to be so annoyed. If you were waiting for someone it was just ... boring.

It felt like they'd been waiting forever. No one would tell them anything about their "uncle" -- a charade the hospital staff no longer believed, but accepted for appearances' sake. Giles had been here too many times for it to play anymore.

Willow was dozing against Xander's shoulder. After a momentary hesitation when she debated whether it would be "right" in Oz's absence, she finally reconciled it with her long-standing friendship with Xander and let herself relax. Buffy glanced over at them. She hated to say it, because she really liked Oz, but Willow and Xander looked really cute together. She hoped someday Xander would find a girl as nice as Willow. He deserved the best.

There was a noise and she looked up to see Giles step through the emergency room doors. His jacket was in his hand, necktie and glasses missing, complexion pale and a little gray. Buffy nudged Xander and got to her feet.

"What'd they say?"

Giles just stared at her.

"Giles?"

"I'd like to go home, Buffy," he said by way of an answer, and she was stunned by the weariness in his voice.

Xander had nudged Willow awake and they were both on their feet.

"Sure," Xander answered. "Do you need anything from the nurses? Drugs, prescriptions, appointment card? Barf bag?" He was babbling, but Buffy knew that meant he was worried, too. Giles' pale complexion and terrible stillness were definitely worrisome. Like he was barely holding it together.

He shook his head. "I'd like to leave now, please." He carefully shrugged into his jacket.

"Giles, are you okay?" Willow asked, reaching a hand to him. In some ways, for all Buffy was the slayer, it was Willow Giles was closest to. At least she seemed to understand him best, and he sometimes took things from her that he wouldn't take from anybody else.

But he pulled away from her touch. "I'm ... tired. Can we go now, please?"

Buffy frowned. Something was majorly wrong. Giles wasn't the most forthcoming person, especially not about himself. But this was way Over The Top even for him. She resolved to get to the bottom of this.

"Yeah, we're going," she said. "Come on."

"I'm still driving, right?" Xander asked with a grin, dangling Giles' keys.

Giles simply nodded, not rising to the bait, and they silently made their way to the car. Giles sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed, body rigid with tension. They all noticed it, and silent conversations went between them.

"Are you in pain?" Willow asked, her tiny voice even smaller than usual.

"I've a headache," he answered, the first information he'd given. "I just want to get some rest."

"Chez Giles coming up," Xander said, but Buffy noticed he drove sedately, careful not to jar the obviously fragile man, careful also with his old rattle-trap car.

When they got to the apartment, Xander stopped the car, but Giles made no move to get out.

"We're here," he prompted.

Giles' eyes opened. "I know." He opened the door and climbed out wearily. "Take the girls home and bring the car back to me tomorrow."

There was a stunned silence. Giles never entrusted his car to anyone -- especially not when he wasn't in it.

"Giles--" Buffy began.

"No arguments," he interrupted. "Take her home, Xander."

"Bring it to you at school?" Xander asked.

"No, back here." He straightened. "Good night." Slowly, but not especially unsteadily, he walked toward his apartment.

Buffy opened her door. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Buffy--" Willow protested.

"You heard the man," Xander added.

"Yep. Sure did. Take Willow home, Xand."

"No way." He shut off the ignition. "If you stay, so do we." Willow nodded vigorously.

"Guys," Buffy began, "he doesn't want any of us here, but if I'm gonna find out what's going on, I stand a better chance by myself. If he's gonna fall apart, he won't want an audience."

"He won't want to fall apart in front of you, either," Willow reasoned.

"If I need you guys, I'll call. Now go. And try not to wreck his car." She grinned at Xander, then slammed the car door, not waiting for them to drive away but grateful when she heard the old car start up and putt off into the distance.

She found him outside his door, fumbling with his keys, looking like he had to concentrate in order to find the lock. His movements were slow and deliberate, and one hand held the handle as the other searched out the keyhole.

"Here, let me," she said, taking the keys from him and putting the correct one in the lock.

"I thought I told you to go home."

"You did. I didn't." She opened the door for him.

"Why can't you just once bloody well do what I tell you!" he snapped, angrier than she thought he should have been for such a minor infraction.

"Oh, yeah, you're wandering around like zombie king here, you couldn't even get your door open and I'm supposed to just go home, say 'hey see you tomorrow'? Sorry, Charlie."

She expected an argument. She didn't expect the futility in his voice.

"Buffy, go home. I'm tired. I'm just going to bed, there's nothing for you here." He slowly moved past her into the apartment. He looked defeated, more defeated than she'd ever seen him.

"Tell me what's wrong," she begged.

"Buffy--"

"Come on, Giles. We're supposed to be a team. All for one or whatever. Tell me what happened. You got dizzy and passed out. Now that's unusual by itself, so we--"

"It's not," he whispered.

"Huh?"

"Unusual," he repeated. "The fourth."

She stared, frowning. He was starting to be incoherent. "The fourth what?"

"The fourth time. In the past two weeks."

Buffy blinked. "Fourth time? You passed out four times? And you didn't go to the hospital until we made you? How idiotic is that?" Her words were harsh, but he said nothing, simply gazed at her, an unfathomable expression on his face. "So what did they say?"

He stared a while longer, then sighed heavily, looking away. "They don't know."

"What don't they know? Why you fainted? You were in there for, like, ever, they must've run tests and stuff. What did the tests say?"

"The tests were inconclusive. I need to go back tomorrow for more tests."

"Inconclusive. What does that mean?"

"What it sounds like." His tone was irritated again.

"Yeah, but in order for something to be inconclusive, there has to be a conclusion for it to be inconclusive about. What do they think it is? Inconclusively."

Giles sighed again and sat on the couch, as if he were suddenly too weary to hold himself upright. He rubbed a hand across his face. Without his glasses he looked older and more vulnerable, as if something vital had been drained out of him.

"Please, Giles," she begged. "You're scaring me."

He looked up and the desolation in his eyes almost made her cry. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Tell me what's wrong. Whatever it is, we'll fight it."

"Everything's not about fighting," he countered, but there was very little energy to the rebuke.

"Tell me," she pleaded, sitting at his side. "Please."

He sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. "It seems...." The words caught and he took a breath, forcing himself to go on. "It seems my ... predilection for getting knocked in the head has finally caught up with me."

"You mean you have a concussion? You've had those before." His head must be like rock, the number of times he'd been knocked out.

"Not a concussion," he corrected. "The doctor called it 'post- concussional syndrome'. Lingering after-effects from head trauma."

Buffy frowned, processing the new information. "Okay, but after- effects, right? Like aftershocks from an earthquake. I mean, they go away."

"They don't know," Giles admitted softly. "My being knocked out repeatedly over the past few years has.... It's cumulative. I've been getting severe headaches for ... for some time, but lately they've become much worse. I ... I just thought it was stress...." He looked at her and his devastated expression made her throat tighten again. "Buffy, I ... I don't think I can continue as your watcher."

Her stomach shot down to her toes and she clutched at the arm of the couch to stop reeling.

"You can't," she blurted. "I mean, you don't know, it might not be that serious. You said they weren't sure."

"I know that I have blinding headaches, and dizzy spells, and blurred vision, and that sometimes I can't remember from one minute to the next what I'm supposed to be doing."

"Everyone does that," Buffy dismissed. "You should see my mom when she loses her keys."

But Giles just shook his head. "The difference is that your mother misplacing her keys won't mean the end of the world. My making a mistake on the interpretation of a prophecy just might."

"But ... but if you're careful...."

"Buffy, I can barely see straight! I was trying to read earlier tonight and I couldn't get the words to stay in focus."

"Okay, then, I'll do the reading and tell you what it says."

"And if the writing is in Latin, or ... or Sanskrit?"

Buffy frowned. "I didn't know you could read Sanskrit."

He sighed. "That's not the point."

"No, the point is you think this is gonna hurt the way you do your job. But what I'm saying is that everything will be okay if we help you. I mean, we can all read."

"If I'm that dispensable, why not just call the watchers and be done with it," he said bitterly.

"No!" Buffy jumped to her feet. "We don't need them, coming in and meddling. Criticizing us, like Mrs. Post."

"Mrs. Post was not a watcher."

"She was once. I don't think she was any more critical because she'd gone psycho. I mean, that part was pure watcher. Wasn't it."

It wasn't a question, so he didn't bother with an answer. "I should at least ask them what's happening with assigning a new watcher for Faith."

Buffy shook her head. "Faith's got a watcher: you. We don't need someone coming in here, seeing what's going on and running and tattling to them. We can manage. Faith 'n' me'll train together, so you won't have to, the guys will help with the research, just like they always have--"

"Buffy, why won't you see that what you ask is impossible!" Giles blurted angrily. His outburst surprised her, he so seldom yelled.

"Because it isn't," she insisted. They'd been through problems before, they'd get through this one, too.

"Look at me!" he shouted. "We're not talking a cold or, or a sprained wrist. We're talking brain damage!"

The word fell between them like lead.

"I am brain damaged," he went on, his voice roughening, "and I can't be sure I will ever fully recover. How can I protect you if I can barely function as a human being? How can I give you the support which is your god-given right when I ... I.... Aah!" Suddenly he doubled over, his hands going to his head.

"Giles?" Buffy cried. "What's wrong?" He couldn't even answer, his mouth open in a silent cry. He dropped to his knees, hands pressing on his head, and folded over.

"Oh, my God! Giles! What's wrong? What do I do?" Was this a seizure? Was it part of his injury? What was wrong?

"God ... head," Giles moaned. "Head...."

"Head. Your head," Buffy repeated. "Headache? This is a headache?" It had to be an incredible headache, for it to do this to him, like a monster migraine. "Did they give you anything at the hospital?" she asked. "For headaches?" But he couldn't answer, he simply rocked back and forth on his knees, moaning. If they had, what would he do with it? Pockets! She reached for him, feeling his pants pockets, looking for pill bottles, then scrambled for his jacket. In one pocket she found a written prescription and two blister packs of pills. She didn't know what they were and tried to decipher the handwriting on the prescription, but it was typical doctor scrawl. A quick glance at Giles in agony made up her mind and she popped one pill out of each pack, ran to the kitchen for a glass of water, then hurried back to Giles.

He was now on his side, curled fetally, silence punctuated by grunts of pain.

She dropped to her knees beside him. "Here, Giles, I've got your pills," she said. "I just don't know if they're the right ones, but I have to hope they are." She held his head up, placed the pills in his mouth, and held the cup to his lips. He took several long sips, dribbling water down his chin, but she thought he swallowed them. She set the glass down and rested Giles' head on her lap, her fingers stroking his hair, his temple, his forehead. What if the pills didn't work? What if they weren't supposed to be taken together? What if--

He moaned again. "Shh, just take it easy, it's okay," she murmured, wishing she knew what to do to ease his pain. Her heart was going like mad and her stomach clenched solid. Giles couldn't die. He couldn't!

Slowly, gradually, she felt him start to relax. The tight muscles uncoiled, his hands falling away from his head, and his moans turned into soft sighs. Buffy sniffed, blinking away the tears she didn't even realize had fallen, and wiped gently at the ones on his cheeks. She was still in knots, only now she was starting to shake. Was the crisis really over, or was this just a temporary lull in the storm? And even if it was over, would it happen again?

"Oh, Giles," she whispered.

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In time, the pain retreated to a level which didn't take his breath, as the opiate kicked in. There was a soft feathering in his hair, a sensation he eventually attributed to fingers stroking his head. And his head, he realized, rested in Buffy's lap.

He moved slightly, mostly to assure himself he still could, and she shushed him with soft words and a gentle touch. Further stock revealed they were on the floor, though he had no recollection of ending up there. He shifted again, trying to get his body under his control.

"Please don't tell me that's happened four times before, too," she said softly, a tremor in her voice.

"No," he whispered, his own voice somehow having abandoned him. "This was a first." He lifted his head and she let him, a hand on his shoulder as he pushed himself upright.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I don't know. Suddenly I..." He sat still for a moment, gathering himself. He looked at her; she kept swimming in and out of focus, making him dizzy, and he rubbed his eyes in a futile hope that it would help. "Do you see now why I...."

"Giles, no," Buffy insisted. "We know it won't be easy, but don't give up. We can...."

"I'm not giving up, but--"

"No! Wait til tomorrow, when you hear what the doctors have to say. Maybe they're wrong. Maybe--"

"Something's seriously wrong with me, Buffy," he said quietly, "or this wouldn't have happened."

She stared at him, the fear blazing in her eyes. "Please, Giles, don't give up."

He sighed and smiled wearily. "All right. We'll see what the doctors say tomorrow." She smiled in return and he was surprised by the glitter in her eyes. Then her face slid out of focus again. "Oh, Buffy," he murmured, "I can hardly see you, you're all blurred."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and then she was hugging him fiercely. So fiercely he nearly gasped from the strength of her arms.

"You're gonna be all right," she whispered, her voice determined. "You have to be all right."

Her desperate plea was his undoing; he couldn't stop the sobs which shook him silently. How could he leave this precious child? How could he fail her?

He struggled to speak past his sorrow. "I ... I don't ... I don't know what to...."

"No," she interrupted. "No, don't. Don't try and do anything, not right now. Wait 'til you see the doctors tomorrow. Then we'll figure out what to do."

He no longer had any intention of doing anything else. He nodded and she stroked his head again, resting against her shoulder. He leaned on her, took her strength and made it his own.

Until he felt himself starting to nod and raised his head. Buffy was still an indistinct blur before him. But the warmth of her protective presence was unmistakable.

"The ... I'm ... falling asleep," he said softly. "Those pills are quite effective." The headache was gone. So was his nose, and most of his fingertips. "You'd best be getting home, it's late."

"If you think I'm gonna--"

"Buffy, I'm just going to bed; I'll be all right." He gazed at her, taking her stillness as uncertainty. "You need sleep as well. I suspect these next few days will be ... difficult."

"I can come to the doctor's with you tomorrow," she suggested.

"You have school," he dismissed, levering himself up off the floor. He stood unsteadily, using the back of the couch as a prop.

"Since when has that ever--"

"Buffy, don't argue," he said wearily. "I want you in school where you belong. There's nothing for you at hospital, it's apt to be frightfully dull. I'll talk to you tomorrow, after I'm done there. All right?"

"No." She pouted. "But okay."

He smiled. "Good. Now go home, get some sleep, and I shall do the same." He headed for the stairs, moving slowly, a little unsteadily. Those pills packed a wallop.

"Can you make it upstairs by yourself?" she asked. "Do you need--"

"Buffy, go home," he sighed. "I don't need your help to put myself to bed. Leave me some pride, will you?"

There was silence, as if she didn't know what to make of his comment.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice tiny.

"I'm sorry I snapped," he answered. "But I'll be all right. Now go home."

He heard her sigh. "If you're sure...."

"Good night, Buffy."

"Night." Her voice was soft, disappointed, and she turned toward the door. Certain that she'd actually go this time, Giles started once more for the stairs, only to be stopped by the sound of Buffy coming up behind him and throwing her arms around him in another hug.

"Buffy--" he began, startled.

"We'll manage," she whispered. "We'll make it." Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

"Buffy, I...."

"Night, Giles." She released him, turned, and let herself out of the apartment before he could form a coherent thought. He stood for a long time just staring at the door, bewildered. Then he shook his head. Changeable, that was Buffy. If they made it through this, and he wasn't wholly convinced they would, it would be as a result of Buffy's sheer strength of will.

With a sigh, he dragged himself upstairs to bed.

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"Brain damage!" Willow exclaimed. Xander sat stunned. And Oz, as usual, said nothing, but his hand tightened on Willow's.

"They don't know for sure," Buffy said. "That's why he's seeing the doctor again today."

"But ... but ... brain damage?" Willow repeated, her voice choked.

"He gave it a name: after concussion something..."

"Post-concussional syndrome," Oz supplied. They stared at him. "A cousin of mine was in a car wreck," he explained.

"What happened to him?" Xander asked.

"Hit his head on the steering wheel. Kind of a concussion/whiplash thing going on. It scrambled his brains for awhile."

"But he ... he got better, right?" Willow asked, practically begged.

"Yeah. But it took some time. He was pretty out of it for a while there. Couldn't remember where he was, couldn't remember what he was doing. I don't remember him having headaches, but I guess it can hit everybody differently."

Buffy nodded. "Right now it's headaches, the passing out, and blurred vision. He can barely focus on anything. And last night...." She stopped, not wanting to reveal to the others the true horror of seeing Giles doubled in pain, unable to speak for the agony. "He was in a lot of pain," she concluded lamely. "They gave him something that helped, but then he started falling asleep. I think whatever it was, it was pretty strong."

"Well, that explains why there wasn't any answer this morning when I went to drop off his car," Xander said. "He was probably still asleep."

"Or maybe he was already gone to the hospital," Willow suggested.

"What time was this?" Buffy asked, frowning.

"Eight-thirty."

The frown continued. "Or maybe he didn't answer because he couldn't." She spun. "I'm gonna go over there, check on him." She had visions of Giles, convulsed in agony like last night, unable to even get to his pills. Writhing on the bed, unable to speak, unable to breathe ... maybe passed out ... maybe comatose.... She dashed through the door.

And nearly knocked Principal Snyder off his feet.

"Summers!"

"I ... I'm sorry, Principal Snyder, I--"

"What are you doing in there? The library is closed. And that librarian of yours better have a good explanation for disappearing like this without calling in."

"He's ... I'm sure he's got a good reason," Buffy thought quickly. "You know Giles, he wouldn't--"

"I know I wouldn't trust him -- or you -- as far as I could throw him," Snyder rejoined.

"He--"

"Just let him know, when you see him, that he's treading on thin ice," the little man said ominously. "Now get out of here."

Buffy grinned to herself. That was exactly what she planned on doing. "Yes, sir." She pretended to walk to her next class, but as soon as the troll was out of sight, sprinted for the exit.

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The apartment was empty. His bed was unmade, pajamas thrown haphazardly across it. In the kitchen, a cup sat in the sink and a half-eaten piece of toast lay on the counter. On the desk, a phone book was open to a page of taxi companies, and there was a piece of paper with a number written on it, in a scrawl unrecognizable as Giles' usual writing. From the indications, Giles must have gotten himself to the hospital all right. Who knew how long he'd be gone, and if she waited for him, he'd be mad at her. So with a sigh, she returned to school.

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Giles paid the cab driver and got out in front of the school. The late afternoon hour meant that he'd avoid seeing most everyone and could attend to his business without being disturbed. Then he'd call Buffy, bring her up to date. He supposed the others would need to be told as well -- after all, this would affect them, too.

He opened the library door. The children were sitting around the central table, much like usual, but the atmosphere was anything but normal. They looked up when he walked in and time froze in one of those horrible tableaux.

"Giles--" Buffy began, and Willow jumped to her feet.

"Well, this saves me a phone call," he said, trying to sound light.

"Oh, Giles," Willow cried, her expression crumpling. She ran across the floor and threw herself into his arms. He stood there, stunned for a moment, then put his arms around her in comfort.

"Willow," he soothed, "shh, it'll be all right. Hush now." He looked at the others, still frozen, their faces registering their own grief and shock: Xander staring straight ahead, not looking at him, fear clearly traced across his face; Oz watching Willow, his forehead set in a frown of concern; and Buffy, gazing at him, hope and fear warring in her expression. In his arms, Willow struggled to regain her composure.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"It's all right," he soothed again and eased her from her fierce hug, though he didn't let her go. He looked at the others again. "I take it, then, that Buffy told you."

Oz nodded. Xander still sat silently, his dark eyes wide, uncertain.

"What did the doctor say?" Buffy asked.

"Come and sit down," Giles said, walking over to the table and turning Willow back over to Oz's care. She wiped her eyes and Oz put his arm around her protectively. Buffy sat on the edge of the table, leaving the chair for Giles, and he lowered himself into it gratefully. He looked at Buffy, then at the others. They were waiting for him. Waiting, hoping. Dreading.

"The doctors confirmed the diagnosis."

Buffy closed her eyes and he heard Willow's sharp intake of breath. "But to set the record straight, I'm not dying." He looked directly at Willow. "Given time, I should be fine."

"What can they do?" Xander asked.

"Unfortunately, not much," Giles sighed. "Brain injuries are tricky things. Fortunately, the brain is ... is ... very good at ... at adapting. Compensating. In time, I ought to make a...." His voice caught. The doctor hadn't pulled any punches this afternoon. He was in for a long ordeal, and the possibility that he might not ever regain his faculties.

But they didn't need to know that.

"I ... they've given me something for the headaches, and something to relax me, help me sleep. Apparently, sleep is the best cure there is. And I'm ... they've recommended that I use my eyes as little as possible. At least for the first couple of weeks. After that...."

"What about ... you know ... everything?" Willow asked, still blinking away tears. "Will you still be Buffy's watcher?"

He looked at Buffy who stared at him, her large eyes wide with fear. He gave her a smile he hoped was reassuring. "Buffy won't have it any other way," he said softly. "So we'll give it a try." Buffy let out her held breath. "I can't promise I'll be able to continue, but we ought to see if we can make a go." Buffy nodded and tried to smile bravely. It almost broke his heart to see it. "The one thing I will need to do, however," he looked at the others, "is take a leave of absence from this place." They nodded. "And consequently, I'll need to remove the weaponry and a number of the more ... unorthodox texts." He chuckled ruefully. "They'd be a little hard to explain to a substitute librarian. Oz..."

"No problem." The boy nodded. "We can use my van."

"Thank you. If you'd all be so good...."

As one they rose, mobilized. They were at their best when they were active. "Everything from the cage and all of the middle two shelves in the occult section," he told them. "Then the special collection in my office." They nodded and started to work, and he retired to his office to take care of some final business there.

Buffy followed him in. He sat at his desk before turning to where she hovered near the door uncertainly. "Do you ... you know, do you need anything?" she asked.

He smiled gently and shook his head. "I need to write my letter to Principal Snyder. I dare say he'll be elated to have me gone."

"Yeah, but it's not permanent." Buffy frowned. "I mean ... you're coming back, aren't you?"

His smile became something sadder. "I dearly hope so. But it will depend on ... on how things go. I'm not resigning, if that's what you mean. At the very least, my status of medical leave insures I continue to draw a paycheck and retain my medical coverage. Since your lot have such miserable health care in this country, I'm rather dependent on holding onto what little I've got. Still," he sighed, "at least I can't complain about the level of care I'm getting. The hospital has an excellent neurology staff, for a fairly small institution."

Buffy frowned."What do you need neurology for?"

"Buffy, brain injuries are neurological ones. I saw a neurologist today."

Buffy sat on the edge of the couch. "What did he say?"

Giles smiled. "She ... was very direct. I'm in for a long recovery. But if I'm careful ... and avoid getting hit on the head for a while ... she expects me to make a great improvement."

Buffy stared at him. "But not a cure?"

Giles swallowed. He wanted so much to lie to her, tell her everything would be all right. But he couldn't do that. She, more than anyone, had the right to know what he ... what they were up against. "It's too soon to tell. Perhaps. Or perhaps the brain will compensate for the things it can no longer do the way it used to. But there's also a possibility that I...." He shook his head. "It's just too soon."

Buffy's head was bowed and he saw her swallow. When she looked up, her eyes were brimmed with tears. "This is all my fault."

His mouth opened in surprise. "How do you figure that?"

"All the times you got hurt, it happened because you were helping me. If it wasn't for me you'd--"

"Buffy, you can't play the 'if' game. We don't know what might have been. Perhaps I would have been safer, perhaps not, we don't know." He paused, considering. "I don't think most of the watchers are in the habit of getting bashed about the way I do." He gave a half-smile. "I think I must be doing something wrong."

Buffy ignored his feeble whimsy. "Well, it won't happen any more," she said sternly. "I won't let you. I want you here for a long time, so you're gonna have to be Mr. Caution Guy from now on."

That did make him smile. "I'll do my best. Now," he sighed, "I do need to get this letter written. Why don't you help the others?" She nodded and stood up, heading for the door. "Oh, and--" She turned back. "Could you try and cheer Willow up? I feel guilty, like I should be sicker or something." Buffy grinned and left his office. He sighed, his smile fading. This was going to be even more difficult than he'd anticipated.

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Some time later, his letter was written and in Principal Snyder's mailbox. When he returned to the library, he discovered that they were ready with the first load. Eventually, it took three trips to get it all over to Giles', even with Xander following in the Citroen, and by the time they were done, his apartment was filled to overflowing with ... things.

Willow switched into "organized" mode and directed the operation. She knew exactly which books to take, which to leave, and once back at Giles' apartment, set about arranging it all. It was good to give her something to focus on. And if the banter in the group felt a little forced, at least it wasn't that terrible stillness from before.

Giles felt another headache encroaching and considered taking one of his pills, but he didn't want to get knocked out while the children were still here. And their nervous chatter made it clear they weren't going anywhere any time soon. He would have liked to send them on their way, but he'd never kicked them out before; his home had always been a place they all could come when things became too intense at the library. Now with the library no longer an option for them, he knew they would want to congregate here instead.

So he took a handful of regular aspirins, washed down with tepid tea, and watched them as they mucked about in his living room, attempting to enforce order on the chaos.

"Um, if you want to order dinner, feel free," he said.

They all stopped, staring at him. Then Xander grinned. "Pizza?"

"Whatever you like."

"You paying?" Xander asked cheekily and Giles couldn't help his answering smile.

"Don't I always?"

Buffy moved to his side, frowning. "Are you sure you're up to--"

"Buffy, don't fuss!" he snapped. They all fell silent again and he realized his reaction had been a bit harsh. He sighed. "I'm sorry, my head aches again, I didn't mean to ... to...." He closed his eyes, gathered himself together, then opened them. They were all staring at him. "Yes, I'm sure. You all must eat."

"So must you," Buffy answered, her voice a soft echo of his own. "But we don't...."

"I don't--" He stopped and tried again. "This isn't easy for any of us, Buffy. But it behooves us to try and soldier on as best we can." He looked at the rest of them. "Order the pizza, Xander, here's to pay for it." He set a twenty dollar bill on the desk. "I'm going to...to rest until it arrives." He looked down at Buffy, offered her a gentle smile and a brief touch of her shoulder, then took himself upstairs.

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Buffy watched Giles go, frowning. His face was starting to get that squinchy look again, like he had last night. He had to be hurting. Maybe he needed his pills. She started for the stairs.

"Buffy--" Willow's soft voice called her back and she turned around. Her friend was shaking her head.

"But he's--"

"He's just trying to make the best of it," Oz said, completing Willow's thought.

"He shouldn't have to put up with us, though," Buffy insisted, her voice pitched low so as not to carry to the loft above. "Invading his house, using his money, eating his food...."

"It's his choice, Buff," Xander said. "You heard the man."

"He's trying to survive," Oz went on. "If you treat him like an invalid, he'll become one."

Buffy pursed her lips in consternation. "You guys didn't see him last night. If I hadn't been here, I don't know what would have happened."

"But you're here now," Willow said. "If he needed you, you'd be here. But he wants to try and go on like normal, so that's what we should do. I know you're worried. So am I. But he needs us to pretend that everything's okay."

Buffy bit her lower lip and gazed up at the low beams that separated her from her watcher. When she looked down again, she felt her eyes fill. "I'm scared, Will," she whispered.

Willow's face crumpled and the two girls moved into each other's arms, holding on for security and comfort. In a moment, other arms joined them as the four of them hugged, taking their strength from each other. Then the hug broke.

Xander wiped a hand over his eyes, sniffing. "Man, I'm glad he didn't see that," he whispered.

"Worried about your reputation?" Buffy teased, wiping at her own tears.

Xander just shook his head. "Don't want him to feel any worse."

They all looked away uncomfortably. Giles wanted them to behave normally and here they were bawling in each others' arms in the middle of his living room.

"Why don't you call for the pizza?" Oz said, his arm still around Willow. Xander nodded and moved to the phone, and the others went back to sorting out the mess.

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Upstairs in the semi-darkness, with the soft buzz of the children's voices below him, Giles lay on his bed and let the tears slip silently from behind his closed eyes.

PART 2

When the pizza came, Buffy headed for the stairs, only to meet Giles coming down.

"I was gonna call you," she said.

"I heard the door," he replied and followed her back downstairs. "Do I have any change coming?" he asked Xander.

"On a family-sized pizza, you've gotta be kidding." Xander smirked, digging a piece out and putting it on a plate which he handed to Giles.

"One can dream," Giles sighed.

"Are we out of root beer?" Willow asked from the kitchen.

"Unless there's any under the counter," he said.

"We should have ordered some," Oz commented.

"Oh dear, no root beer, however will we eat our pizza," Giles added sarcastically, but his teasing smile took the sting out of the words.

"Last can." Willow came out of the kitchen. "We can share it." She smiled at Oz. Then to Giles she said, "I put the kettle on."

"Thank you."

"How are you feeling?" Buffy asked.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Buffy, if you continue to ask me that every few minutes, we'll never get anything accomplished. I'm fine. I've a bit of a headache, but it's nothing I can't manage."

Buffy stared at him. She'd done it again. She'd upset him. And all she wanted to do was make him feel better. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. "So am I." He put a hand on her shoulder and ushered her into the back hallway by the bathroom, where they could talk in almost private. "You're discovering one of my less appealing traits; when I'm feeling poorly, I get snappish. I'm sorry, I'm not meaning to take it out on you."

"That's okay," she said softly. He was apologizing to her when it should be the other way around.

He continued. "I understand your concern. And I appreciate it. But I.... It's not helping, being reminded." He gazed at her. He was blinking a little more than usual, but his eyes were soft and full of affection. She'd never noticed before, he had pretty eyes. Only now, as well as everything else she could see there, there was pain. She wondered whether he could see her, or whether she was all blurry, like she was to him last night.

"I feel so ... so helpless!" she complained. "I'm used to enemies I can fight. How do I fight this?"

"There's only one way that I know of," he said. "With patience."

Buffy looked down, then raised her eyes to him. "I don't do the patience thing very well."

"Then consider it a learning experience," he teased gently. Then his smile faded. "Seriously, Buffy, all we can do is what we're doing. There are going to be things I won't be able to do for a while, things I'll need your help with. But day to day...."

"We get to go on like nothing's wrong," Buffy completed. It sounded so false to her, so hollow. Everything was wrong, everything had changed.

"We get to make the best of it," he corrected. "Can you do that?"

"You know you don't have to put up with us," she said, and he frowned, as if trying to follow her train of thought. "If you want some quiet time, we'll go, it's no biggie."

He shook his head, smiling. "My head is going to hurt whether you're all here or not. And at least this way I know you're safe."

She smiled up at him. He was worried about them. And she was worried about him. Her eyes misted again and she blinked the tears back; somehow she didn't think he'd appreciate knowing she was crying over him. Besides, it was her turn to be strong for him.

He seemed to know exactly what she felt, the same way he often knew everything, even without being told. Because he reached out and touched her cheek gently, keeping his hand there for a long moment before withdrawing. "I need you to be strong for me, Buffy," he whispered. "I expect I'll need that quite a bit in the coming weeks."

She almost lost it again. But she managed to find a smile for him. "I'm your girl."

His answering smile almost banished the lingering pain in his eyes. "Always."

A sound in the other room intruded, then Willow called, "Giles? Your tea's done."

"Thank you, Willow," he called back. He looked back at Buffy and she was amazed that despite the pain, there was something ... calming ... in his gaze. "Our pizza is getting cold," he said and raised an arm to usher her back to the living room. The others were sitting scattered about the room, leaving seats on the couch free for them. Buffy picked up her plate, handed Giles his, and settled down.

The mood in the living room as they ate was considerably more comfortable. They talked about nothing in particular, nothing important. Nobody wanted to have important thoughts tonight.

There was a stack of books on the coffee table. Well, really, there were stacks of books just about everywhere, but Buffy noticed the ones on the coffee table when one of them caught her eye. Abridged Demon Index. She wondered what Giles would do with all these books here he wasn't supposed to read. If a problem arose, would he just charge ahead and start reading anyway? And if he did, would it hurt him? Of course, Giles knew so much, he probably only used his books to double-check himself. Oh, not that he knew everything, but he sure knew at least where to look. And he knew what it was when he found it. Whatever "it" was. She'd bet that he could take your generic "demon-on-the-street" and be able to identify it without too much reading involved.

She glanced over at him; he'd put his plate down and was sipping his tea, listening to the banter of the others.

"Oh, hey," she said, setting her own plate aside. "With everything that happened, I never told you about patrol last night."

An eyebrow raised. "Anything significant?"

"Dunno about significant, but it's worth mentioning."

"All right, then."

"Close your eyes and I'll tell you all about it."

He chuckled. "Why should I close my eyes?"

"Because you're supposed to be resting them. Now close or I won't tell you what happened."

With a heavy sigh, he complied. "Are you going to be insufferable now?"

"Nah, that's your job. Okay, all closed? No peeking?"

"Buffy--"

"Okay, okay, just checking. Anyway," she reached for the Abridged Demon Index, opening it to a random page, "I did a standard cemetery sweep, then went down near the pier." She flipped a couple more pages. "Pretty quiet. But then all of a sudden there was this demon. Keep your eyes closed!"

Giles sighed again. "What kind of demon?"

"I don't know, that's what I was hoping you could tell me." She found a promising looking candidate in the book.

"What did he look like?"

"Um..." Buffy quickly scanned the page. "Around normal height. Green. Giles, why are most demons green?"

"They're not; most of them are brown. Well, greenish brown, I suppose. As to why, I don't know. Green, and what else? Horns?"

Buffy looked again, describing the illustration in front of her. "No horns. Big pointy ears and dog teeth. Wasn't really -- you know that 'I'm a demon and I pump iron' look they've got going? All washboard abs and stuff? Well, this one looked more like ... like a couch-demon. Kinda pudgy. Oh, and his fingers were webby. He was pawing through some garbage bins. He saw me and took off. I ran after, but he outran me. Any clues?"

Giles frowned. "Well, except for the fact that you've seen him here in Sunnydale, I'd almost think it was a Kaiukuk demon, but I've never heard of them outside the jungles of South America."

Buffy froze; she quickly scanned down the page. There under "habitats" listed the Brazilian rain forest. Darn, she should have noticed that before she picked this one. When she looked up from her book, Giles' eyes were open, gazing at her.

"You should do your research more carefully," he said quietly.

Buffy slowly closed the book. "Yeah, but it proved my point."

"Which was?"

"That you don't need to look the stuff up, you already know it. You don't need to be dependent on your books."

"I don't know everything, Buffy."

"But you know enough. We can do this, Giles. We can."

"And I told you we'd at least give it a try," Giles countered. "But all foes we encounter won't necessarily be from the Abridged Demon Index."

"Then we'll deal," Xander said. "Hey, what have we been doing these past two years if not becoming a crack research team?"

"Yeah," Willow added, "we can look stuff up, you can ... you know ... know stuff."

Giles smiled. "All right. I said we'd give it a go. At the very least," he looked pointedly at Xander, "we'll see whether you lot have actually learned anything."

"Study-guy, that's me," Xander quipped.

"Yeah, except for that pesky going to class thing," Buffy shot back.

"Hey, is it my fault classes are boring?" Xander defended.

----------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------

The conversation degenerated into good-natured teasing and Giles smiled affectionately. They would try, God love them, to make everything as normal as possible. He was grateful to them for that.

Eventually, the headache became bad enough that the aspirins weren't doing the job any longer. He knew he'd need to take his pain pills and didn't especially want the children here when they knocked him out.

He cleared his throat. "I'm going to send you all home now; I need to get some sleep."

As a group, they got to their feet. "See you tomorrow?" Willow asked.

"Of course. If you want to come by after school, that's fine. But I don't want any of you coming over here while you're supposed to be in class. Is that understood?" he looked pointedly at Buffy.

She stared at him for a moment, as if daring him to enforce his edict. He simply stared back and eventually she lowered her gaze and nodded.

"I'll see you all tomorrow," he said gently and moved to let them out the door. Willow stopped him with a quick, tight hug, one which she quickly backed away from, embarrassed. Xander stood there awkwardly for a moment, then put his hand out. Giles took it and initiated the embrace he suspected Xander wanted but didn't know how to ask for. He was surprised by the fierceness of the boy's reaction, though he supposed he shouldn't be. They fought terribly sometimes, but Giles knew that Xander looked up to him as perhaps the only male role model he had -- lord knew he didn't get that from his home. Xander also broke the hug quickly, as if embarrassed. They were all friends, but their relationship had always been that of work, not simply socializing. This changed everything. Oz also extended his hand and clasped Giles' forearm. There were no words between the two of them; there seldom were. But Oz never forgot just what he owed Giles. He remembered it every month.

There were murmured good nights, and the three children left, only Buffy remaining. Giles looked at her.

"I can stay--" she began.

"Buffy, we went over this last night. I'll be all right. Now you go home and get some sleep."

For a moment, he thought she was going to protest. But she simply moved forward and hugged him tightly, her head resting against his chest. He held her close, so very grateful to her. Praying to gods he didn't even believe in anymore that somehow he would make it through this. For her.

Eventually, he released her and she reluctantly backed away. "See you tomorrow," she said softly.

"Of course. But--" he held up a finger, "not til after school."

She made a face. "Can I at least call and make sure you're all right?"

"Buffy, I'll be fine. I'm going to spend the day sleeping and I won't want to be awakened by the phone."

"Yeah, but what if you have another one of those attack things?"

"Then I'll take my pills and go back to bed. I'll be all right." He touched her cheek, gently. "Now stop fretting."

"I can't help it," she mumbled.

He smiled sadly. "No more than I can help fretting over you, I suppose. That's what happens when two people ... care about each other."

The silence between them was tangible. They'd never discussed how they felt about each other. He had to believe she cared for him. And his love for her was undeniable fact. But it had never been spoken. As if somehow the words themselves bore too much import and it was easier -- and safer -- to ignore them.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I guess it does." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, Giles."

"Good night, Buffy." He let her out and closed the door, resting his forehead against it for a moment before summoning the energy to get ready for bed. He wondered whether his roiling emotions weren't yet another side-effect of his injury. He hadn't recalled ever being quite so willing to simply break down in tears. Not even after his mother died when he was a teenager.

It was difficult, keeping up the facade in front of the children, pretending for them that he was coping and that eventually everything would be all right. That's what he'd always been -- the one who made everything all right. But not this time.

This time he was scared. Absolutely shit-scared. Afraid that when he closed his eyes, he'd never open them again. Afraid that even those faculties which remained to him would be taken. Afraid that he'd never regain any of them. It hurt. More than the physical pain of the headaches or the insistent slight feeling of nausea, the pain of loss was almost unbearable. Giles had never considered himself a vain man, but he did hold a certain pride about his intelligence and his cleverness. To have what he considered to be his greatest assets taken from him....

The simple idea was devastating -- it sucked all the air out of the room so that even taking a breath was agony. Who was a watcher who couldn't watch? Who was a scholar who couldn't read? Who was a learned man who couldn't remember?

Nothing.

A sob escaped him before he knew it. And another, and another. He slid down the wall next to the door as the sobs convulsed through him. They made his head pound unmercifully, but he couldn't stop the deluge.

He didn't know how long he sat there, by himself, crying. He only became aware when the tears slowly ended, replaced by a numbing nothingness. Only his pounding head told him he was still alive. Because the dead probably didn't get headaches.

That's something I'll have to ask Angel, he thought inconsequentially. If the dead get headaches.

He chuckled to himself. He hadn't seen Angel since Christmastime, preferred it that way, and the vampire seemed to understand and respect his wishes. He couldn't help Angel's being back in Buffy's -- in all their lives. But he didn't have to socialize with him.

The thought of Buffy brought all the pain back and he groaned. That was the worst, what this would do to Buffy. She was trying so hard to be strong, God love her, to assure him everything was all right, would be all right. But they both knew it wasn't, it might not ever be again. Giles knew one piece of the puzzle Buffy didn't: that if he called the watchers and requested assistance, there was a good chance they wouldn't simply send someone to help him. They'd send someone to replace him.

A long, unhappy association between himself and the watchers meant he was far from their favored son. In fact, he'd had his own suspicions that the reason he was assigned to Buffy after Merrick's death was that they expected him to fail. An inexperienced, untrained Slayer who'd already gotten one watcher -- one who'd been greatly admired among the Council -- killed, was hardly a "plum" assignment. While Giles hadn't been pleased to receive the call, abandon his life and move halfway across the globe, he'd been secretly proud that he'd finally been deemed worthy enough to be so rewarded. It wasn't until he got here and met Buffy, until he started researching exactly what they faced here on the Hellmouth that he realized the assignment wasn't a reward after all. It was a death warrant. They expected him to fail, and for him and probably Buffy to be killed. Two unfortunate problems taken care of. The next slayer gets called and the Council goes on.

But Buffy had surprised all of them. They should have realized when she defeated Lothos that she was more gifted than they'd assumed. But beyond her special gifts as a slayer was the extraordinary person of Buffy herself. No, she wasn't an ordinary slayer. She was exceptional. And that's what made her so very good. And Giles had discovered -- rediscovered, actually -- the ability in himself to think on his feet, to improvise, and to "make things up" as they went along. It had been terrifying and freeing in equal measure, to take a proactive role in his slayer's life and duty, and in the more than two years they'd been together, they'd become a cohesive team. He understood Buffy, knew how she worked, adapted to work with her. And she'd learned how to work with him, how to trust his judgment, how to rely on his advice and knowledge.

And now it was all being taken away from him. Buffy had proved to be a very gifted, talented slayer, and the Council were quite impressed with her. If they learned of his injury, they'd take it as a sign of failure on his part. They'd send someone who was, in their opinion, more qualified to be Buffy's watcher. Someone for whom it really was a plum assignment. Giles would be sent home in disgrace, a watcher having failed his slayer.

He couldn't let that happen. He knew that logically, it shouldn't make a difference, that whatever was best for the slayer was the action that should be taken. But he didn't want to leave! The work here was too important, Buffy was too important for him to leave. He'd left everything behind when he came here and now his entire world revolved around Buffy and the others. He actually liked his life here. He didn't want to give that up. Even more than that, Buffy herself had made it clear she wanted him here. She refused even to consider contacting the Council, as if instinctively knowing that intervention by the Council would mean the end of their relationship as Watcher and Slayer.

All right, then. He'd try. He'd do everything in his power to beat this, to overcome the pain and the incapacities. He'd find a way.

He just didn't know how. Wearily, he climbed to his feet and got ready for bed.

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The door opened to Buffy's knock. Faith grinned at her fellow slayer. "Hey, girlfriend, what's up?"

"Something's happened," Buffy said, moving past the other girl into the small room.

Faith laughed and closed the door. "Hate to break it to you, B, but stuff happens around here all the time."

"It's Giles."

Faith stopped. "What about him?"

"He ... oh, God, he's ... he's hurt."

"Hurt how?"

"It's ... he got knocked out last week, and after what happened to him with Mrs. Post and some other times he's been hurt, he's ... he's having after-effects."

Faith frowned. "How bad?"

"Bad enough. He's taken sick leave from the library," Buffy explained. Faith turned away and Buffy couldn't tell what the other girl was feeling. "Faith?"

"I heard you." She turned back, her face an impassive mask. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

Buffy was stunned. She knew Faith wasn't anywhere near as close to Giles as she was, but still.... "I just thought you should know."

"Why? I mean, I'm sorry he's sick, but he's not my watcher."

Buffy's mouth opened. "The Council said...."

"I don't give a flying ficus what the Council says," Faith spat. "And neither should you. God, B, my watcher was killed! And those bastards never did anything. Giles asked them for help, for another watcher for me, and they ignored him. Maybe it's just 'cuz they don't care what happens to me 'cuz they've got you, but ... but I don't think so. I mean, what have they ever done for you, either? They sit on their fat, watchery butts and they think they know everything but they don't know jack. Giles is a great guy and a good watcher, but those boneheads don't realize it. Hell, they'd probably be glad he's hurt. They'd be happier if he was dead."

Buffy just stared at her fellow slayer. She'd never heard Faith get that passionate about anything, not even slaying. She especially didn't know Faith felt that way about Giles.

Her outburst over, Faith stood next to the dresser, fiddling with her hairbrush. The slump in her shoulders told Buffy exactly how this news had affected her.

"So anyway," Buffy went on, "he thought we should go back to training together, because it would be easier for him, you know, to avoid getting hit again."

It took a while, but finally the other girl raised her head. "How is he? Really?" The catch in her voice was a surprise.

"The doctors say he should make a full recovery. But he needs to be patient, and he needs to be careful. He gets headaches and dizzy spells. Mostly he's sleeping a lot."

Faith nodded. "You ever had a concussion?" Buffy shook her head. "I have. Not fun. Everything feels kinda ... one step removed, you know? Is he ... you know how sometimes gettin' hit in the head can make people kinda crazy?"

"He's a little short-tempered, but other than that ... he's still Giles. Maybe a little quieter, a little sadder. He doesn't say anything, you know, tries to act like everything's normal. But I think he's scared."

A harsh laugh tore from Faith. "No shit, B. Giles is brain-guy. Mr. Intellectual. Take that away from him and what's left? If I was him, I think I'd be lookin' for the nearest tall building."

Buffy went cold. She'd seen Giles suicidal before. When he'd found out Eyghon was back, and again when Ms. Calendar was killed. That last was the scariest. It was like he didn't care what happened to him. If he was upset enough by all this that he didn't care again.... Oh, god, and with those strong pills, and Giles liked to drink when he was upset.... He might not even mean to do it but if he was in enough pain.... Or maybe that's why he was so insistent about not wanting her there ... he needed to get her out of the way in order to.... Oh God....

"He'll be okay," she forced herself to say.

Faith shrugged. "You know him best."

She did know. And that's what scared her. "I, um, gotta go."

"Patrol tonight?" Faith asked.

"Yeah. See you later."

"See you."

Buffy let herself out and dashed back to Giles'.

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He was asleep. At least he looked asleep. He was resting on his side, one hand curled on the pillow next to his face. Buffy leaned close, trying to see if he was breathing, and had to listen carefully to hear his soft breaths. She let her own breath out in relief. She looked at the night stand for his pills, but they weren't there. That was good, anyway. It meant he'd need to go downstairs to get them.

She gazed at him again. Even in sleep, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. Like he was still in pain, even sleeping. Oh, God, how would they ever get through this? She wanted him to wake up and tell her it was all a bad dream. But that wasn't going to happen. This was real, and like it or not, they were stuck with it.

She went downstairs, looking for his prescriptions. There was a whole shelf in the bathroom filled with little pill bottles, some of them from last year. From last spring when Giles had been.... There were pain pills, lots of them. And some other things she didn't know what they were for. The two newest bottles were on the sink ledge and Buffy examined them. She dumped each bottle out in her hand and counted the tablets, comparing the number with what was written on the bottle. It didn't look like he'd taken any more than he should have.

Putting the pills away, she headed back to the living room. She looked around, sighing in frustration. If ever a place was a suicide's dream, this was it. There were swords, axes, knives, stakes. A shelf in the living room held a decanter of something that was probably scotch, and she knew there were other bottles of liquor in the kitchen. She couldn't danger-proof his home, not without him knowing. And if she mentioned it to him, it would just make him mad -- like she didn't trust him. Trust was a huge issue with Giles. She'd come too close to messing that one up too many times to risk doing it again.

She dragged a hand through her hair as she took a shuddering breath. She'd just have to be extra-vigilant, and if he got mad, tough. She wasn't gonna lose him. Couldn't lose him. Sometimes knowing he was there when things got rough, his faith in her even when she didn't deserve it -- sometimes that was all that kept her going. She hid stuff from him, sure. But that was because it was stuff she knew would make him mad. Or worse, disappointed. His disappointment in her, that look he got in his eyes, was just about the worst thing on earth. So she tried to never disappoint him.

And ended up hurting him instead.

A hand rubbed over her face. She'd promised Faith they'd patrol together tonight. And she'd better make an attempt at her French homework before then; there was supposed to be a quiz tomorrow. With a last look at the loft above, Buffy reluctantly left the apartment.

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The insistent knocking woke him from his sleep and Giles peered blurrily at the clock. 9:37. Only the sunlight coming in through the skylight told him whether it was morning or evening. His own body clock had certainly gone to hell.

The noise continued and he struggled out of bed, grabbing his robe and tying it around himself. Who could be at the door? Buffy had a key, had had one since she'd broken the door down last year in a panic, only to discover Giles had been in the shower and simply hadn't heard her knock. And the others would come with Buffy. Besides which, they were all supposed to be in school, he'd been adamant about that.

He stumbled down the steps. "Coming," he called. Those sleeping pills worked extremely well. The only problem was they tended to throw his coordination for a loop for a good hour after he woke up. He finally got to the door and opened it. Joyce Summers stood there, a shopping bag in her hands.

"...Ah ... Mrs. ... ah ... Joyce," he stammered. "This is a surprise."

"Oh, I woke you," she said unhappily. "I'm sorry."

"No, that's all right, I needed to be getting up anyway." He stared at her for a moment. She looked as uncomfortable as he felt. "What can I do for you?"

She swallowed. "Buffy told me what happened."

"Ah." He stood back to let her enter.

"And I know you're not sick in the usual sense, but...." She held out the bag. "It's chicken soup."

He smiled, touched by the gesture. "Thank you. It's very appreciated. Anything I don't have to prepare myself at the moment...." He took the bag from her, carrying it into the kitchen.

"There are also brownies in there," she said.

"Oh, thank you." He laughed. "Buffy must have told you my hidden weakness."

"Well, I know you like chocolate," she said ironically.

He almost dropped the bag. He looked at her and she returned the gaze, almost daring him to say anything more. Daring him to, hoping he wouldn't. "Er, yes," he managed and set the bag on the counter. "Well, thank you very much. They'll both go down a treat."

She continued to gaze at him, her scrutiny making him uncomfortable.

"Is there...?"

"How are you doing?" she asked, concern clear in her voice, those large liquid eyes full of compassion. It really was too bad Joyce was the slayer's mother; there was a great deal there to like.

"I'm doing the best I can," he said simply. "I'm sleeping a lot, which the doctors say is good. Sometimes the headaches are bad, but I haven't passed out since I started the medication, so.... In fact, I rather suspect the most difficult thing may well be boredom. If I'm not sleeping ... I'm not supposed to read. I haven't figured yet how to occupy my time."

Joyce gave a worried smile. "Buffy was very upset last night," she said.

"I'm sorry, I--"

"In fact, I don't think I've ever seen her that upset, not even when her father left us." She gazed at Giles directly. "I don't want you to think I'm not sympathetic to what's happened, and if there's anything I can do I will, but ... but are you sure you can still be Buffy's watcher? Are you up to it? Physically?"

Giles closed his eyes. She wasn't asking anything he hadn't asked himself many times over these past days. But somehow, coming from her, it hurt.

"No," he said simply. "No, I'm not sure. But Buffy wants me to continue, so...."

"Buffy may not be thinking clearly right now," Joyce said.

"Perhaps not," he agreed. "On the other hand, she's the one who matters in all this. So I've got to consider her feelings on the subject."

"But if you can't do all the things you usually do to keep her safe, then...."

"Joyce, I understand all that, believe me. And if I felt my ... my incapacities were putting her at risk, I would call for assistance, no matter what Buffy thought."

"But by that time, it could be too late."

He sighed. That wasn't anything he hadn't thought of, either. "It's still very early days yet. Right now we're treating this as no differently than, oh, than if I had a nasty bout of flu. So far, thankfully, things are relatively quiet. But if that changes ... then we'll cope. If coping means we need to call for assistance, then that's what I'll do." He gazed at her directly. "I won't endanger Buffy, no matter what her feelings on the subject are."

Joyce bit her lip worriedly. "I don't know how to say this. It's not that I don't trust you, but I.... Buffy cares a great deal for you. Before I knew about the whole thing about Buffy's being the slayer, I used to listen to her talk about you.... Giles says this, Giles said that. I thought she had a crush on you." Joyce gave a small, tentative smile.

"I care a great deal for her," he answered.

"I was glad when she seemed to be looking up to you. With Buffy's dad not in the picture, I thought it was good that there was an adult male in her life who could ... well, not exactly serve as a father figure but ... you know. Someone she could turn to if she needed to. I do my best, but ... but sometimes what you need is a male perspective."

Giles smiled. That was a high compliment, coming from Joyce.

"That's why I was so upset when I learned about the slaying and your role in that. I felt like you were taking advantage of her. She looked up to you and you abused that privilege." Joyce's eyes flashed anger, then just as quickly, the look was gone. "But I know it's not like that. I suppose I still resent that you have this huge part of her that I can't ever have, but I do understand it, at least a little. I hate the whole slayer thing, but it's a little easier to cope with, knowing she's not alone.

"I just...." She sighed and took another breath. "I know how much she cares for you, and Buffy doesn't always think clearly where people she loves are concerned. So what I'm asking is for you to be the adult here and do what's right, no matter what she might think."

Giles was stunned. He'd never given Joyce a great deal of credit for astuteness, figuring she used willful blindness as a coping mechanism. But it was obvious she saw ... and understood ... more than she let on. He nodded slowly. "I don't know if you believe that no matter what, I have Buffy's best interests at heart...." She nodded. "I know that this has ... has shaken her. It's shaken all of us. Perhaps that's why she's clinging so hard right now. And I don't doubt that there are others, other watchers, who could do what I do for her, perhaps some who could do it better. But Buffy, for whatever reason, wants it to be me. She's already lost one watcher. She doesn't want to lose another."

"One watcher?" Joyce frowned.

That's right. Joyce wouldn't have known about Merrick. "Her first watcher, in Los Angeles, the year before you moved here."

Joyce was silent, considering. "He's the one who told her she was the slayer?"

"Yes."

Joyce nodded again. "When she started having all the troubles."

"I imagine so, yes," he agreed, thinking not for the first time how tragic the arrangement was, that decreed that one girl was the Chosen One, and she had to sacrifice her life to her calling.

"What happened to him?"

Giles took a deep breath. "He was killed. I don't know the details, but from what I can gather, it was in defense of Buffy. Naturally, she felt responsible, just as she feels responsible for what's happened to me."

"What? But that's--"

"That's Buffy," he continued. "She can be infuriating sometimes, but her sense of responsibility is great. If I hadn't been helping her, she feels, I wouldn't have been injured. Be that as it may, she's made it clear that she wants her watcher to be me. I owe it to her, as her watcher, to do everything I can to see that she gets her wish. But if I discover I can no longer do the job, then I will call the Council. I want to respect her wishes, but not at the risk of her life."

Joyce gazed at him, for so long her started to feel awkward beneath her scrutiny. "You really do care for her," she finally said, a slight huskiness to her voice.

"I should have thought that was obvious," he replied.

She allowed a smile to grace her lips. "You're a remarkable man, Rupert Giles. Buffy is lucky to have you."

He looked down, knowing he was blushing. "Thank you," he murmured.

Another long, awkward silence. Then Joyce cleared her throat. "Well, I'd better be going -- I'm going to be late getting the gallery open."

"Yes, yes of course," he agreed. "Thank you for stopping by. And for the 'care package'. It's appreciated."

She smiled, ducking her head and flushing slightly. "You're welcome. If there's anything I can do, let me know."

"Of course."

"And ... if there's any change...."

"I'll let you know that as well."

"Thanks. Well.... Goodbye, Mr. Giles."

"Rupert. Please."

She flushed again and nodded. "Rupert."

"Goodbye, Joyce." He took her hand and squeezed it. Their conversation could never be considered comfortable, but at least it was a start.

He released her hand and she let herself out.

----------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------

It was Cordelia, of all people, who came up with the best solution to his boredom dilemma. The first week, he'd spent most of his time asleep, especially during the day. In the late afternoon and evenings, the children would come by, and their company proved to be just the distraction he needed. They would sit and talk, discuss their days, and mostly he'd simply listen, sometimes commenting. It was good for them to have a place to come and relax, a place to be themselves without worrying about parents or teachers. He remembered his own school days and was sorry he'd never had an escape from the pressures like they did. If he had, things might have turned out much differently.

Willow had taken to reading to him out of various volumes, depending on whatever topic they were looking into at the time. Some of the texts were in Latin or German or French. But most had English translations, and Willow, as was her wont, was especially interested in the witchcraft volumes. She would read to him and ask him questions, and he would talk to her about various aspects of the spells she was investigating. Willow didn't know, and he hoped she'd never find out, just how competent a sorcerer he'd been in his day. Those days were long gone, but some skills, like riding a bicycle, one never forgot.

After the first week, however, Giles felt less inclined to sleep, more awake and alert during the day. And with that awareness came boredom. The few times he'd tried to read he'd ended up with a headache, and a few more times he simply couldn't focus on the words. It was the most infuriating thing, to know the words, to see them on the page, and yet to be unable to make sense of them, as if they were in a tongue totally foreign to him, rather than his native one.

So mostly, during the day, he wandered around the flat listlessly. He listened to music or the radio occasionally, but found that neither captured his interest. He attempted to write, to get his journals and papers up to date, but couldn't focus enough to work on them. He pottered around the flat, cleaning and organizing, but could only seem to do anything for a few minutes at a time before he was ready to drop of exhaustion.

In the solitude and quiet it was too easy for the depression to kick in again, the crushing realization that everything by which he'd defined himself had been taken from him. At least when he was asleep, he didn't have to think. It was during the day, when he should have been at the high school, at his job, researching prophecies for Buffy, that it was hardest.

When there was a knock on his door mid-afternoon, he shook himself from his latest funk and went to the door, assuming it was the children, and thinking Buffy had misplaced her key. Instead he found Cordelia standing on his doorstep, with that combination of arrogance and shyness that only Cordelia could manage.

"Hi," she said.

"Cordelia, hello," he replied. "This is a surprise."

"Aren't you gonna invite me in?" she asked. "I mean, middle of the day, it's obvious I'm not a vampire."

"What? Oh, yes." He stood back and allowed her to enter. His policy was to never invite anyone in, no matter the circumstances.

"Everyone's talking about how you're sick," she began, pacing into the room. "Of course, there are all these crazy rumors, you know, like you're dying of AIDS or something."

That shocked him. "Good heavens, no, it's nothing like that," he started.

"Yeah, I know. Xander told me." That was a bit of a surprise; last he knew, Xander and Cordelia only spoke to each other in order to tear strips off each other. "I told you some day you'd wake up in a coma," she continued.

He laughed. "So you did. Though this is no coma. I assure you I'm still perfectly conscious."

"Yeah, but pretty helpless," she countered, "so you might as well be."

Ice shot down his spine. Good old Cordelia; her honesty was frequently brutal.

"Let's not write me off as dead quite yet, all right?"

"Yeah, Buffy keeps saying how you'll be okay, but ... but it's pretty bad, isn't it?" The glib queen of sarcasm was gone, the concerned schoolgirl in its place. Giles was stunned by the change in her tone, the worry in her voice.

"I'll be all right. Eventually. It will be a long process. But I have every intention of returning to my position in the library."

"Good, because boy, if I thought you were strict about books and due dates, Miss Anderson is even worse."

Giles chuckled. It was good to hear he was missed at the school -- even if only by Cordelia.

"So anyway, they said you can't read anymore?" Cordelia went on.

"I've been advised against it," he answered. "If I use my eyes too much, I get headaches."

"So what can you do? I mean, how does a guy who only ever reads, what does he do?"

The ice again. Cordelia's aim was dead accurate. "Well, uh, I, um...."

"He listens, silly!" she interrupted. "Ta-da!" Out of her bag she pulled a small tape player with headphones and two boxes, roughly the size of videotapes. "I didn't know what you'd want to listen to, so I got these two out of the public library. They've got lots of them there. And the Walkman's my old one, so I don't need it back." She handed the items over to Giles, who stared at them, astounded.

"Cordelia, I.... This is so thoughtful. Thank you. What a clever idea." Books on tape wasn't anything he'd even considered. Of course, the sorts of books he usually read didn't generally get converted to tape, but perhaps he'd use this time to get caught up on the recreational reading he seldom got to do otherwise. There was a whole raft of books he'd always meant to read. If he could find them on tape....

"Of course!" Cordelia grinned, as if such an idea were commonplace. "Just don't forget to return those two by their due date or you have to pay the fine, because I'm not gonna."

He chuckled. "I'll do my best." The whimsy faded. "Thank you, Cordelia, very much, for such a thoughtful, considerate gift."

"No problem. Now, just so you understand, I'm not about to go hunting icky-goonies with the others just because you're hurt. I've had enough icky-goonies to last a lifetime. But you know, if you need me to get you some other tapes or something...."

"I should be fine, but I'll let you know if I need anything. Thank you."

"Okay." She looked up at him again. "You've gotta get well quick, Giles. Buffy's been even more of a bitch than ever since you got hurt. If you don't get better, I'm gonna have to kill her."

He couldn't help his laugh. The idea of Cordelia kicking Buffy around ... it would be even funnier if Cordelia hadn't been serious. "I shall endeavor to get well as quickly as I can," he said solemnly.

"Good. Well, I've gotta go, I don't want to be late for my appointment at the salon."

"Of course," Giles agreed. "Off you go then. And thank you again."

"Yeah, okay. Bye." And with a wave, she flitted out. He smiled as he closed the door behind her. He looked at the tapes she'd brought him. Tom Clancy and John Grisham. What on earth possessed the girl to pick up those two? Still, the idea itself was impeccable, and showed him an avenue he'd never even considered. He vowed to go over to the public library the next day and stock up on books on tape.

----------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------

Giles looked up at the knock on his door. Since he'd been hurt, he'd had more visitors than he'd had practically since his arrival in Sunnydale. Lord only knew who it was this time of night. The children had been here earlier and Buffy at least was expected back after patrolling. Cordelia was unlikely to come after dark, and Joyce....

He opened the door.

"Angel." Seeing the vampire still sent a shiver down his spine. Not of fear. Hate.

"Giles." Angel nodded.

A second shiver followed the first, this one motivated by fear. Why would Angel be here, why would he dare to come here unless....

"Buffy--?"

"Buffy's fine," Angel raised his hands in a calming gesture. "At least, I think she is. I haven't seen her in a couple of days. She's been spending most of her free time here with you."

The shiver hardened into a lump in Giles' gut. "And you know this how?"

"I follow her," Angel replied matter-of-factly. "You know that. If she gets in trouble, I step in. Otherwise.... She gets upset if I interfere too much. Says I'm over-protective. So I watch."

"I see. Then what brings you here?" They were hardly friends, weren't even on speaking terms, and he preferred it that way.

"She told me what happened," Angel said.

"Yes, I assumed she would have," Giles replied. He wasn't sure what Angel's reaction to the news would have been. Elation? Unlikely. But perhaps some small satisfaction that Giles was not impervious, could be defeated.

"I just...." Angel looked down and cleared his throat. "If I can do anything to help--"

"Yes, well thank you for the offer, but I don't think we'll--"

"Come on, Giles, "Angel continued, "be reasonable."

"I am being perfectly--"

"Don't let your feelings about me prevent you from doing what's best for Buffy."

Giles froze in anger and indignation. "How dare you presume you know better what's best for Buffy," he snarled. His head thumped in response and he could feel his blood pressure rise. That this monster should think he was better for Buffy than--

"I'm only saying that I can help with things you can't do anymore," Angel insisted.

"We're managing quite well on our--"

"I read Gaelic, Latin and a little French," Angel went on. "And I can help Buffy train. The weapons stuff you shouldn't be doing right now."

"Buffy is training with Faith," Giles answered stiffly.

"I can help. Point out their weak spots."

"She doesn't need--"

"Giles," Angel interrupted again, "I don't expect you to like me. I don't even expect you to trust me. But--"

"Then why do you think I should trust you with Buffy?" Giles asked coldly.

Angel just stared at him for a moment. "Because I love her. Because keeping her alive matters more than keeping myself alive. I think you know what that's like." Giles said nothing, merely stared past the vampire, his mind a roiling mass. Was he allowing his hatred of Angel to interfere with his pledge to the slayer? Angel was continuing. "So I'm asking, and I'm offering. Not for you and not for me. But for her."

Giles took a deep breath, struggled to push the headache back, and focused on Angel again. "I thought you customarily trained with her."

"Sometimes," Angel admitted. "Not so much lately. She.... I think it makes her uncomfortable, knowing you wouldn't like it."

"Buffy has never given my opinions that much weight," Giles replied. "Besides, I never told her she couldn't ... see you."

"Your opinions carry more with her than you think they do. It doesn't matter what you actually said. She knows how you feel. It's colored everything she says, everything she does with me."

Giles found it hard to credit that Buffy would give his wishes any consideration at all when it came to Angel. She certainly never had in the past. And yet, Buffy seemed -- somewhat different in the days since he'd been injured. As if the threat of losing him had changed how she looked at him. Since then, she'd been if anything rather over- attentive, as if she didn't want to leave him alone even for a moment. As if doing so would make her lose him. More than one night he'd had to shoo her home before she fell asleep on his couch. She seemed disinclined to head home herself.

He forced his attention back to Angel, who still stood outside his door, waiting patiently.

"I...." he began uncertainly, "things are fairly quiet at the moment. Though if you have any information...."

"I'll pass it on," Angel nodded. "But you're right. Things are pretty quiet right now. I'm just hoping that doesn't mean something bad is lying in wait."

"This being Sunnydale, I'd say that was likely," Giles agreed. "Have you heard anything?"

Angel shook his head. "But I'll keep an ear to the ground."

Giles nodded. "If ... if Buffy needs your assistance...." He didn't complete the sentence, couldn't force the words past his lips.

Angel knew it, understood it. Accepted it. "I won't let her down," he said. "Or you."

Giles nodded slowly. He knew he should thank the vampire for his efforts, but he couldn't bring himself to do that, either. He accepted the situation, though he didn't like it, because he knew that ultimately Angel was right: it would be best for Buffy. And his own personal feelings toward Angel notwithstanding, he also knew that Angel's feelings toward Buffy were genuine.

"I take it you haven't called the watchers about this," Angel said.

Giles shook his head. "Buffy doesn't want me to."

"Does she know what they'd do if you did?"

He looked at Angel, shocked. "How do you know about that?"

Angel shrugged. "Any vampire worth his salt should know everything he can about the slayer, and the watchers. They haven't changed at all since I first tangled with them in the 1800s. They won't take this as an unfortunate accident; they'll see it as failure."

"Which is precisely why I have no intention of telling them. And I'd prefer if you didn't mention this conversation to Buffy, either."

"She won't hear it from me," Angel said. "So you're gonna try to go it alone."

"I'm not alone," Giles corrected. "I have Buffy. And I have the others."

Angel nodded. His inclusion in Giles' umbrella of "others" lay unspoken between them. Giles' trust would go only so far. The vampire cleared his throat. "I'd better go before Buffy gets back from patrol. If you need me...."

"You're still at the mansion?" Giles asked. The simple thought of that place was enough to make the bile rise in his throat.

"I'll be in touch," Angel said. He turned from the doorway in preparation to leave.

"Angel," Giles called him back. "Why didn't you come in?" Their entire conversation had taken place in the doorway of Giles' apartment. At no time had the vampire even made a move to come into the apartment.

"I wasn't invited," Angel explained.

"You were, at Christmastime."

"Yeah, but you put the wards back up afterwards, didn't you?"

Giles opened his mouth in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"It's what I would have done," Angel replied. He grinned, that boyish half-smile which made it difficult to remember the vampire's inherently evil nature, and with a wave, faded into the night.

PART 3

Buffy didn't return from patrolling until almost midnight. In fact, Giles was rather expecting that she wouldn't bother to come at all, that she'd simply head home after her rounds. He was contemplating turning in when the sound of a key in the lock caught his attention.

Buffy looked tired, but there was a tension about her which was usually absent following patrol. Unless something had happened.

"Problems?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked at him.

"You're so late. Were there problems?"

"Oh. No, just ... I just felt restless, so I did the full cemetery sweep."

Giles raised an eyebrow. There were twelve cemeteries in Sunnydale, scattered from one side of town to the other. "Find anything?"

"A couple of newbies. Nothing worth noting."

"Still, you must be tired," he commented. "You needn't have come back here, you know. You should have gone home."

"No big," Buffy dismissed. "I worked it so I'd end up at Reston." Reston was the cemetery closest to Giles' apartment.

"Still--"

"You want tea?" she asked, heading into the kitchen.

"No, thank you. I had my tea earlier."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?" she asked, putting the kettle on.

"I've noticed that caffeine is proving to be not a great friend to my condition. I can still have my tea, but I need to ration it." He shook his head. "Hell of a time for me to develop a reaction to caffeine."

"Poor Giles." Buffy giggled. "You can have herb tea."

He made a face. "No, thank you. I'd rather do without."

Buffy laughed and came out of the kitchen, leaning over the back of the sofa. "So what did you do tonight?"

"Oh, it was a whirlwind of activity," he replied ironically. "After you left I listened to the news, then I did up the dishes, took a short nap, and read for a bit." He'd already decided against telling her about Angel's visit.

"Giles! You're not supposed to be reading," she scolded.

"Book on tape," he corrected. "Saying I listened sounds so ... vague. It's easier to simply call it reading. I had my eyes closed, does that help?" Honestly, sometimes the way she fussed....

"Oh, well that's okay then." Buffy settled down on the couch next to him. "Headache?"

"Not too bad. I took a pill around 10:30 and it's feeling somewhat better now."

"How many was that?" she asked.

"Beg pardon?"

"How many headache things did you have to take today?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Because you need to be careful, you know," she went on. "They're strong. And if you take too many of them, I mean, if it really hurts, you might forget you took one and take another one."

"I had three, spaced throughout the day," he answered her. "Buffy, I really can handle my own medications, you know."

"Yeah, but ... but I saw how you can get when it hurts, and I just don't want you to ... I mean, you might not even mean it ... or maybe ... all you want to do is make the pain go away, only ... only maybe one pill isn't doing it so you take another, but then you don't remember and, and you might forget and have a drink, after taking the pills, and...."

Suddenly, Buffy's behavior the past week clicked into place: the hovering, the over-attentiveness, the anger when she saw Giles with a small glass of scotch the other day, the nursemaiding, the scolding, the tension....

"Oh, my God," he whispered. "You've been on suicide watch."

Buffy stared at him, wide-eyed. "It's ... I ... you might not even mean it, but ... but you might just want it to stop, just want the pain to stop...."

"Oh, Buffy, no," he said. "It's not like that at all."

"I know you don't mean it, but...." she went on, her voice trembling, her chin starting to quiver.

"Oh, Buffy, my dear girl, no. I wouldn't do anything like that, intentionally or not. I gave you my promise. I'd see this through."

"But some ... sometimes ... you're in so much pain...."

"It's not that bad," he insisted. "And even if it were.... I've got the best reason in the world to keep going. You."

Like a spring releasing, something snapped in Buffy and she crumbled before him. "Oh ... oh God, don't leave me," she sobbed, "please, God, don't leave me, I need you so much...."

"Shh, Buffy, it's all right. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." He gathered her in his arms and she leaned against him, weeping uncontrollably, the tension of the preceding days flowing out on a river of tears. He knew he couldn't stop it; he could only hold on and be here for her. He stroked her hair, whispered soothing syllables, did his best to ignore his own headache. It didn't matter. Only Buffy did.

Dear god, he'd done this. He'd brought her to this. His foolishness in the past had made her so afraid for him that she'd spent the past two weeks worrying herself sick over him, afraid he'd simply give up and take his own life.

The most chilling thing was that he'd considered it. There were times he was so frustrated by what had happened, so depressed over what he could no longer do, it would have been simpler, and probably kinder, just to end it all. But he hadn't done it. He'd stayed his hand because he'd promised Buffy he would. Sometimes that promise was the only thing that had kept him going, when even breathing became an effort, when he couldn't even see the clock across the room or remember why he'd walked into the kitchen. When he would reach that low ebb, he simply needed to conjure up her beautiful, dear face, and he knew he would stick it out. If he were to die, she'd be deeply saddened. If he were to kill himself, she'd be devastated.

In the kitchen, the tea kettle whistled. "Damn," he muttered. Briefly, he considered letting the bloody thing boil away, but the noise was going straight up his spine. "I've got to go rescue the kettle," he said, gently moving her aside. "I'll be right back." He hurried to the kitchen, turned off the flame, and then took a moment to fill a glass with water and bring it back to her.

She was valiantly struggling to banish her tears, taking great gulps of air, trying unsuccessfully to stop the hiccups and the sobs. Her face was red and blotchy and her nose was running. He handed her the water glass and his handkerchief, and sat next to her again, rubbing her back gently as she tried to get herself under control.

Eventually, the sobs slowed and stopped and Buffy blew her nose, wiped at her eyes.

"Better?" he asked. She looked up at him and nodded, but her face looked anything but, so he gathered her close again, tucking her to his side, her head resting against his chest. He stroked her hair, her back, held her tight. "I know you've seen me in some pretty ... dire straits. I'm not proud of the way I handled myself then."

"It's okay," she whispered.

"No, it's not," he insisted. "Because it made you worry. But the situation's different this time. Yes, some days are bad. But others are pretty good. And if there are many things I still can't do ... well, there is also the belief that one day, I will be able to do them all again. I won't lie to you, I still get frightened. When I look at the printed page and I can't seem to make sense of what's written there. Or when I walk into the room and can't remember what I was doing. But I also know I'm not alone in all this. I've got the wonderful support of you and the others. If I were alone, without all of you, then you might have cause to worry. But I'll be all right, Buffy. Because you need me to be. And that's the best motivation I can think of for not giving up."

She looked up at him, her red-rimmed eyes still filled with tears. "Is it enough?"

He smiled, a smile he hoped was reassuring. "It's more than enough."

She managed a feeble smile and rested her head against his chest again, sniffing. He pressed his already soggy handkerchief into her hand and she wiped her nose. She reached for the water glass, took a big drink, then set it down again, resting against him once more. Giles' head was throbbing; he didn't care. Buffy was here. She was safe, she was with him, and she needed him. That made everything else worthwhile.

Bit by bit, he could feel her relaxing in his arms. He knew he ought to shift her, get her to go home before she fell asleep. But just now it felt too comfortable. He closed his eyes, told himself he'd rest for just a bit....

And opened them again suddenly. He squinted at the clock on the desk behind him. It was almost one o'clock. In his arms, Buffy slept soundly. He couldn't very well send her home now. Gingerly, he moved her aside, laying her down on the sofa. She grunted a soft protest and he stroked her hair soothingly. He put a throw pillow beneath her head and draped the counterpane over her. She sighed and snuggled down into the covers. He smiled affectionately. She always looked so young in sleep, so innocent. Lately she'd been looking so ... harsh. So world- weary. Asleep, all of that faded and what remained was the face of a fairy princess, beautiful and serene.

He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her forehead before leaving her side and going to the telephone.

Joyce sounded like she was still awake, thank God.

"Joyce, it's Rupert Giles."

"Mr. ... uh ... Rupert. Is something wrong? Buffy?"

"Buffy is fine. I just wanted you to know that she's going to spend the night over here. She came back here after patrolling, she was tired and she fell asleep on my couch."

"Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's fine. But she's sound asleep and I don't have the heart to wake her. I wanted to let you know so you wouldn't worry."

There was a momentary silence. "Thank you. I appreciate it." She chuckled softly. "I tell Buffy I don't wait up for her, but...."

"But you're her mother; it's natural that you worry."

"I'll ... uh ... I'll stop by first thing tomorrow morning, pick her up so she can get ready for school."

"That would be good of you. Thank you."

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Good night, Joyce."

"Good night."

He hung up the phone and turned around to check on Buffy again. Her eyes were open and she squinted at him.

"Go back to sleep," he told her softly.

"Who were you talking to?" Her voice was hoarse.

"Your mother. I wanted to let her know where you were."

"Oh." That seemed to satisfy her, because she rolled on her side and snuggled further down in the covers.

He watched her for a long while, until her breathing evened out. Then he leaned down and gently brushed a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes. "Good night, my dearest one," he whispered. Then he turned away to get ready for bed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------

Willow's voice ... well, it wasn't fair to call it droning, because really, she kept stumbling over too many foreign words for it to be droning ... but its soft tone was soothing. Buffy closed her eyes, focusing on the sound, letting the words blend together into a tone....

"Pay attention, Buffy." Giles voice shocked her back to awareness.

"Sorry." She didn't know how he knew she wasn't, after all, his eyes were closed, too.

"Oh, yeah, says Mr. Man-of-Leisure," Xander teased.

Giles raised his head from where it rested in Buffy's lap. "I am listening. In fact, it's easier to listen with the eyes closed. But one must also concentrate."

"Concentrate on what?" Buffy complained. "I didn't understand half of what she was saying."

"All right." He sat up and she steadied him. After her little "breakdown" last week, she and Giles talked for a long time. Talked about all kinds of things they'd never said before. Consequently, they felt more comfortable with each other. She promised not to hover, and he promised not to hide how he was feeling. She'd learned that when a headache approached, if she rubbed his temples and massaged his neck, it seemed to help. So lately it seemed like they spent most of their evenings like this: Giles' head resting in her lap as she rubbed it, and he'd drill her on her homework or listen to her or one of the others read from one of his books.

There were good days and bad days, but the pain that doubled him over didn't seem to happen anymore. And just the other day the doctor had him start some sort of eye therapy thing which was supposed to help.

"What do we know so far?" Giles was continuing, so Buffy brought her attention back to the present.

"You mean beyond the usual 'the grass is green, the sun rises in the east' stuff," Xander quipped and Giles gave him a glare.

"Except in this case, it doesn't, does it?" Willow asked. "Rise in the east, I mean."

"Very likely not," Giles agreed. "If Karthenar were to be set free on the Earth, it could be very dire. It's reputed to bring endless night."

"Wow," Willow said.

"Wow's a little ... understated, Will," Buffy said. She looked back at Giles. "Literal endless night?"

"Yes."

"How?" Oz wondered. "It can't destroy the sun because, hey, huge."

"Block it maybe?" Willow suggested.

"Yes, well, however it's done, it would be disastrous," Giles said.

"No sun," Xander mused. "No sunbathing, no girls in bikinis...."

"No girls period," Buffy added. "Or anyone else. No sun equals no life, right, Giles?"

"Precisely," he nodded.

There was a moment of silence. Yet another end of the world prophecy. Why couldn't prophecy ever predict ... an especially rainy Tuesday?

It was Xander who broke the silence. "Okay, so very bad thing. So how do we stop it?"

Giles sighed. "I don't know. From what Willow was just reading, it appears that once it manifests, Karthenar may be unstoppable."

"So we gotta stop the guys that are summoning him," Buffy said. "What were they called?"

"Harbingers," Willow supplied, looking at the book again.

"Right. We stop the harbingers. No harbingers, no Catharsis."

"Karthenar," Giles corrected. "And yes, hopefully, destroying the harbingers will prevent Karthenar from manifesting."

"Hopefully? That's a bit vague," Buffy frowned.

"I know," Giles sighed again. "Unfortunately, the texts we've looked at so far have a great deal to say about Karthenar itself, but very little about the Harbingers. Only that there will be three."

Buffy scowled. "Why are there always three? Why can't there be one or two?"

"Three's a mystical number," Willow answered. "Be glad it's not seven."

Buffy made another face. "So what do we know?" she asked Giles again.

"Unfortunately, not much," he admitted. "We need to do more research, and it's looking like I'll need to start consulting primary sources."

"Such as?"

"Thus far, the books we've been using have been in English."

"That last one wasn't," Buffy said. There'd been so much Latin in it, she'd missed about half of it.

"Yes, well the problem is, Latin is a fairly easy language to 'fake' -- it's easy for a layperson to say the Latin words correctly enough for me to figure out what's meant. The book I'm thinking about is written in Aramaic."

There was a silence. None of them read Aramaic. Except Giles. And really, she didn't even know if he did. But she thought he must, or else why have the book? Which meant....

"Giles," she started to protest.

"I don't see any other way, Buffy. I've at least got to try."

"What about Angel?"

There was a silence in the room. Well, yeah, she'd dared to speak his name, but it needed saying.

"Ah -- according to Angel, he speaks Gaelic, Latin and some French," Giles said. "I very much doubt he knows a language that died out over fifteen hundred years ago."

There was another silence. "I don't want you reading." She pouted.

He sighed, exasperated. "I'm not doing it to be naughty, Buffy. But it can't be helped," he said. "I'll endeavor to be careful." He got up and went to the boxes of books stacked in the corner of his living room. "Come on, give me a hand," he called, and the others moved to help him search.

Buffy wasn't pleased; he'd promised he'd be careful, and now he was doing it anyway. He'd probably get a killer headache out of it. But, she had to reason, headache versus end-of-world...well, when you put it like that, it really wasn't much of a choice.

"Ah, here it is," he said, pulling a slim volume out of one of the boxes. They all stared at it as if it would bite. "Willow, would you put the kettle on, please?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Willow silently went to the kitchen.

Giles carried the book back to his desk, flipped on the desk lamp, and sat down. He stared at the cover for a moment, either hoping for strength or inspiration, then opened the volume. The others were silent, watching.

He flipped several pages, then stopped, focusing on the page. He murmured something to himself, blinked and focused again. Willow brought him his tea, and he ignored her, concentrating on the book. He rubbed his eyes, blinked again and stared.

And then he slammed the book with a curse. "It's no use," he muttered.

"What?" Willow asked.

"I can't do it. I can't ... I can't get it to make sense. It's all just gibberish!" He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face. Buffy got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. He looked so ... defeated. He couldn't do something he used to be able to do no problem. Okay, Aramaic wasn't one of his usual languages, but there used to be nothing Giles couldn't figure out if he put his mind to it. Now....

He sat up again. "Buffy--"

"Let me see it," she said.

"It's Aramaic!" he snapped. "There's nothing you can do with it!"

The flare of his anger surprised her, but she ignored it. "You can't be the only person in California who reads Aramaic, though."

"It's a dead language, I very well might be," he returned.

"Let me take a look," Willow said.

"Willow--"

"No, I just want to see it." She picked up the book from the desk, opening it to a page at random, studying the script intently. "It looks kind of like Hebrew," she said.

"It has some of the same antecedents," he said.

"So ... could someone who read Hebrew, would they be able to read this?"

Giles frowned. "What are you thinking?"

"My rabbi. He reads Hebrew. And I know he'd be willing to help us out, he's a very cool guy."

"Willow, I can't ask a total stranger to get involved in--"

"If you called the watchers, they'd be strangers, too," Buffy insisted.

"They'd know the score."

"Yeah, but they're thousands of miles away."

"At least ask him," Willow insisted. "Maybe he can't help us. But maybe he can."

Giles sat and stared at her for a moment, then sighed and closed his eyes. He leaned forward with his elbows on the desk and covered his face with his hands.

When, after several minutes, he hadn't moved, Buffy signaled to Willow, and silently the rest of the gang got up to go. Willow scribbled the name of her rabbi on a piece of paper and left it on the desk. One by one, they filed out, leaving only Buffy and Giles.

"Giles...."

He dropped his hands. His expression was bleak. "This is what I was afraid of," he whispered. "I can't protect you, I can't ... can't give you the support you need. I know you don't like it but we don't--"

"Wait a minute, just wait," she interrupted, leaning across the desk, a hand clamped on his wrist. "Stop and think, that's what you're so good at."

"Not any longer," he muttered.

"Yes, longer. I mean, still. Come on, Giles. Don't give up."

"You don't get it, do you!" he exploded out of his chair and out of her grasp. "I'm not doing this to be petulant, Buffy! I looked at that book and it was all ... garbage! It was like I'd never encountered it before! I could no more translate that book than I could fly to the moon, and my failure won't just be a slight inconvenience, it very well might spell the destruction of life as we know it on this planet!"

"Fine," she shot back. "Then don't fail."

"Which part of 'can't' aren't you understanding?" he shouted.

"The part which says you're giving up."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Buffy, grow up! I'm not--"

"Will you just shut up, calm down and listen to me?" she yelled, topping him. It shocked him into silence. "I can't believe you. Yeah, okay, things suck. But things suck a lot around here, or haven't you noticed. You don't just give up, you fight it. You do everything you can until they don't suck quite so much. And then you fight some more, until you win."

"What in God's name do you think I'm doing?" he asked, gaping.

"I think you're upset and frustrated, and you can't do this, and yeah, it's definitely a setback. But you're not thinking. You're ready to throw in the towel. But Giles, you've never done that before. Stop and think; how much help have the watchers ever been to us? How many other times have you asked for their help and they've ignored you? What do you do then?"

"I'm usually able to sort it out on my own," he said. "That's not an option this time. I don't understand why you won't let me call them. I'm not keen on the idea either, but--"

"Because I don't want them to take you away from me."

Giles stopped, staring. "What...? How did you...? Angel...?"

She shook her head. "Faith told me."

"How did Faith know?"

She shrugged. "Faith knows a lot of things about the watchers. I think she used to look at her watcher's books and stuff."

Giles stared at her for a long moment, then looked away. "I hadn't wanted you to know that, for this very reason." He paced away from her, slumping to a seat on the couch. "It's the only option left to us, Buffy, as much as it pains me to say so."

"No it's not," she insisted. "What about Willow's rabbi?"

"I can't involve a civilian."

"If the world ends, he's gonna know something's up," Buffy suggested wryly.

That managed to get a slight smile from Giles. "It's dangerous," he said instead. "We're used to dealing with the dark forces. He--"

"He's a rabbi. That's like a priest, isn't it? Heavy duty into that good and evil thing, aren't they? Like The Exorcist?"

She got another smile. "Not exactly, though a rabbi would be slightly more open-minded about such things than your average man on the street."

"So how could it hurt? If he can't help, then we find someone else. Like some of your researcher-type friends. I know you've got some, you've mentioned them before."

Giles sighed heavily. "I don't like this."

"Well, duh," Buffy smirked. Then she grew serious again. "I don't like it, either. But we don't have a lot of options here. If--" She held up her hand to forestall anything he was planning on saying. "If we can't find any other way, then we can call them. Otherwise ... let's try to do this without them. Okay?"

Giles went still again, which meant he was thinking. At least he hadn't rejected the idea, not yet.

"Okay?" Buffy prompted.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Then he looked at her again. The expression was bleak, defeated. It hurt to see him like this. She wanted to tell him it would be okay ... but she couldn't. "I'll see what I can do tomorrow with Willow's ... what did she say his name was?"

"She left it here." Buffy handed him the scrap of paper and he looked at it, blinking to get the words to focus. "It'll be okay, Giles," she went on, hoping to convince him. "You'll see."

His answering smile was sad. "I hope so. For all our sakes."

She smiled at him, then the smile faded, replaced by a worried frown. She sat down next to him. "You okay?" He gave her a look. "I mean ... with this?"

He chuckled lightly. "I suppose I must be. My slayer is terribly insistent when she wants to be." The jibe was gentle and Buffy blushed. "Yes, I'm all right. Or as all right as I can be. You don't need to worry about me, Buffy. I'll manage."

She gazed at him. What he was going through ... mostly he held it in, he handled it. But sometimes it got too much to handle and she saw it all, saw everything he felt, everything he feared. It scared her, to see him so vulnerable. But at least she wasn't quite so afraid anymore of him doing something stupid and fatal. Only thing was ... Giles was kind of like the soda bottle. Mostly it's okay, but when you open it, if it's been shaken up.... She just hoped it wouldn't burst open before things settled down. Bad analogy, she knew, but that's how it felt sometimes. Like keeping the cap on the soda bottle.

Giles was still looking at her. "You should go home, get some rest. If we learn what I suspect we will, you'll need every ounce of strength in the next days. Whatever we discover, we do know there are three of these things which have to be defeated."

She nodded. " 'Kay, I'll head on out. You'll call once you talk to Rabbi whatsisname?"

Giles glanced at the paper. "Solomon. David Solomon. Yes, I'll talk to you after class tomorrow."

"Okay." She paused. He was still upset, and she hated leaving him when he was like this. He said he'd be okay, but....

He knew; he could see it. And he laughed softly. "Go home, Buffy, everything will be fine."

She blushed. "I worry about you," she whispered.

"And I you," he said softly, and he reached out and touched her cheek. She raised her head. "But we'll make it. We daren't do anything else."

Her throat constricted and she bit her lip; he wouldn't appreciate her crying, and she wasn't even sure why she felt like this. She just did.

His hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck and the next thing she knew, she was in his arms, the hug quick and intense. Then he let her go.

"Come on," he said, getting to his feet and extending a hand to her. "Off you go."

She didn't trust her voice, so she just nodded, smiled sheepishly at him, and followed him to the door. They said their good nights and she went on her way, Giles closing the door behind her.

With a sniff, she turned toward home. She still had that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach; she wanted to just curl up and cry.

Either that or kill something.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was deep and melodic.

"Rabbi Solomon?"

"Yes?"

"Hello, my name is Rupert Giles. I was given your name by one of your ... your ... I know parishioners isn't the right word...."

"We call them congregations," the rabbi supplied gently.

"Yes, one of your congregation. Willow Rosenberg."

"Rosenberg," the rabbi mused. "Ira Rosenberg's daughter?"

"That's right."

"Good people, the Rosenbergs," the rabbi said. "I don't see Willow here with her parents so much anymore, but she's a good girl. Is there some trouble with her?"

"No, no it's nothing like that," he assured the other man. "Willow suggested you might be able to help me with ... with a problem."

"I'll do what I can," the rabbi said. "It's what I'm here for. What sort of problem?"

"Well, it's ... it's rather difficult to explain. I have a book I need to be able to read, only it's ... it's in Aramaic."

There was a pause. "I'm afraid I don't read Aramaic, Mr. Giles," the rabbi answered.

"Yes, I was rather certain that would be the case, but ... but you do read Hebrew."

"Of course."

"There are some ... similarities. Do you think you might be able to look at the text and perhaps see if you can decipher any of it?"

Another pause. "What is this book?"

"Ah. Here's where it starts getting complicated. The book is ... well, prophecy, for lack of a better word. It's a chronicle of ... of activity of an ... otherworldly nature."

"Otherworldly?" the rabbi questioned.

"It deals with demonology," Giles added bluntly.

The silence following was even longer. "You'll forgive my asking, Mr. Giles, but why do you need such a book?"

"You'll likely not believe me, but I'm trying to prevent ... prevent something ... nasty from occurring. I'm hoping this book may provide me with some answers."

"In the form of a prophecy," the rabbi repeated.

"In a word, yes."

Another pause. "Well, I'm no expert, but ... but I'd certainly be willing to look at this book of yours. In fact, I confess to being rather intrigued."

"It ... it might contain some pretty ... strong subject matter," Giles warned.

The rabbi chuckled. "You're talking apocalypse stuff here, aren't you, Mr. Giles?"

"Possibly," Giles agreed.

"Then I'm definitely intrigued. This past year or so I've been making little bit of a hobby studying apocalypse stories. Sort of a Y2K research project. There are some real doozies; I'll be interested to see what yours says."

Giles very much wanted to tell him that the difference with his was that chances were, it would be true. But instead he said, "When would you be able to...."

"You want me to look at it as soon as possible?"

"If you can," Giles agreed. "Apocalypses don't tend to run on schedule."

The rabbi chuckled. "Okay then, why don't you come to the house? Bring the book and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Giles said. "Thank you very much."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Rabbi Solomon?" The man who opened the door was of medium height with thinning brown hair, a beard going gray, a slight stoop to his shoulders, and sparkling eyes behind thick glasses. His smile was bright.

"Mr. Giles, come on in." He held the door open.

"I appreciate your taking the time to see me," Giles said.

"Not at all. I admit to being sort of an apocalypse junkie. I find all this stuff fascinating. Come on through." He led the way into a small study off the living room.

"You may find this one a bit ... vague," Giles said. "The prophecy speaks of a demon called Karthenar, who's reputed to bring about endless night."

The rabbi whistled low between his teeth. "That'll get it done."

"He's summoned by three subordinate demons, called the harbingers. It's information about the harbingers we're trying to find."

"Who's we?" the rabbi asked.

"Er, a, uh, a study group I'm a part of." The explanation sounded lame, but it was the best he could do on short notice.

"And the only text is in Aramaic?"

"There's another reference in an English text, but it's not terribly complete. I'm hoping this one will provide some additional information about the harbingers."

"Okay, let's see what we've got. Set the book here." He patted the surface of his desk. Giles put the book down and the rabbi sat at his desk, leaving Giles to sit in the chair opposite. He reached into a drawer and pulled out another pair of glasses, these with even thicker lenses than the pair he wore, switched pairs, then pulled over a large magnifying lamp on a swing-arm and turned it on. He opened the book, squinted at it, lowered his head practically to the page, then raised it again and looked at the page through the magnifier. Giles tried not to register his shock. Willow hadn't said anything about the rabbi being half-blind.

The rabbi looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. "I really can read, Mr. Giles, but it takes me awhile. I've got progressive degenerative eye disease, and some days reading's trickier than others."

Giles couldn't help the smile, the soft laugh. "Several weeks ago I was concussed and it's affected my vision. I have a hard time reading anything at all, and that's why I needed your help."

The rabbi laughed. "What a pair we are! Well, if you don't mind the blind leading the blind here, let's see what your book says."

"Absolutely," Giles agreed, suddenly feeling very at ease with the other man. Perhaps this would be all right after all.

They were silent for several minutes as the rabbi examined the text. Eventually, he pushed back his lamp. "I'm getting bits of it, but not in enough detail to do you a lot of good, I suspect," he said. "I can see there are three harbingers, one of wood, one of earth, and one of stone. But I can't tell if that's meant literally or figuratively, and I can't get enough of it to tell what can defeat them."

Giles' heart sank. He was hoping their answer could be found here, that they wouldn't have to search further afield. Now, unfortunately, it looked like he'd need to call on some of his old compatriots at the British Museum and see what they could make of it.

"However," Rabbi Solomon was continuing, "I've got an old classmate who's made something of a career out of studying old texts. He might be able to help you. Let me call him and see what he can do."

Giles hesitated. "I'd rather wanted to keep 'civilian' involvement down to a minimum on this," he said. "End of the world prophecies can create panic if the word gets out."

"Only if they're believed." The rabbi shook his head. "These days, every other book is screaming 'End of the World', and the Weekly World News is filled with nothing else. If the turn of the millennium turns out to be a big bust, a lot of people will be disappointed." Giles smiled. "Besides," Rabbi Solomon went on, "my friend's also a rabbi; we met in Rabbinical school in the '70s. He'll keep it under his hat for you."

In the end, Giles agreed and the call was made. Next thing he knew, they were heading down to the temple to avail themselves of the office copier and fax machine as the relevant pages were faxed to the rabbi's friend. As they waited for the results, the rabbi suggested lunch, and they enjoyed the afternoon, chatting about various topics, not the least of which was the nature of prophecy, especially prophecies which predicted the end of the world. Giles found the rabbi to be a fascinating conversationalist and an interesting man, and wished he could tell him more about what they faced. But it was too dangerous to reveal any more than he'd already done. As it was, he'd need to insure that the rabbi kept his counsel when talking about how he'd spent his afternoon.

The conversation lagged as they waited for the return information. Giles glanced at his companion, his thinning hair, his ready smile, his thick glasses, even for every day.

He cleared his throat. "Rabbi...."

"Yes?"

"May I ask you a ... a personal question?"

The rabbi smiled gently. "Of course." As if he knew what Giles would ask. Perhaps he did at that.

"When you first learned of ... that is, when your vision first started to fail.... How did you cope?"

The rabbi's gentle smile remained, though something sadder appeared in his eyes. He took a moment to compose his thoughts. "I thought my life was over," he said simply. "I'd spent my life in reading, in study. The thing I loved the most, the thing by which I defined my life, my most direct path to God, was being taken from me. For the first time in my life I felt that God had abandoned me. It shook my faith, it shook the core of my existence. Sound familiar?"

Giles looked away and nodded. "I ... I see what I had ... and lost. What I cannot do...." He swallowed. "I thought I was handling it as well as could be expected. But then this ... this crisis appeared. And then to discover I could not read that book, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I wanted it...." He couldn't stop the tremor in his voice. "It felt like ... what's the point? What's the point of even trying?"

"It's frightening," the rabbi agreed. "Don't try and pretend it's not, it's just about the scariest thing there is, to lose such a large part of yourself. But ... and this is a big but, there are ways of coping. For me, it was realizing that I'm still the same person I've always been. I still love learning and study, I still like to fish, I still have a wonderful wife who loves me. I still have my faith in God. Maybe there are things I can't do anymore, like drive, or read the paper easily. Maybe some of the things I can still do take a little longer than they did. Maybe I have to rely more on others. But I'm still David Solomon, Harold and Evelyn's son, Rachel's husband, Alan and Debbie's dad. I'm not any less of a man because I can't see well. In some ways, maybe I'm more of one, because I've learned what it's like to be vulnerable, I've learned to let people in.

"It's understandable to be upset and frightened, Rupert, anyone would be. But don't start thinking your life is over; it's not. Take it from one who's been there."

Giles looked down, embarrassed. He hadn't realized he was that transparent. But then again, the rabbi was trained in dealing with people in distress, and he suspected his own distress must shine out of him. After all, he'd had Buffy's worried hovering for weeks now, and Buffy was, alas, not the sharpest of girls when it came to the feelings of others.

"It's just that I feel that I'm...." He took a deep breath. "There's ... there's a girl."

"Special someone?" the rabbi prompted.

Giles looked up, surprised, then realized how it must have sounded, his declaration. "Oh, no nothing like that, she's ... she's not quite eighteen. No, it's ... it's rather difficult to explain but I'm.... She's a very special, very unique girl and I'm her ... her mentor, for lack of a better word. She depends on me for a great many things. My fear is that I won't be able to give her the ... the guidance, the support she deserves."

There was a long pause and the rabbi considered his words carefully. "After I was first diagnosed, I went through a period of feeling like a complete failure, like a waste of space. How could a scholar be a scholar if he couldn't read? It took awhile, but what I learned is that I'm still a scholar. I still have the intellect, the curiosity, the analytical mind. Maybe I have to find new ways to gather information, but I still assimilate it the same way, and I still use all the same tools to reach my conclusions. You've still got a brain, Rupert, that hasn't changed. And I'll bet that your girl depends on you for a lot more than your ability to read books."

Giles glanced away again. It was as if Rabbi Solomon could see into his soul, targeting his every fear, his every vulnerability. "I don't know if that's enough," he whispered.

"What does she think?"

"She ... she thinks it'll be all right. But she's terribly naive. She thinks if you ignore a problem, it will go away. But I'm afraid that once she realizes the truth...."

The rabbi took a deep breath. "I didn't say anything about my condition to my wife for almost a month after I found out about it. I was afraid to; I thought if she knew, she wouldn't love me anymore. She wouldn't want a husband who was so flawed. When she finally found out, we had quite a row about it. She was upset I didn't trust her enough; I was upset she wouldn't want to be with me anymore. But what I learned is that Rachel loves me no matter what: good eyes, bad eyes, no eyes. It doesn't matter. And by trying to cut her out, I wasn't being fair to her. I wasn't allowing her the gift of compassion. As it turns out, she's been my greatest supporter, always there helping me, never letting me get too maudlin, giving me just the right combination of hugs and kicks to insure I remain a productive contributing member of society. Don't pull away from your girl because you're afraid it won't be enough. If you quit, then it definitely won't be. Instead, do what you can and then let her in, let her help. This is a burden meant to be shared, Rupert. Don't try to go it alone."

Giles swallowed, pushing down the emotions, but they still swelled to the surface and his voice, when he spoke, cracked. "It's ... it's h- hard...."

"Yeah, it is," the rabbi agreed. "Just about the hardest thing there is. But it's harder if you keep it all to yourself. Pain shared is pain halved. And remember," he waited 'til Giles looked at him, "you do have someone to talk to. Always."

Giles closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, feeling the coil of tension in his gut uncoil just a touch. It wasn't exactly the same, what had happened to him and what was happening to Rabbi Solomon. In fact, in some ways, Giles had it better; his prognosis was for recovery. The rabbi would only get worse. He opened his eyes again. "I ... I'm not a religious man," he said softly. "I'm an extremely lapsed Anglican who lost his faith years ago. But I ... I'm.... Thank you."

The rabbi smiled. "You're welcome. And I'll bet if you look, you'll find your faith again. Most men, I've discovered, will find their faith just when they need it most."

"Perhaps," Giles allowed a tentative smile. He was certain he and Rabbi Solomon could have quite the religious debate if they set their minds to it. But he wasn't in the mood for debating. Instead he considered himself fortunate to have found someone he could talk to so easily. Someone who understood, at least a little, how he felt. Someone he didn't feel he had to be brave in front of. As he realized this, he felt a little more of the weight lift. Even if the rabbi's friend couldn't translate the book for them, Giles felt more capable of handling the situation than he had. They'd find their answers somehow. They'd defeat this latest scourge somehow. He would survive. Somehow.

Just then the computer beeped and the rabbi turned around, punching up keys.

"Ah, here we go, he's answered us back," he said, opening the e-mail message from his friend. His computer screen modified to show large type, he still put on his thicker reading glasses and squinted at the screen. "He says that he's got the central section translated as best as he can, but that he didn't try for interpretation, he just did a straight word-for-word translation."

"That's fine. We can do the interpretation ourselves," Giles said.

"Okay, then, let me print this out for you." The rabbi sent a quick confirmation message to his friend, then opened the attachment and printed it. "Do you need help reading this?" he asked Giles.

"No, my ... my companions will be able to do that," Giles answered. "It was simply the lack of knowledge of Aramaic which was hanging us up."

The rabbi looked at him closely. "What will you do once you know what this says?"

"Find a way to stop it," he said.

There was a pause. "Could you use my help?"

"I don't know," Giles replied honestly. "You've been such a tremendous help already, I don't want to get you involved in anything that might be dangerous, and I suspect this may be very dangerous."

"I'm not afraid of danger, Rupert," Rabbi Solomon said.

Giles smiled. "I believe you're not. However, part of my ... responsibility, in addition to assisting this ... this special girl ... is to keep the general populace ... the civilians safe. I've involved more civilians over the course of time than I ought; I hesitate to do it more."

"Well, I can understand that, but if things get sticky and you need help...."

"I hope it won't come to that. But thank you."

The rabbi smiled. "Once this is all over, this apocalypse crisis or whatever it is, will you tell me what it was all about?"

Letting the rabbi in went against everything Giles knew to be wise. On the other hand, how different was it from the Catholic priest who customarily blessed large plastic jugs of water for him without asking questions? Or the butcher who sold blood to Angel on the side? Sunnydale's demon problem was perhaps one of the worst-kept secrets in town, and yet no one would ever admit to anything being wrong. Would telling Rabbi Solomon the truth be so detrimental? "If I can," he answered.

"After all, I gotta add it to my collection," the rabbi chuckled and Giles laughed with him.

PART 4

"All right," Giles addressed the little group, "this is what we now know."

Buffy listened to him, watched him. There was something about him, something different. He seemed almost ... peaceful. Inside peaceful, something that hadn't been there in Giles in ... in a very long time. He always had his secrets, his hidden pains. Just like anybody. But with Giles it was like they gave him this edge. The edge was still there, meaning he still seemed sharp. But he also seemed ... at ease. Certainly more at ease than he'd been since he got hurt. She knew he'd gone to see Willow's rabbi and had come home with the translation he needed. Maybe he did more than just get the book. If a rabbi was like a priest, then maybe he also talked to him, like confession or something. Maybe he--

"Buffy, are you with us?" Giles' scolding voice brought her back to the present.

"Huh? Oh, sorry." She ducked her head guiltily.

"If you're not concerned about this--"

"No, I am, I am. Present and accounted for. Go on."

He sighed and gave her one of his patented Giles looks-of-annoyance. "As I was saying, the translation we now have tells us a bit more about the three harbingers. All three are demons, and all three can be defeated. We're not told exact methods, but we're told enough information about the beings themselves that we can divine their means of destruction. The first harbinger is of wood."

"What does that mean?" Xander asked. "Of wood. You mean literally of wood?"

"Unknown," Giles said. "They all appear to be elements of the earth. In fact, the second is earth itself, which I interpreted to mean the stuff of the earth -- sod, mud, gravel, sand -- rather than referring to the planet as a whole."

"And the third one?" Willow asked.

"Stone."

"Okay," Buffy mused, "so if the first's made out of wood--"

"We don't know that," Giles cautioned. "We only know its element is wood."

"Meaning wood could make it stronger," Willow suggested.

"Possibly." Giles nodded.

"But if wood made it stronger, then the opposite of wood would make it weaker," Oz theorized.

"Fire!" Buffy said.

"It's a good guess," Giles agreed.

"Unless," Willow wondered with a frown, "it's really its element that can hurt it."

"So if I can't stake it, I'll set it on fire," Buffy said.

"I think it's wisest to prepare for both contingencies," Giles suggested and Buffy nodded. Piece of cake. Maybe she'd do the old flaming arrow bit -- wooden arrow, fire at the end, kill two birds and maybe one harbinger.

"How will we know it?" Buffy asked.

"Well, a walking tree would be pretty obvious," Xander joked.

"There are no physical descriptions, but we know that all three harbingers will converge on a single spot, and that's where they will call forth Karthenar."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather deal with them one by one, so finding it before it rendez-vous-es with its buddies is a better idea."

"I agree, but we have no actual physical descriptions of them, except to say that they are highly tied to their element."

"So wood might be found, say, in the woods?" Oz suggested.

Giles nodded. "At a guess."

"Let me get this clear, Giles." Buffy looked at him. "Do we have anything hard? Anything that isn't guesses?"

He gave her another one of his looks. "We know their three elements, we know they are tied to those elements. We know that they work in concert to bring forth Karthenar. We also know, and this is highly important, that while we can most likely destroy each demon and that all three are necessary to bring forth Karthenar, any of the three can summon up the other two. Even if you destroy one of them, all the other two have to do is summon him and he re-appears. Only if all three are destroyed before they can re-summon their compatriots can we be certain of their defeat."

Buffy scowled. It was like those stupid trick birthday candles that kept on re-lighting after you blew them out. "Great. So how do we take them all out at once without getting our butts kicked in the process?"

"Not only that," Willow added, "but wood, okay, fire. But how do you defeat the earth?"

"Not the earth, just earth," Oz reminded her.

"Still...."

"Mud," Xander said.

"Huh?" The others looked at him.

"Earth equals dirt, right? So add water to dirt you've got mud. Add lots of water to dirt and...."

"And you wash it all away!" Willow squealed. "I mean, even rocks are eroded by water."

Giles smiled. "Well done, Xander."

Xander beamed. It wasn't often he got one right; it was always nice when he did.

Then Buffy sobered. "Yeah, but what about stone? Gonna take a whole lotta water to wear it down, and fire won't touch it."

"No," Giles agreed. "But a sledgehammer will."

Buffy broke into a grin. "So I get to beat the crap out of it?"

"Can it put itself together again, like the Judge?" Oz asked.

"I don't know," Giles admitted. "There's nothing in the writings about how to destroy them, so nothing about what they can and cannot do. Only that they can be recalled by the others."

Buffy frowned. "If I kill one of them, and the others don't see it, would they know?"

Giles shook his head. "I don't know that, either."

"Well, you don't--" Buffy caught herself. She was about to make some teasing remark about what he did and did not know, but realized the timing of that couldn't possibly be worse. "You can't know stuff they don't tell you," she said instead, "and you did find out all this other stuff, so that's good." She glanced at Giles; he wasn't fooled by her slip, but there was the tiniest smile on his mouth, and a glint in his eye which seemed to say "nice save". She gave him her best innocent smile, glad when he smiled back.

"As little as we want to, Buffy, I'm afraid we may have to fight them all together. We'll need to try and ascertain where the most likely spot for the calling forth of Karthenar will be, and meet them there."

Buffy nodded. "Any clues?"

"Not yet, but we will. Willow, do you have your laptop with you?"

"Yep!" her friend answered.

"Good. Pull up your schematics of Sunnydale. We're looking for somewhere conducive to all three elements."

"Trees, dirt, and stone, sounds like a cemetery to me," Xander commented and they all froze.

"Could it be that simple?" Buffy asked.

Giles shrugged. "Anything is possible. But which cemetery?"

"Maybe if we try and figure out where they'll all three meet, we can get there first," Oz suggested.

"Yes, all right," Giles nodded. "Willow, see if you can find anything, including the cemeteries, which includes all three elements in abundance. Rather than a few trees, I think it's likely that the wood harbinger would stay with a thicket of trees. Likewise, look for a berm or a mound."

"With big rocks nearby," Xander suggested.

With that, he and Oz clustered with Willow at her computer, searching for possible locations.

Giles looked over at Buffy. "We should start to put armament together," he said. She nodded and they went to the trunks brought from the library where the weaponry was stored.

"Flaming crossbow, for Woody," she said, "and that swinging hammer thing for Rock Guy. But what about water? We don't have a super-soaker. Though I'll bet Xander does."

"Then we'll have him get it. But we may need more water than that. We may have to lure it somewhere in easy reach of a garden hose."

"Or lure it down to the docks?" Buffy suggested.

"If we can. I don't know how intelligent these beings are, whether they'd realize they're in danger, or if they're more single-minded than that." He sighed. "I wish we knew more about them."

"Hey," she put a hand on his arm, "we know tons more than we've known about some of our enemies."

He shrugged in concession. "I just hope it's enough."

"It will be," she said confidently. Even if she didn't feel that confident, she wanted to look it. But his expression didn't change, that same slightly worried frown. It was heavier than his look when he came back from the rabbi's. Like whatever had gone right there had gone wrong here. "You okay?" she asked softly.

He smiled gently and put his hand over hers, squeezing gently. "I wish I could do more for you, but then I've always felt that way, even before all this."

"You do everything," she said. "And even more. And we're gonna find these harbingers and destroy them. And the sun will rise tomorrow. I promise." She turned her hand, linking her fingers with his.

"Yes," he nodded, "I believe it will."

She couldn't tell if the smile he gave her meant that he really did believe what he was saying, or if he just said it to humor her. But it made her even more determined to succeed, to show him that the unbeatable team still fought, still won.

"We should call Faith," he was saying, "get her involved in this."

Buffy nodded. She never felt comfortable fighting beside Faith. Their approaches were so different, she always felt that they were working at cross-purposes. But they'd need all the manpower they could get this time, and she had to admit, Faith was good, maybe even better than Buffy herself.

"Well, we'd best see how the others are getting on," Giles said, letting go of her hand and getting to his feet.

Buffy followed him up, reaching for him again, needing to somehow reassure herself that he was okay, that everything would be fine. But her hand stalled before she reached him, and when he turned around he saw her simply standing there, looking at him. He smiled, put a brief hand on her shoulder, and then he was gone, across the room to check on the others. Buffy took a deep breath. Now was not the time to get sentimental and gushy. That would come afterwards, when they did their post-game analysis. When they'd have the luxury to let each other know their fears, their hopes. Not that they ever did, but.... But maybe it was time for that to change.

With a sigh, she went to call Faith.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"You are not!"

"I am!"

"Giles--!"

"Buffy--!"

"Guys!" Willow interrupted them. "Time?"

Giles and Buffy looked at each other. She was being stubborn, obstinate, irritating.... Of course, she'd probably say the same of him.

"I will not," he went on, "sit here whilst the rest of you go out there to face these things."

"And I don't want you anywhere near the action, where you might get hurt," she countered.

"Buffy--"

"Giles--"

"Guys!" Willow cried again.

"It just makes sense, Buffy," he said.

"And I said no," she returned. "I can't fight these things if I'm worrying about you."

"Then don't worry about me, you just do your job. Let me take care of me."

"Giles--"

"Buffy--"

"Guys!" This time Willow's voice was loud enough they both stopped in their tracks. They'd never heard her use a tone like that before. "We don't have time for this!" They stared at her. "Harbingers, Karthenar, end of world, remember?"

The two combatants looked at each other sheepishly. "All I'm saying," Giles began.

"It's a stupid risk," Buffy countered.

"No, it's not, Buff." That was Xander, joining in their private quarrel. "In fact, it makes the most sense."

"We don't know that the harbingers will make for the library," Giles continued with a nod at Xander, "but given the psychic energy of the Hellmouth, it's a logical assumption."

"Giles is the best person to put the ward around the Hellmouth," Willow added.

"You can do the ward," Buffy told her. "Giles should stay clear."

Willow glanced at Giles, then back to Buffy. "He's ... he's better at it than I am. I mean, if you want it done right."

Giles managed a small smile. "In the library, I'm apt to be as safe as anywhere else."

"You'd be safer at home," she insisted.

"Not an option," he dismissed. "You need my help and the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can stop stalling and start preventing the end of the world."

Buffy scowled. "I don't like it."

"Duly noted," Giles said dryly. "Now then."

"So we're running around town hunting harbingers," Xander picked up the thread. "The idea is to get them before they can get together?"

"And without them knowing we've got their buddies," Oz added.

"But if we can't, then they'll probably try for the library, 'cause of the psychic energy and stuff," Willow said.

"Maybe," Buffy scowled.

"And if they don't, you've got nothing to complain about," Giles countered mildly. Her frown increased.

"In any case, the library will be warded," Willow went on.

"What good will that do?" That was Faith, putting in a rare appearance at one of their planning sessions.

"Not much, actually," Giles admitted, "except perhaps to slow them down enough to enable us to destroy them before they complete their summoning."

"The warding should cut down some of the energy," Willow explained. "Kind of like a filter on a faucet -- they still get it, but in a trickle instead of a stream."

"So we chase them there and bammo," Faith supplied.

"Precisely."

"Assuming bammo means the end of the harbingers, not the end of the world," Oz added.

"Uh, quite."

They all looked at each other.

"Okay, people, let's roll," Xander quoted and they mobilized, collecting their weapons, heading for the door. Buffy stood directly in front of Giles.

"I still don't like it."

"Then just make sure the harbingers never reach the library," he countered. "Buffy, you know it's our best option, like it or not. I'm not keen on the idea, either, but Willow will be with me, there's nothing to worry about."

"Famous last words," she muttered.

"I hope not. Now get going. We've got work to do."

Buffy made a face, then reluctantly nodded. She turned away, then turned back. "Be careful."

He nodded. "And you."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hellmouth knew something was coming.

Giles never told the children, supposing they'd think the "old man" had finally cracked up, but he always knew whenever there would be activity on the Hellmouth proper. The air crackled with its energy.

It seemed odd, being in the library after so long away. Giles looked around with an odd mix of detachment and nostalgia. Over the years, it had been a place of great pain, but also great joy. It was a place that symbolized more than any other the work he was doing. He missed it, and he longed for the day when he could return here.

Beside him, Willow shivered. "Wow, heavy psychic energy here tonight."

He glanced at her sharply. "You can feel that?"

She nodded. "It'd be a little hard to miss."

Giles gazed at Willow for a moment. She had a deep interest in witchcraft, but thus far had demonstrated no more than average aptitude for it. She might some day be a competent spellcaster, but it had always seemed to him she had little natural gift for the craft. Perhaps he'd underestimated her.

"Shall we get started?" he said and she nodded. Together they moved the large table out of the center of the room and Willow began to draw the circle on the floor. Giles set out the candles and other accoutrements necessary for the casting, and set up a brazier, lighting it. He added various ingredients to the cauldron, and laid several more out for the actual casting.

Willow completed her circle and Giles carried the brazier to the center, getting to his knees in front of it. She joined him opposite, handed him a small bundle of sticks, and he began.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn't look the way Buffy had expected a tree demon to look. Somehow she'd expected one of those apple throwing trees from the Wizard Of Oz -- branches for arms, leaves growing out of the top of its head. Instead, it looked like a man. Okay, a very big man. And his skin was brown and leathery. Like bark.

The crossbow bolts all had oil-soaked rags tied to them, and they smelled, making Buffy's nose itch. When the creature emerged from the trees, Buffy fitted a bolt into the bow, lit the end, and fired.

She hadn't counted on the bolt's altered aerodynamics, however, and it fell short, hitting the demon in the leg. It screamed and dropped to its knees, extinguishing the flame. Then it got to its feet and staggered off, back into the woods.

"Shoot!" Buffy muttered.

"Don't sweat it, B." Faith adjusted the bow and arrows on her back. "I'll get this guy." She took a rag-soaked baseball bat from Xander, lit the end of it and ran into the woods after the creature.

"Only you can prevent forest fires!" Xander called after her. She flipped him the bird and kept running, disappearing into the trees.

"Should we go help her?" Xander asked.

Buffy shook her head. "Faith can handle it. Come on, we've got two more bad guys to find."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth kind of looked like The Thing, from the movies -- big and blobby. Xander's super-soaker startled it, even wounded it. But it wasn't sufficient to kill it.

"We need more water," Oz said.

"Like, maybe the high school swimming pool?" Xander suggested.

"Like maybe," Oz agreed.

The two boys exchanged a glance, going into what Buffy thought of as "guy telepathy", that secret guy-world girls would never understand. Though it usually had to do with Pamela Anderson and breasts.

Xander nodded. "We'll try to lure it to the pool."

"Okay, but -- be careful. It's probably very strong."

"Not to mention dirty," Xander quipped.

With a grin, he and Oz ran after the demon.

Buffy shook her head, wondering how those two could possibly herd a demon, but figuring they had about as much chance as anybody.

Now for Stony....

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The ward was in place.

Giles got to his feet slowly, reaching for Willow's steadying hand. One of the more annoying continuing after-effects of his injury was a dizziness which crept up on him unawares.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded. "I will be."

"How long is the ward good for?"

"As long as the brazier burns, or until someone breaks the circle." So saying, he gingerly stepped over the chalk mark.

Willow followed. "Won't we be safer in the circle?"

"Not this time. The circle will actually contain the energy, keep it from dissipating, keep it from being so readily available for use. And we must keep the harbingers out of the circle as well."

Willow nodded, understanding. "So now what?"

"We wait. If we're very lucky, we wait a long time and Buffy and the others will come here to tell us the danger is past."

"And if we're unlucky?" she asked.

"We defend the circle," he answered. "They might still be able to call forth Karthenar without the added energy, but we don't want to make it any easier for them."

Conversation lagged as Willow settled into a chair and Giles paced the perimeter of the library. It was odd, being here but not being able to make it his own. The office wasn't his anymore. The books were arranged according to someone else's preferences, the policies were enforced, perhaps even changed, by someone else. Between that disconcerting fact and the strong psychic vibes he was getting off the Hellmouth, Giles decided he'd be much happier once he could leave this place.

Willow's soft voice interrupted his musings.

"Do you want me to read to you?" she asked. "Something?"

He smiled and shook his head. "But thank you."

"Oh." She settled back in her seat.

"Thank you also for the suggestion of Rabbi Solomon."

"Oh!" She brightened. "You're welcome. I'm glad he could help. He's a cool guy. He taught me for my bat mitzvah, and we had a great time."

Giles smiled. "Yes, he's ... he's very easy to talk to. Did you know he's made something of a study of apocalypse stories?"

Willow grinned. "So he wasn't freaked by it?"

"I'm not sure how much he actually believed or understood, or if he thinks I'm just some harmless old kook, but--"

"He wouldn't think that!" she protested.

"Well, whatever the case, he was a great help. And a good man to talk to. I quite enjoyed our afternoon together."

Willow smiled, clearly pleased. "So ... you gonna bring him into the Scooby Gang?"

"Oh," Giles laughed, "I don't think I'd go that far, but--"

There was a crash and the library doors burst open.

The demon was tall, perhaps seven feet. And large, with broad shoulders and powerful arms and legs. Its skin was gray and mottled.

"Stone," Giles murmured. "Willow, get out of here."

"No," she said firmly.

"Don't argue, just go!"

"No! I can take care of myself, you're the one who--"

"Willow, shut up and go find the others, get them here. Now!"

Willow shut up, turned and ran, snaking past the monster when he took a lunge for her. And then she was gone.

Giles looked up at the demon again. It all came down to this. To himself, well below par, barely able to function, having to prevent the end of the world. He didn't know where Buffy and the others were, didn't know whether they'd been successful in stopping the other harbingers. But even if they had, this one could call them forth again and their efforts would be for naught. Giles needed to stop this one, and he needed to stop it now. "I sanctify this spot," he chanted in Latin. "No evil may come here."

The demon laughed, obviously unimpressed. It was a hollow sound, like rattling gravel.

Giles picked up the battle axe from the table and swung at the monster. He was well under strength; the creature caught the weapon easily, yanking it out of Giles' grasp, and its fist crumbled the handle to splinters. It laughed again.

"Wonderful," Giles muttered, "a demon with a sense of whimsy."

The demon started forward, heading for the circle. Giles desperately tried to think of some way to stop it. He grabbed hold of the copier, which was on wheels, pushing it into the creature. It grunted, but batted the copier out of the way as if it were weightless.

"Damn," Giles cursed. How to stop a moving rock?

"Well, I guess you're right, I can't stop you," he called out. "Go ahead, create your havoc, don't mind me." He circled around it, making his way toward the cage where he and Willow had left other weapons.

The demon began chanting, a sound like stones falling in a cave. Then he lunged at Giles, catching him by the arm. Giles screamed as he felt his arm being torn from its socket and he was hurled across the center table to lie in a heap on the floor at the foot of the steps. His fingers were numb and every movement sent waves of pain up his arm and across his shoulder.

"Bastard," he muttered.

The demon laughed again and turned and lumbered toward him, going straight through the circle, knocking over the brazier and breaking the spell. But it didn't stop to perform its ceremony, it simply came straight for Giles.

"Shit!" Giles struggled to his feet, holding his injured arm against his body. He was drenched in a cold sweat, every nerve in his body on fire. He was going to die. "All right, you bugger, you want me, come and get me." He couldn't hope to beat the creature's strength, but he had to try to keep the demon distracted. Were he to run away, the creature would simply return to his chants, summon his friends, and bring forth the end of the world.

So he moved slowly up the stairs, all the while watching his foe, and just before he suspected the demon would lunge, he turned and dashed up the last few steps and into the stacks.

The creature was faster than Giles expected, but its density meant it wasn't stealthy. Its heavy footfall on the floor of the upper level of the library gave Giles all the warning he needed. For several minutes they played cat and mouse in the stacks, but Giles' arm throbbed and he knew the creature would outlast him. So he led it to the front of the stacks, nearest the railing, then when it was almost on him, dashed around to the back and pushed the stack over. As he'd hoped, the heavy wooden shelf toppled, knocking the demon to the ground and pinning it there. Unfortunately, with only one good arm, the only way he could topple the shelf was to lean on it, and when it went down, so did Giles, jarring his arm again.

And the demon, even more unfortunately, was not dead. In a moment it began to move, pushing to free itself from the books and shelves. It wouldn't take long for it to break free, so Giles scrambled to his feet his arm screaming in agony, staggered around to the other stacks, toppling the one in back, letting it crash into two more and sending all three to the ground.

He lay there, on top of the backmost stack, winded from his second jar in as many minutes, waiting for the terrible pain in his arm to subside. He could hear the creature still struggling under the load of four bookcases and books.

"What does it take to kill you, you bugger?"

He knew the answer. With a groan, he hauled himself upright, staggering down the steps. The battle axe lay in the middle of the floor, its wooden handle snapped and splintered. Giles picked it up. With only about six inches of the handle left, it would be difficult to get the momentum needed to swing the axe with sufficient force to crush the demon. Especially not one-handed. But he had to try. He moved slowly back to the upper level, staggering on the steps, and picked his way over to the downed shelves. Every movement was agony, but he fought to concentrate on the task at hand.

It was easy to see where the demon was -- bits of shelving and books kept shifting about as it struggled to crawl out from under. Giles stepped carefully toward it, lifted the stunted axe, and brought it down. It glanced harmlessly off a shelf. "Damn." He tried again, where he saw a gray stony hand reaching through the wreckage. This time, it broke off two fingers. The creature made a hideous growling noise and redoubled its efforts to get free.

Giles looked at the axe with growing panic. It wasn't going to get the job done. "Where's a sixteen ton anvil when you need one?" he muttered. He headed back downstairs again, looking for better weaponry. The pain in his arm was starting to make him woozy and he took a misstep, tumbling down the last three steps.

He lay at the bottom of the stairs, trying to find his breath, and wondered in a detached sort of way whether this wasn't the end. He didn't have the strength to get up again. The stone demon would free itself and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It would summon its companions and together they'd bring forth Karthenar. And the world would end because Giles didn't have the strength to stop it. Everyone would die and it would be his fault. Buffy would fight, but she would lose, because of him.

"Buffy--" he murmured. She was depending on him.

Someplace he found his last reserves of energy and pulled himself to his feet. Let the demon kill him. At least he'd try. At least he'd die trying to help Buffy.

He staggered across the floor again, bumping into furniture as he went, trying to get to the cage.

The library door burst open. "Giles!"

"Buffy--!"

"Is he here?"

Giles pointed to the fallen shelves. "But still alive."

"Not for long," she said confidently, hoisting the throwing hammer off her shoulder and into her hands.

He smiled; he'd never been so grateful to see her. His legs collapsed and he slid down the card catalog.

"Giles, are you all right?" Her eyes were wide, her expression worried.

"Go," he gasped. "While it's still pinned."

She paused for a moment, as if undecided, then turned and ran up the steps, quickly making her way over to the demon.

"Time's up, Stony." She swung the hammer, bringing it down. There was a crunch and a horrible cry, and a shower of stone fragments and wood splinters flew up.

"This is kinda wrecking the shelves," Buffy called.

"Don't worry about the shelves, just destroy it."

Another swing, another blow. She swung for several minutes, obliterating the creature, and Giles watched in almost a detached way. His slayer had come to save the day. She had succeeded where he had failed. She had done what she'd been trained to do. He was so very proud of her.

Finally, she lowered her weapon. "He's sand," she said, turning back to Giles. "Well, gravel, really. Did we ever figure out if he can reform?"

Giles looked up at her. Reform? How could a demon ever reform? Then he realized she'd meant re-form as in form again, not reform as in turn a new leaf. "I don't know. We can scatter the parts, just in case."

She nodded and came down the steps.

"The others?" he asked.

"Woody's a pile of ash, and Muddy's a bunch of slime in the bottom of the swimming pool." She grinned, and he found a smile for her. He considered getting up, but really, it was much more comfortable here on the floor. He didn't have to move, he could just sit here....

"Giles?" Buffy was crouched down next to him, a hand on his shoulder and worry in her eyes.

"Hmmm?"

"How bad is it?"

"How bad is what?"

"Wherever you're hurt."

"Oh. Arm."

"Is it broken?"

"Possibly. At the very least, it's dislocated."

Buffy made a face. "Did you hit your head?"

He gave a wry smile. "No, as a matter of fact, I managed to avoid that this time. Twisted an ankle, but my head ... is fine." Except for the headache that suddenly rampaged and threatened to overwhelm him. Far from the sedentary life his doctor recommended for him. He knew the pain was getting to him, he was starting to get giddy.

"We need to get you to the hospital," Buffy said, and reached to help him to his feet. "You know, you really need to get some kind of frequent patient discount over there."

He chuckled. "I'd rather not, thanks."

"Yeah, but you're not gonna protest about going again, are you?"

"No. I know I need to go this time. If nothing else, my arm is killing me."

The door burst open again. "Giles!" Willow called. "I couldn't find -- oh. Never mind. Buffy's here." Willow gave a half-smile. "Xander and Oz are right behind me."

"And we're here," Oz said.

"What's the 411?" Faith asked, coming in last.

"Stony's a pile of rubble up there," Buffy pointed, "and Giles has a broken arm."

"Possibly broken" he corrected, but without much enthusiasm. It really hurt like the devil.

"Hospital?" Xander asked.

"Hospital," Buffy confirmed. "Can you guys scoop up as much of Stony as you can and throw him out? We want his stone parts scattered."

Oz and Willow nodded. "No prob," said Faith.

"Thanks. Come on."

Giles let Buffy take him by the arm, let her lead him from the library. He wanted to call back to the others, give them instructions, tell them how to set the books back in place. But he didn't have the strength. And besides, it was somebody else's problem this time, not his. He chuckled softly.

"What?" Buffy asked.

"Just feeling sorry for whoever has to set the library to rights."

"Glad it's not you?" Xander asked.

"Very."

"Come on, happy Librarian-guy, let's get you to the hospital." Buffy put her arm around him and led him to the car.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Buffy sat in the waiting room, head cradled on her hand ... waiting. Again. At least this time Giles hadn't hit his head, at least there was that. But still ... waiting at hospitals sucked.

She'd sent Xander home almost two hours ago. He'd been willing to stay, but she didn't want him here when it was so late. She and Giles could take a cab home, no problem. And God knew how long it might still be.

A woman in a lab coat stopped in the waiting room. "Buffy?" she called.

Buffy was on her feet instantly. "That's me."

The doctor smiled. "Hi, I'm Dr. Carroll, Rupert's doctor."

"Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine. He dislocated his shoulder. We reduced it and have it immobilized."

"It's not broken?"

"No, the arm itself is fine. It's just the shoulder."

"But he couldn't move it, and he said his fingers were numb."

"That's the way with dislocations. All those muscles and nerves that run through your shoulder get involved." She traced a line from her upper chest, over her shoulder, and down to her fingertips. "He'll need to keep the arm immobilized for a couple of weeks, but then it should be fine."

"Oh, good," Buffy sighed with relief. It wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"But--" the doctor continued pointedly, "there's something else I wanted to talk to you about. Won't you have a seat?"

Buffy frowned. Giles was going to be okay, what was the problem?

The doctor sat next to her. "You're one of the ones who's usually with him when he comes in and he's listed you as next of kin, so--"

"He has?" she blurted.

"He says he doesn't have any other family in the United States."

"Well, no, he doesn't. So yeah, I guess I'm probably the closest thing." Buffy boggled a little at the idea. It had never occurred to her what Giles would do, how he'd handle all those stupid forms you had to fill out. She didn't even know if he had relatives back in England. There was a lot she didn't know about him.

"So given this," the doctor continued, "I have to assume he's important to you."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. Though just how important kept being brought home in surprising ways.

"Then as his ... friend...." Buffy scowled. Why was it, whenever anyone saw her and Giles together they automatically assumed, once they found out he wasn't her father, that there was something going on between them? "...maybe you can convince him to have a little more care about his well-being," the doctor finished.

"You think he gets hurt like this on purpose?"

"I think that for whatever reason, Rupert is cavalier about himself and his health. His present problems stem from not one head injury but repeated trauma over a period of months. Eight months ago he was here with three broken fingers and numerous bruises and lacerations. Two months ago it was his head again. Now this. I can't decide if he's got a death-wish, if he's careless, or simply incredibly unlucky. But whichever it is, if he's not careful he's going to do something to himself he won't recover from."

Buffy felt a chill shoot through her body. "It's not like he tries to get hurt," she protested feebly.

"But he doesn't seem to try not to, either," she countered. "Now, he was lucky this time, he didn't hit his head. But one more head injury...."

"You mean it'll kill him?" she squeaked.

The doctor shrugged. "Head injuries are tricky things. Truth is, it might not do anything. Or it might not at first, but later on.... The point is that every blow he takes, whether to his head or elsewhere, brings him one step closer to the one he won't recover from." The doctor gazed at her intently. "Do you care about him, Buffy?"

Buffy went cold and nodded.

"Then you'll try and convince him to be more careful, so you'll have him around for a long time to come."

Buffy couldn't answer. She felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. The doctor thought Giles might die...?

"All right?" the doctor prompted.

Buffy blinked and nodded again. She hadn't expected this, not at all. Oh, she knew his head injury was serious, but this.... Giles was risking his life and all she could think about was how she didn't want the Watcher's Council interfering. And why not? Because she liked things the way they were. Because she knew Giles and he knew her. He knew the way she worked, the way she thought. He listened to her, didn't try to give her orders (well, not too many, and not much anymore); worked with her, not against her. He understood the terrible reality that was her life and seldom yelled, seldom scolded, and never belittled her and how she felt. He let her be selfish, he let her be childish. Most important, he let her be Buffy. Not just "slayer". But person.

And she'd rewarded him by forcing him to stay in danger -- to risk getting killed, not because it was the only way but because it was Buffy's way. Oh, God, how selfish could she be?

"We're releasing him now," the doctor was saying, getting to her feet. "He'll be out soon. Make sure he goes right home."

Buffy nodded again numbly and the doctor smiled. "He's all right now, Buffy. I just want to make sure he stays that way." With that she went back into the ward and Buffy slumped into her seat, arms clasped around her middle. Oh God, what was she going to do?

Giles appeared a few minutes later, a sheepish little half-smile on his face. He looked almost normal -- well, except for the sling. He didn't even seem so dragged out like he usually did. She wondered what kind of drugs they gave him.

"Here I am, in one piece," he said, and he briefly glanced at his sling, that awkward little smile flashing again. "Well, more or less. Shall we go?"

Buffy looked up at him and burst into tears.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Giles was stunned. "Buffy, what--?" Buffy launched herself into his

arms and he had to brace himself lest she knock him over. As it was, she jostled his arm and he gasped.

She let go as if stung. "I'm sorry," she cried.

"I'm all right," he reassured her. "Gently." His hand went to her shoulder in comfort. The tears were streaming down her face. "Buffy, what's this about? What happened?"

Her eyes widened. "You ... oh God, you almost died!"

He gaped. "I what? I did no such thing. It's a dislocation, the arm's not even broken. Not a fatal wound, I assure you."

"But you might have." She sniffed. "If you hit your head again."

"But I didn't. My head is fine."

"This time," she countered. "But what about next time? And you know there's gonna be a next time, Giles. There always is."

"Then we'll deal with it, just as we always have."

Buffy just shook her head. "No. I won't let you do that anymore. Not when it might kill you."

He just blinked at her. Where did this come from all of a sudden? He slid his hand down to her arm, leading her to a more secluded corner of the waiting room. "Buffy, we face death nightly, both of us. That isn't going to change."

"Yes it is," she insisted. "Because you're not going to do it anymore. You're going to stay where it's safe. I won't let you put yourself at risk like that."

"Buffy, we've been over this--"

"No!" she cried. "I'm the slayer and I forbid you to get involved." She did imperious so seldom, and imperious from a tiny little blonde was so incongruous, he almost laughed, but he also knew she was serious.

"Are you saying you don't want me as your watcher anymore?" he asked quietly.

Her large eyes got even bigger and she swallowed. Then she slowly nodded. "If that's what it takes."

The rational part of him knew she was just upset and that's why she was going on like this. The emotional part reeled from the impact of her words. Rejected by the girl he'd dedicated his life to. It hurt more than imagining.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, gaining time to gather his wits about him again. "Buffy, I can no more stop being a watcher than you can stop being the slayer. If you turn me away, I'll still be a watcher, just not with you."

"Yes, you can," she insisted. "You don't have to do this. You don't have--"

"A calling? Oh, yes, I do. Perhaps it wasn't predestination which made me what I am, but it was certainly heredity. I come from a long line of watchers; it's in my blood."

"But you're not ... I mean you don't have ... you're not ... there aren't any special watcher gifts, are there? So you can just walk away from it. Giles, you don't have to do this like I do. You can quit."

"No, I can't, any more than you can. Besides, we've both quit at one time or another. But we both went back. Do you know why?"

Buffy was silent for a moment. "Because I had to," she said softly.

"Who said you had to? Last summer, no one knew where you were, who you were. You could have gone on like that and no one would have been the wiser. But instead you chose to come home."

"That was different. People needed me."

Giles closed his eyes, sighing. Buffy's honesty could cut like a knife.

"Oh, Giles, no, that's not what I meant," she went on, her face pleading. "I do need you. But not if it means you'll die. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you."

"We're all at risk, Buffy, you know that. You can't protect us and do your job as well; you must depend that we will be able to look after ourselves."

"But you don't! You act like you're the one with the super powers. You fight, you take stupid risks, you ... you...."

"I only do what must be done," he insisted. "Do you honestly think I could live with myself if I didn't do absolutely everything in my power to assist you? If I let you face dangers on your own that I could have prevented? I hadn't wanted to fight that demon tonight, Buffy, but I had no choice. I couldn't just cower in my office and let him summon his companions to bring about the end of the world, not while I had breath to stop it. I had to act.

"Which isn't to say I wasn't delighted when you arrived."

Buffy managed a feeble smile. "But you shouldn't--"

"But I must," he countered gently. "When I became a watcher, I gave my pledge to always do everything I could to help the slayer. Perhaps in the old days, with other watchers, that was restricted to what could be found in books. But I don't work that way. I can't. Don't ask it of me."

She was silent, staring at him. "I only ask that you not go out of your way to try and get killed." She looked up at him. "Your doctor thinks you've got a death-wish."

He started. "She what? When did you talk to my doctor?"

Buffy looked away guiltily. "When you were back there. She came out."

Giles felt his gut clench. "She's the one who told you I might have died," he muttered angrily. "She had no right--"

"She's only trying to keep you alive," Buffy insisted.

"Not at the expense of upsetting you."

"But she's right. You've got to be more careful. Not because I don't want another watcher. But because I don't want to lose you." Her voice dropped into its little girl tone, the one he found endearing and irritating in turns. "You mean too much to me."

His anger fled in the face of her sad sincerity. Whatever her motivations, he didn't doubt the veracity of her emotions. "I can't make any promises, Buffy," he said gently, "except the promise to try."

She stared at him for a moment, then closed her eyes and nodded. It would have to do.

She looked at him again. "Are ... does that hurt a lot?" she pointed at his arm.

"It's sore," he admitted. "There's a residual ache, but it's not so bad, as long as I don't move it much."

"Oh." She bit her lip. "Would it hurt you if I ... I mean, could I ... can you...."

In response, he extended his good arm, reaching for her, gathering her to him. She wrapped her arms around him, mindful of his injury, and held on tight. He held her close, his cheek resting against her blonde head, feeling that end-of-crisis letdown, grateful that at the end of the day they were able to have this argument, because it meant they were still alive to have it.

He released her slowly. "Come on, let's go home," he said softly and she nodded, wiping away tears he knew neither of them would ever mention. They called a taxi and sat in silence waiting for it to come. Neither of them had words for what they were feeling, and really, they were better off without them; they often used words between them like weapons, and there was no need for weapons here. Instead, they sat silently, but not uncomfortably, and Buffy slipped her hand into his, linking their fingers. The gesture said more than words possibly could.

When the taxi arrived, they got in, Giles giving the driver Buffy's address.

"Aren't you going home?" she asked.

"Yes, but we're going to take you home first."

"I can just walk from your place. I mean, can you manage, with your arm and everything?"

"I can manage just fine, though thank God it's my right arm. And I'd feel better knowing you were home and safe."

"Giles, slayer, remember?" Buffy smirked.

"Humor me. I can't help you now; it's up to you to be cautious as well."

That sobered her and she sat back with a frown. "Will you need anything?" she asked softly.

"Only for you to go home, get some sleep, and stop worrying. I'll be fine."

"I can't help it." She pouted.

"I know, no more than I can help worrying about you. But it's very late and I don't know about you, but I'm knackered."

There was a long pause. "You're underwear?"

He laughed out loud. "That's knickers. Knackered means exhausted."

"Oh."

"Where did you hear knickers for underwear?"

She shrugged. "Austin Powers, maybe." She looked at him. "Please tell me you didn't really talk like that in the 60s."

He chuckled. "I haven't seen the execrable film in question, but I dare say it's an exaggeration, like any comedy. There were certainly people in the 'mod' scene in London who may have been that sort, but I assure you I wasn't one of them. I wasn't even in London in the sixties."

"Where were you?"

"Out in the little town where I grew up. About three hours west of London. Going to London was considered a huge outing. It didn't happen often."

Buffy stared at him. "You grew up on a farm?"

"There is more to life than cities and farms, Buffy. It was a small town, and there was farming, yes. And we had horses for a time. But we weren't farmers. My father was a solicitor. A lawyer."

"And a watcher."

He nodded. "And a watcher."

There was a pause.

"Are you sorry?"

"Pardon?"

"Sorry you didn't get to be ... whatever it was you wanted to be when you grew up."

"No," he said immediately. "It was highly unlikely I would ever have become a rock star, and there was nothing else I really wanted to be. As much as I may have railed against the demands of my calling, I never really doubted it was mine. And now there's no place I'd rather be." He smiled at her and she grinned, albeit a little unconvincingly.

"You gonna be okay?" she whispered.

"Me, oh yes, I'll be fine," he answered. "Are you?"

She shrugged. "Will you need help tomorrow?"

"With what?"

Another shrug. "Stuff. Stuff you can't do."

"I'll be fine," he repeated. "In fact, I'm hoping to have a lunch date tomorrow."

"Really?" Her eyes widened. "With who?"

"With Rabbi Solomon. Willow's rabbi, who helped us with the translation. I promised him that once the crisis was over, I'd let him know what it was all about."

"Is that ... I mean ... we're talking end of world stuff here."

"Yes, but Rabbi Solomon has both a personal and a professional interest in good vs. evil. And...." his tone became softer, "he's easy to talk to. He ... he's very wise. It's a pleasure to talk to another scholar. I dare say I could tell him everything and he would barely blink. Not that I'm planning on telling him everything. But I suspect I could."

Buffy slowly smiled. "That's ... neat. I'm glad you've found a friend. I mean, someone who isn't in high school."

"I care for all of you very much," he said, "don't ever think I don't. But it is nice to have an adult to talk to every now and then."

"Yeah, you haven't had that, not since...." The words died. It was the one thing they absolutely never discussed.

He looked away, feeling the old, familiar pang. But he noticed the pang wasn't nearly as acute as it had been. Perhaps he was finally healing. "No, I haven't," he said simply. "And it's good to have a ... a friend to talk to. Like you and Willow."

That made Buffy smile and the earlier awkwardness faded, just a little. "I'll call her when I get in, let her know you're okay. They worry, too, you know."

"I know. And I worry about them. As I said, it's good to have friends."

Her smile brightened. "Yeah, it is."

The cab stopped in front of Buffy's house. "Call you tomorrow?"

"I'll do my best to be home by the time school lets out."

"Oh, you're gonna turn into a social butterfly now, aren't you?" she teased.

He chuckled. "Oh, yes, just a whirl of engagements. Therapy, lunch with a rabbi, I'm simply agog at the activity." She giggled. "I'll see you tomorrow, Buffy."

She nodded. Then she leaned in and gave him a quick hug, kissing his cheek. "Love you, Giles." Then with a shy smile, she ducked out of the car and ran up her walk.

Giles sighed, shaking his head. Sometimes it was all he could do to keep up with Buffy's mercurial moods. But for all she drove him to distraction, she truly was a remarkable girl, one he felt blessed to have in his life. He might not have wished his calling, but now it was his, there was no place he'd rather be, and no one he'd rather share it with than Buffy.

It had been, all things considered, an extraordinary evening. They'd prevented the end of the world, yet again, and had all survived to tell the tale. And if his own performance at the library hadn't been stellar, at least he'd managed to slow the creature down. And then there was the supreme irony that he'd stopped the demon with books.

He was still smiling as the taxi let him off in front of his apartment. He wondered how the police would explain the latest wreck of the library, and what Principal Snyder would think about it, since he couldn't blame Giles for it this time; after all, theoretically, Giles hadn't been anywhere near the place in weeks. He smiled at the thought once again that he wasn't going to have to deal with the clean up; this time it was somebody else's problem. He just hoped whoever they got knew their Dewey and could get it all put back the way it belonged.

He let himself into his flat. It had been feeling more and more oppressive to him in recent days -- being at home reminded him of his incapacities, and that brought on the depression again. But tonight he didn't feel the oppression. Tonight he was glad to be home. They'd done good work today; he was proud of their little band.

There was a flash coming from the answering machine on his desk and he pushed the button, listening as the message played, the voice's clipped British tones chilling him to his core:

"Rupert, it's Quentin Travers. It's time."

THE END

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