His assailant let go, moving to fasten the already tight ropes on his hands. Another watcher, or not watcher, for watchers would not get their hands dirty, inserted a tape into a VCR he rolled into the room and turned on the TV.

Giles breathed heavily as the snow on the TV screen gave way to the form of his slayer. She was alive. The picture was from above, gray scaled and soundless. The footage of a security camera positioned in the corner of her room, Giles wagered.

His slayer was crouched by the door, and even from the distance of the camera Giles knew she was picking the lock. Something made her jump to her feet and move back from the door, sticking the hairpin in her hair.

A man entered the room, holding a cane in one hand. Giles' brow forrowed. What was that for?

Then the man, talking to Buffy, or at her as the case seemed to be, turned a little and Giles' breath caught. "No…"

One of the thugs turned to him. "What was that?"

"No…" Not even the council at its current state would give Boxtree a slayer. He was too violent, too much of a "control freak".

Giles breathed in as Boxtree slapped his slayer hard, then grabbed her and pushed her to the bed. He felt numbness creep through him as Buffy's buttocks were exposed and Boxtree raised the hand holding the cane high in the air.

Giles sat up, breathing hard. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair, trying to calm his breath.

He looked down at his slayer. Her head was still on his thigh, her body curled into a little ball under the covers, and her thumb was lodged firmly in her mouth.

Giles pulled her hand away gently, covering it with his larger one. She whimpered softly but did not wake or move. He brought his other hand to her head and smoothed her hair. Her tense body relaxed slowly, substituting one comfort for another.

Boxtree had caught her suckling on her thumb once, and Giles was treated to the site of his slayer filling the sink with cold water and placing her caned hands in them. She had no privacy even in the bathroom, but she was never told this. There was no permanent damage done to her hands, but from that day on the sound of the door opening woke Buffy up immediately.

Giles sat there for a while, alternating between smoothing her hair and rubbing her back, trying hard not to think of the rest of what he was shown.

A loud thunder startled Buffy out of her sleep. A second thunder, and then a steady tapping. Within seconds, Buffy was running downstairs and out the door.

Giles ran after her as fast as he could, laughing a little at the site of her standing with her face tilted up into the downpour, taking in the fresh cool air. She turned to Giles and smiled brilliantly. "Look Giles, rain."

He came over to stand next to her, smiling "I see."

Buffy looked at the way the smile lit his eyes, unlike Boxtree's smile which never seemed to be more than muscle work. Smiling again, she started spinning in the rain.

Giles laughed again, suppressing the urge to tell her she'll catch a cold. Lightning lit up the sky and Buffy, still dancing with her arms spread out, suddenly discovered she was freezing.

"Brrrrrr" She said, heading for the house in a run. Giles shook his head and followed her in.

Buffy stood and looked at her room. She was still a little cold, although her clothes at least were dry ones. The room looked as it always had, a pile of Christmas presents her mom bought as if nothing was wrong that holiday cluttering the corner.

The room was very cold, but she couldn't bring herself to close the door or the windows.

Giles walked up to the door, knocking softly on the frame and smiling gently as she turned to him. "Watch the sunrise?"

"Yeah." She looked down, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. She tried to tell herself he loved her and cared for her, but what she read in his journal and what Adams had said to her sometimes made believing her own words rather hard. If he truly cared for her, even after all that she's done to him, wouldn't he have stopped her from making certain mistakes?

Giles saw the shift in her features and decided to back away for now. Something had happened there, in Boxtree's "care", which made her question him. It hurt to see her shy away again after that night, and he chided himself for foolishly thinking one night would solve all their problems. She needed time to adjust and she needed her space. And while he wasn't about to leave her all alone, he did not want her to feel trapped by him 24 hours a day. He stepped away from the door.

"Sleep tight."

"Night." She said, managing a little smile. She slid under the blankets and Giles looked at her for a second before turning and heading for his own room.

Buffy shielded her eyes. She was no longer accustomed to the lights filtering in; the moon and the street lights at night, then the soft glow of the cloud covered sun. The fresh, cool air burned her nostrils and lungs, and she herself was burning with a desire to be out there, enjoying what little warmth the sun was giving out and the puddles in the street. But as she looked out at the sunrise earlier, it all appeared too big, too crowded even in the light pre-dawn traffic. Now the cheerful sounds of a neighborhood starting it's day sounded alien to her, preventing her sleep. The light bothered her eyes but shielding them made her feel confined and suffocated. She sat up angrily, mad at the day for keeping her sleep away. It wasn't that she was tired, she had slept soundly that night; it was that she did not wish to face the thoughts which haunted her when ever she was alone and awake.

Hearing a crash of some plates from the kitchen she made up her mind not to be alone until darkness once again allowed her to sleep and got up, padding towards the stairs and running into her room again as her feet met the cold floor. For the past seven months she had lived in an old fashioned house where hot water ran under the floor tiles to warm them and the room. Muttering quietly, she put a pair of socks on and headed down again.

Giles was slicing vegetables as her mother dumped the last remains of a shattered plate down the garbage can. Buffy frowned at the image of them talking lightly and fixing a meal. Knowing how easily her mother fell for men of Giles' charm she had a frightening image in the form of her calling Giles 'dad'. She shook her head to clear it and the movement of her long hair caught Giles' attention.

"Buffy, I thought you had gone to bed."

Joyce turned around with a smile and came to put her arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Yeah, but I heard a crash."

"Oh, that was just me and my two left hands."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "And what is wrong with a left hand?" He questioned. Joyce couldn't help smiling at the hurt expression on his face as he put the knife down and placed both hands on his hips in mock anger.

"Nothing Rupert, unless you happen to be right handed." Joyce turned back to her daughter, who did not take Giles' display of anger very well and was now looking at her feet. "Your father is coming later."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? He missed you and was worried about you Buffy."

Giles waited for the snappy remark as to Hank's lack of care thus far and mentally sighed when Buffy moved to sit at the counter, saying nothing. Boxtree had certainly taken the zest out of her.

He was sitting across the counter from Buffy but she wasn't looking at him. He and Joyce exchanged looks above her bent head and Joyce went back to stirring the eggs, keeping her voice light. "Willow and Xander will be here soon."

"We're going to try and, um, break the spell today. Give you your strength back."

Finally she looked at him. "Really?"

He smiled. "Yes, really."

A smile brightened her face and she accepted a slice of cucumber he offered her. He smiled again and then turned back to the vegetables. "Would you like to cut some vegetables?"

He handed her a knife and Buffy stared at it. When she came back the night before they had Chinese take out, which they dutifully ate with chopsticks, and so it was the first time in seven months she saw a knife. It felt foreign, out of sync with her own hand; the grip was strange and she couldn't find a comfortable angle. She thought of all the times knifes had saved her life, feeling like an extension of her arms, as natural to her as any of her fingers. Now she had to slice slowly, afraid she would cut herself with one of her favorite weapons.

Giles frowned at her, concerned. He knew exactly why she was awake. It was the same reason he was. Too much noise, too much light, and the thought of closing the door made him sick to his stomach, so much that he did not take a shower if Joyce was there. If she were not and he could keep the door open, he would spend as much as an hour trying to get 7 months worth of filth off him, although he was scrubbed clean by Xander his first night back. If she would talk to him, she might discover she was not alone in her feelings; that they shared many traumas those past months and that he was willing to help, aching to help her in fact, if only she would let him. At the moment, though, it seemed being near him was difficult enough. She was not ready to share her feelings with him, or anyone else for that matter. At some point he might force her to talk, as he was sure she needed the outlet of sharing her experiences. For now, however, he would allow her to keep it all in.

Buffy did not take long to lose interest in the vegetables. Taking a glass of apple juice she wondered out the back door and sat, shivering slightly in the surprisingly cold weather, tracing shapes in the clouds.

In the kitchen, Joyce looked at the closing door and sighed. She turned back and caught Giles' eye. "She needs time."

"I know. I just… she hasn't been here for seven months and she hardly talks to me."

"It's a lot for her to take in. It's hard… trying to start a normal life after that… she'll improve over time, we just need to give her space when she asks for it. Although, we also have to know when not to back down. I'm sorry, but I can't give you guide lines. I'll trust your instincts on that."

Joyce shook her head and went back to her cake. Giles looked at her for a second before turning back to his unyielding stack of vegetables. In the past she always knew when to back off and when not to, with the exception of the babysitting-Buffy madness they had both been a part of after her return the previous summer. He had full trust in her ability to do the same now, when her daughter was locked between her natural need for love and her fear of adults. It would be some time before Buffy's unconscious caught up with the rest of her in realizing he and Joyce would never hurt her.

A while later the front door slammed and Willow's voice filtered in. Following Xander, who in turn followed his sense of smell, into the kitchen, she walked up to Giles with an excited look and glittering eyes. "I found it, and I found the spell to break it. And I bought all the ingredients, and, uh, look, cookies!!"

Giles chuckled as Willow joined Xander in his attempt to snag the cookies from Joyce's arms. "You two go out and see Buffy. I'll get you cookies. Go."

They filed out the back door, Xander chewing on the red pepper Giles gave him as distraction. Buffy was still sitting on a chair and staring at the clouds. "Hi Buffy."

"Hi Willow. What you eating Xander?"

Willow didn't let him answer. "We have everything we need for the spell right here, and I know how to do it and everything. Well, except for a small part, but I'm sure Giles would know what to do with that."

"Thanks Will. So how are you guys?"

"We're fine. So, how was your first night in your room?"

Buffy thought of her sneaking down the corridor to Giles' room and spending the night there. "Great."

"Good. So, we want you not to be bending the silverware when your father is here and we figured it will take you some time to adjust to your strength so we'll be starting on this spell now."

"Not before I get my cookies." Xander warned.

"Some things never change." Said Buffy, a little wistfully.

"So, did you watch the sunrise? Giles watched the sunrise when he came back."

"Yeah, but it was cloudy so I didn't really get to see much."

Giles came out of the kitchen with a plate of the promised cookies and a cup of tea. "Here you go, eat up while I read up on the spell."

Willow handed him the book from her herb-laden bag and he sat on the stairs, sipping his tea. Buffy watched this, the things she had always associated with Giles – Tea, herbs and old books. She wondered why Boxtree never smelled of any of those ingredients. Even Wesley did. Shrugging, she turned her attention to the cookies, the first taste of her mother's culinary talents she had in far too long. Who ever did the cooking for the past seven months was British, she had no doubt of that.

Willow told Buffy some tales of their summer and first semester of college. Buffy's kidnapping was all over the news and in an act of sympathy and graciousness, UC Sunnydale wrote Mrs. Summers and assured her that Buffy's place as a student is promised, this year or whenever she came home. Willow was now busy warning her of the many horrors of college life, including midterms and communal showers.

Giles filtered the words out, as he had so many times in the past when they cluttered the library while he was trying to read. But he was aware of the comfort and feeling of old habit rising from the act of researching with tea while the children talked. He glanced at Buffy and saw that she too felt it. She was relaxed, smiling and munching cookies as she listened to Willow's tell of the horrid Psych. professor.

The spell seemed easy enough that a witch of Willow's power would be able to perform it smoothly. Giles wished to get it over with quickly, for Buffy's emotional benefit as much as her safety. They had not heard the last of the council, he was sure.

Willow struggled to keep her powers focused as the spell neared its end. Simple it may have been, but it took more out of her than she could afford to give.

She completed the spell with a sigh of relief and crumpled forward. Anya and Xander helped her to the sofa while Giles carried an unconscious Buffy to her room.

He lay her under the heavy blankets and sat back on the small sofa to watch her. She would not be asleep for long, he knew; once the initial shock of the spell wore off, the light and the noise would wake her.

Buffy mumbled quietly and brought her thumb to her mouth. Giles wondered how long it would be before Boxtree stopped affecting her behavior even in sleep.

"Giles?"

He looked up to see Xander standing in the door, holding a steaming bowl of water and a wash cloth. Nodding, he got up and followed him to the bathroom. Pulling his shirt off he sat on the edge of the bathtub and hissed as the warm water touched his wounds.

Xander tried to stop the shaking of his hands. The room Giles spent seven months in had an un-smoothed concrete floor, and its ridges cut into his flesh. The wounds were worse on his chest and back, where breathing movements drove his ribcage harder against the floor, and on his arms, which supported the weight of his head. Both men could only hope Buffy would not walk in and see the cuts over the clearly visible bones. Giles was given very nourishing meals during his captivity, but not on a regular basis.

Xander moved on to Giles' chest, crouching on the floor in front of him. "Why won't you tell me what else they did to you?"

"It is nothing you need concern yourself with. There is nothing we can do about it now."

"It might help if you talked about it."

"I'm not the talk - about – it sort."

"You're a stubborn old fool."

"I know." Giles hissed as Xander applied disinfected to the worst cuts, for once without a joke.

The light filtered in through her closed eyelids and Buffy turned to bury her head in the pillow. A distant car horn and the voices of playing children turned her over on her back, sighing heavily as she stared at the ceiling.

"Hi."

Buffy jumped up and moved to the opposite end of the bed from the voice before realizing it was Willow and relaxing. "Don't ever do that again."

"Sorry. Giles wanted me to make sure you don't have any nightmares."

"That's nice."

Willow moved over to sit next to Buffy and lowered her voice. "Your mom says he has nightmares all the time, but you know how Giles is – he'll never tell us about them."

Buffy looked down at her hands. "I'll be down in a few minutes, ok?"

"Sure."

Buffy watched Willow slip out of the room and flopped back against the pillow. She had deliberately avoided thinking about what Giles must have been through since their capture. When she found he was alive she was content with that, and she meant to keep it that way.

Pushing all thoughts of Giles out of her mind she got up and brushed her hair. Not thinking of Giles wasn't going to be easy as long as they both lived in the same house. And if her mother knew he had dreams, all the way across the hall from his room, there was no way that she, next door to him, would not.

She looked at herself in the mirror and a sudden memory of doing the same in Adams' house came to her, making her think of him.

Buffy was capable of imagining many gruesome methods of dying, but for some reason Adams' death seemed the worse. She forced that thought out of her mind as well and found herself thinking of her father. Sighing and closing her eyes tightly, she wondered why any thought of the grown men in her life hurt so much.

Buffy looked at her brush and was amazed to see the amount of hair tangled in it. "Well, got my strength back." She muttered.

She went down the stairs just in time to bump, literally, into Giles who had managed to spill gravy all over himself and was in search of a new shirt. He smiled at her and she couldn't help smiling back, but he noticed they both took a step back, getting the other out of their personal space. Clearing his throat he gestured downstairs. "Lunch is almost ready. I suggest you get in line or Xander might eat it all."

She smiled again. He smiled back and climbed the rest of the way to the hall. Buffy followed him with her eyes then looked down as he disappeared into his room. There was a sense of familiarity in Giles' company; his presence, the warm smiles aimed only at her. She turned and went down the stairs.

Giles changed his shirt and headed for the bathroom, hoping Joyce or Xander would have the sense to keep everyone from coming up for a few minutes.

He was aware that he had a problem. On the night they rescued Buffy he couldn't bring himself to enter Oz's van, instead taking uncle Rory's car, keeping the top down. Buffy, he knew, closed the door when she used the bathroom, although the frigid temperatures told him she did not close the window. In this sense at least she was doing better than him; perhaps it was because Buffy's room was lighted, because she was allowed to wander in the garden, indoors but un-roofed. Unlike Giles, she did not spend seven months in perpetual darkness.

Giles washed his hands, enjoying the icy water. They felt alive, real. The week between his rescue and Buffy's was a blurry memory, and he did not even remember how he gotten to the Summers' home. Joyce, fussing over him, told him he politely knocked on the front door, collapsing when she opened it. All he remembered of the first 24 hours was staggering in the mud, Xander's tearful face, and the sunrise. A beautiful, red sun coming up over the horizon to blind him.

His imprisonment was even more of a mystery. Already he was beginning to repress some of it, and the surreal sensation of sleeping and waking in darkness warped his perception of time. He did not believe Joyce when she told him that he had been gone for so long until she showed him the date on the newspaper. He remembered thinking how fortunate it was that no demon had decided to bring forth the apocalypse on New Year's Eve.

That's when the nightmares began. When he for the first time understood the severity of the situation – Boxtree had Buffy for seven months. He had experienced a sense of dread such as he never before had. Nothing until he saw her climb into Oz's van could calm him. But the nightmares didn't stop then. They were still every bit as forceful as before.

He splashed some water on his face, shivering slightly in the cold air. "Rupert!! Lunch!!"

"Coming."

Giles looked at his reflection. "All right old man. Smile."

Giles rubbed his temples tiredly. The racket they were raising was the cause of one dreadful headache, and he cursed quietly at the sound of a breaking plate. It was all rather similar to a hangover, and a large one at that.

Someone turned on the radio in the kitchen, the volume alarmingly loud. Giles felt the walls close around him and moved closer to the window, away from the noise. He was dimly aware that his breath had quickened, that he was sweating.

Fear, Fight, Flight.

Struggling with a wave of nausea, he staggered out the front door and onto the porch, shutting his eyes tightly against the brightness of daylight. He sat on the front steps and tried to calm himself, willing his pounding head to quiet.

Slowly, the fresh air revived him. Giles felt an urge rise within him to crawl back into the cellar he had spent such a long time in and enjoy the silence and the darkness. He couldn't stand being alone, couldn't stand the darkness and closed rooms, but he couldn't be around all the noise, all the light. He was caught between two fears, two things he desired and detested at the same time.

"You wanna' go back there?"

He half turned to look at his slayer as she came to sit beside him. "I know how you feel. It's like everything I wanted comes with everything I don't. I never realized how much noise humans make when they speak. I missed Will and Xander and I wanted to talk to them, but I can't stand how loud it all is."

"This is silly. I just have to get myself together and…"

"And what? You'll be all right again? This isn't going to just disappear. We've both been through a lot and… it's gonna' take some time. Maybe a lot of time. Think about it and you'll see I'm right."

"I'm trying not to. Think about it, that is."

"The famous 'ignore it and it will go away' Giles method of dealing with trauma."

Giles breathed in deeply and it was only then that Buffy noticed his shoulders were shaking. "What did they do to you?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing. I'm just…"

"You're just being stubborn and brave. You don't have to be. It's all right if it hurt. If it still does."

"And what about you? Does it still hurt you? What he did?"

"He didn't mean to hurt me, he was…"

"He was beating on you."

She was suspicious "How do you know?"

Giles didn't look at her. He hadn't intended on revealing to her how much he knew.

"Anyway, he was… strict. But…"

"Buffy, your mother was strict. She took no nonsense from you, no disobedience. But did she ever raise her hand?"

Buffy's brow forwed and she looked away. "Maybe he just didn't know any better."

"He used your fear to control you. He knew exactly what he was doing and why. He wasn't some misguided, well intending father. He meant to frighten you into submission, to the point where you would ask him permission to chew gum!"

Buffy wiped tears she hadn't realized she was shedding.

"I understand it was easier to believe he cared for you and care for him in return. That it was not as lonely if you became friends. But you know I'm right Buffy. You know he tried to pull you back into that fire. Would I, your mother, or anyone who truly cared for you, rather lose you than watch you die?"

Buffy stood on shaky legs. "I have to go save mom. Xander is trying to help her."

She looked at him for a second, then turned and entered the house.

Hank was not told of Giles' early return. He was not told of how they found Buffy. Joyce had only told him that they had returned, safe and sound. As far as she, and the rest of them, were concerned, Hank could think they were simply released.

He walked up the path and to the front door, balancing a gift box, his keys, jacket and over-night bag. As he opened the door and dropped his things he was reminded of 16 years of coming home to a wife and daughter, and a small wave of sadness washed over him.

He wasn't greeted by either one of them, instead Rupert Giles, the man who had disappeared alongside his daughter, wandered into the hall to see who had come in and gave him a polite smile before turning to look at Buffy and Willow who had come up behind him. Before anyone could say anything, Hank ran forward and hugged his daughter to him tightly.

Buffy tried hugging him back, but he was making her feel trapped, threatened. He was too strong, and he was using too much force on her. "Dad, let go."

Hank didn't even hear his daughter. He wasn't a very good father but he did love her, and those seven months harbored an unending sensation of fear, which over rode anything else. He just wanted to hold her to him for a while and feel her there, safe.

Buffy was starting to panic. He had to let go. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. The world seemed to disappear and panic overwhelmed her. She pushed him away, forgetting her new-found strength. Hank fell, hitting his head against the wall, and lay still as a stunned Buffy looked at him with wide eyes.

Willow crouched by his side as Buffy took a few steps back. Her wide eyes turned to Giles, confusing the concerned frown with anger .

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean… I'm sorry…" Fear gripped her and she ran, heading for the back door.

"Buffy!" Giles ran after her, almost knocking Joyce and Xander down. "Buffy, stop!"

By the time he reached the door she was no where in sight. Grabbing a jacket of the hanger he set out in a run to the street, not really sure which way he was to head.

Deciding guessing was his only option, he took a left and saw her turn the corner. Running as fast as his weakened, unexercised muscles would allow, he soon understood where she was headed and turned to a short cut even she didn't know about, arriving at the cemetery just in time to catch her at the gate. "Buffy, stop."

She pushed him away. Still holding on to her, he took her to the ground with him. She crawled away from him, looking scared, and a little confused. Giles guessed that she ran without thought, arriving there purely on instinct.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean… he…"

"He scared you. I know, it's ok."

"I… is he hurt?"

"I don't know."

"I forgot.. I haven't been that strong for so long…"

"I know. It's all right Buffy, it was an accident, I know that. Your mother will explain things to your father as well."

"You're not mad?"

"Of course not." He smiled at her reassuringly. She smiled back and got up, a little shakily, sitting on a nearby bench. Giles stood and wiped some dirt off himself and the jacket he was carrying, then moved to sit next to her. That little run was agony on his muscles and bones; for seven months he had not so much as supported his own body weight, now he felt as weak as if he hadn't eaten in far too long, and had already forgotten how to sleep.

"I can't believe I missed the cemetery."

Giles looked around him, taking in the familiar surroundings. "Indeed."

"Do you wanna' stay here till dark and do with the slaying?"

"Neither one of us is up to slaying."

He expected an argument, a protest of some sort, but she just looked down and remained silent.

"Normally you'd be in full protest mode right about now."

Buffy kept her head bowed and her long hair was blocking his view of her face. Giles tucked a finger under her chin and turned her to look at him. "Where is your fighting spirit?"

She swallowed, but didn't say anything. A few seconds, and Giles withdrew his hand. She looked at her feet, once again silent.

"Adams didn't like it when I argued." She finally admitted.

"No, I imagine he didn't."

He looked at her downcast head and cursed Boxtree for the umpteenth time. Draping the jacket over her shoulders he took her hand and guided her home.

Her father was sitting on the sofa, an ice pack pressed against the back of his head, as she hesitantly walked into the living room. Glancing behind her to make sure Giles was still there, she moved closer to her father, but not close enough to touch.

"Hey."

He looked up at her, smiling but making no sudden movements. "Hello."

"Sorry, about…"

"It's all right. I've missed you."

Giles shook his head and turned towards the kitchen. Home and craving his attention, Buffy only saw her father twice in the year and a half prior to her kidnapping.

He entered the kitchen to find Four faces looking up at him expectantly. "What?"

"Is Buffy all right?"

"She's fine. She's talking to her father right now."

Joyce nodded and turned back to her endless cooking. Giles treated himself to some scotch and Willow and Anya left, promising to be back tomorrow. Xander stayed, munching his way under the guise of helping Ms. Summers.

He and Giles snuck an occasional look at each other. While Giles had only a blurry memory of his first night back, Xander remembered every little detail about it, from the stench rising from Giles when he first came to the way he fell asleep in the tub three times. Everything was sharp, clear. The way he looked; his smell; the deep cuts and bruises his sponge revealed as the gray filth gave way to pale, agonized skin. He had worked his way through almost 3 bottles of soap before he had managed to clean Giles completely, and remembered perfectly how his embarrassment had changed into anger and concern as his work revealed more of what had been done to Giles.

There was a long scar on his cheek, the only spot where the long tangled beard did not grow. There were bones showing Xander didn't even know existed. The cuts on his back and chest bled as Xander scrubbed them and gave him quite a fright, but not as much as discovering that Giles would never, ever have kids of his own. He started to truly cry then, and his uncontrolled, quiet sobs woke Giles, who mistook him for Buffy and shushed him gently, not even opening his eyes.

Buffy followed Hank into the kitchen and came to stand next to Giles, so near him that they were touching. He put his hand on the small of her back and rubbed gently. They both felt their personal space was being invaded, but both seemed to prefer it to standing alone.

Buffy looked at Giles' arm, leaning on the counter, the rolled sleeve revealing the thinness, the lack of power in the muscle. Buffy was ashamed of her own slightly plump figure, of her strength. She ran her fingers over the bandage, wondering how bad it all looked under his physical shields, and how stormy it was under the calm exterior he was so good at maintaining. She felt him stiffen under her probing hand and withdrew it quickly, suddenly afraid. The hand on her back felt like a threat and she pulled away from him. His hand shot out to grab her wrist and let go just as quickly when she looked at him, scared.

"Buffy…"

"I'm sorry!"

"It's all right! calm down."

She didn't, she moved away from him, blushing under the stares of the others, but looking only at him like a frightened animal in the headlights.

At a sign from Giles, one Buffy's fear filled eyes missed, Xander moved to her. "Hey, Buff, why don't you and I go watch some TV? I bet you missed it."

Buffy glanced at him, then looked at Giles. "Go on." He said gently, sighing with relief as she moved after Xander.

Giles excused himself quickly and dropped himself on his bed, wincing at the impact of his wounds. He could hear the TV playing in the living room, smell the wonderful cooking of Mrs. Summers, and felt the room once more close around him. He rubbed his temples, willing himself to get control over his psyche. Buffy was right, he had to talk to somebody. But he would not talk to her, and Xander had his own nightmares. He did not need those of a tortured man. He would keep it inside, deal with it as he dealt with every thing else.

He felt himself slip into the sweet oblivion that was the pre-dream stages of sleep, when he did not think or dream of his waking nightmare.

Buffy looked at him from the door. It was clear to her that he was having a nightmare, and was trapped in it, unable to escape it by waking. She walked hesitantly to the side of the bed, staring at the unfamiliar body of the man she used to know so well. Slowly, unsure, Buffy lowered herself next to the thrashing body and rested her hand on his stomach, rubbing it gently. He quieted somewhat, but the frown remained.

She was overcome by curiosity, wanting to know what he was hiding under the long clothes. Her hand reached for the hem of his shirt and she pushed it up a little, peeking under it.

Giles woke to see his slayer crying, her hand attempting to halt the sobs, her eyes fixed on his stomach and protruding ribs. He reached for her and she jumped off the bed, shaking her head as if trying to deny something, not completely sure herself what it was.

She only took a few steps before her knees betrayed her and she sank to the floor, to be met by the weak arms of her watcher, himself shaking. She longed for the strength she felt in his every touch when the library was there to protect them both.

She missed the library. She was sure that had it been around, she would have been safe, would have been stronger. All she needed was to see Giles sitting in his office, reading a book with the always present cup of tea, and she would be whole again. And so would he, strong of body and nightmare free, smiling at her and boring her with new information on a demon she had already slain.

But at least he would be smiling, confident, hers. Her watcher, the way she thought he always would be.

Was he?

She looked up to be met by his green eyes. They were dark and bright at the same time. And there was love in them. "Did Adams do this to you?"

He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. "No. Not Boxtree. You mustn't blame yourself Buffy, for any of this. There was nothing to be done."

"It was my fault. Everything."

"No…"

"Everything." She looked up at his eyes and he realized she wasn't talking simply of the past months. "Everything in your journal. All that pain… I did that to you. I made you hurt."

"Buffy…"

She was out of the room, pounding down the stairs, before he managed to lift himself of the floor. "BUFFY!!"

Xander ran after her for as long as he could, finally returning to where Giles collapsed and helping him back to the house. Giles drooped heavily on the sofa, rubbing the tears from his eyes in the hope that Xander would miss them, knowing that he wouldn't.

Xander brought him a glass of water, trying to let Giles compose himself without it looking like he was aware that something was wrong. Eventually, he had to ask. "Why did she run?"

"She blames herself." Giles' voice was shaky. "She said she saw it in my journal. That she was causing me pain. She looked… she looked at my wounds."

"Oh man." Xander pretended not to see as Giles wiped his tear stained cheek. "I'll take Ms. Summers' car, see if I can find her."

Giles got up. "I'll come with you."

"No, you stay here. In case she comes back. Or in case she's afraid of getting near you again."

Giles sank back in his seat. Too late, Xander realized it may not have been the best possible choice of words. He considered saying something else, but at last decided to leave, squeezing Giles' shoulder on the way out.

He passed Joyce at the living room door and asked for the keys. She pointed him in the right direction absentmindedly, staring at Giles. When Xander left, she came to sit next to him. "Did you ever blame her?"

Giles shook his head, too tired to be outraged by the question. "Never? Not in three years? Not in seven months?"

Giles looked at her, his eyes tired, and infinitely sad. "I'd be lying if I said that I never got angry with her, never thought her actions ill-advised or down right foolish. There were times when she could have done much better then she did, could have made much wiser choices. But I never blamed her for her mistakes. She was young, she was scared and getting older by the minute despite her deepest wishes. At times that led her to choose the wrong thing. But what happened to us seven months ago, or since then, had nothing to do with her. Her choice to leave the council was backed by me. If I had said something, anything at all, she would have remained with them, by word if not by action. I am to blame for what has happened here, not her. And it is up to me to see that she understands that, so that she can finally forgive herself for a crime not hers. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to rest."

He got up and labored up the stairs to his bed, where the smell of Buffy still lingered. He would make her understand, make her believe, that it was not her fault. If only she would talk to him again.

Buffy slowed down her run, eventually slowing to a walk near the mansion. The source of her nightmares, of her guilt. Not over Angel, not over his death. But of what happened there that night, what Angelus had done to her watcher. To the man who looked at her with loving eyes not half an hour before, despite everything.

Despite what she allowed the council to do to him. Despite of what she allowed Boxtree to do to her, and to become, when she should have kept him far away, physically and emotionally. Giles deserved better than her. He deserved someone who would take care of him, and remain loyal to him as he had to her.

She sat down and thought. Did she love Adams? Maybe, in a little corner of her lonely heart, she let him become important. But she didn't love him, she was certain of that. At times, late at night, she remembered to hate him. Those were the times when her thoughts of Giles hurt the most. When she remembered who she really loved, and who really loved her.

Adams didn't love her, she could see that clearly for the first time in months. Giles did, despite of everything. Maybe that was what made him Giles.

She got up and turned to the house. They needed to talk.

Xander kicked the tire.

Xander kicked the spare tire.

Xander waved for a taxi.

He was sitting on the front steps, staring out the window at the setting sun. He got up when he saw her, slowly, pained.

She came to stand in front of him, looking up with twinkling eyes. He looked down at her, at the warmth suddenly shining in the always frightened eyes. She reached a small hand up to trace his jaw, his brow, the long scars unable to hide his true self.

She stretched, kissing his cheek lightly, then resting her head on his shoulder and holding on to him as he hugged her fiercely.

Xander knew who they were even before he saw them clearly. There was too much tweed there, too many dark-windowed cars.

Wesley turned, holding a large gun in his hand.

Xander ran.

The End