Warm morning sunlight played on her face, making bright red patterns on the inside of her eyelids. Willow let out a groan and buried her head beneath the pillow. She winced at the unexpected rawness in her throat. She felt sore all over. As the peace of sleep retreated, she began to realize the wrongness of the situation.

She wasn't in her room.

A hollow gnawing was forming in her stomach that made her grit her teeth.

It was then that she realized that she wasn't wearing any clothes. Someone had carefully tucked her under white sheets and warm comforter and had left.

She was alone.

When she realized where she was, the hollow twinge grew teeth, biting acidly at the back of her throat. Last night's events came back slowly, first as a blur, then a sharp, horrifying memory with a volume too loud to drown out.

"Oh no," she whimpered. "Please no."

"No no no no-no-nonononono…" she choked back a cry as she fumbled around the mattress searching for her clothes. She found them a few minutes later on the other side of the room. The sight of her jeans and sweater folded neatly in a chair by the wardrobe made the nausea all the more acute. She had to get out of there.

Fully clothed, she poked her head out of the door and padded softly down the stairs. The sight of him sleeping on the living room couch, glasses askew, lips parted and snoring softly, made her freeze on the landing. She slowly drew in a breath and sneaked past him on tiptoes, not chancing a glance back.

She made it to the bathroom just in time.

The sound of the door closing and the retching that followed jarred him awake. His heart thudded violently as he raised a shaky hand to adjust his glasses. He crept into the hallway outside the bathroom. The wet coughing continued and he began to feel ill himself.

Giles curled a sweat-slicked palm into a tight fist and was just about to knock when he thought better of it.

"Not yet," he muttered.

He shuffled into the kitchen and set a kettle of water on the stove top, before walking into the den and promptly forgetting about it. He fidgeted on the couch for two minutes, then quickly abandoned all pretence of calm and paced.

The gagging in the bathroom was replaced with the metallic thwack of the shower curtain being pulled back and the accompaniment of running water.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished desperately for patience. The shower seemed to continue indefinitely.

"It's alright," he tried to reassure himself. "It's only natural that she'd want to… Oh, God… what have I done? She must think I'm… If she really hated me though, she would leave, and she's still here so—what if she couldn't make it home? What if she was too hurt to leave? Did I really hurt her that badly? I tried not to…"

He cut himself off, realizing that debating himself like a crazy person was not what Willow needed to see when she came out. If she ever came out.

Finally, his anxiety got the better of him.

He knocked gently on the door. There was no reply, but he knew from the change in the tone of the slap of water on tile that she had heard him.

"Willow?" He pursed his lips when there was no answer and tried again. "Willow, I'll be in the living room when you come out. We need to talk."

The taps squeaked as she shut off the water.

"Okay," came the quiet reply.

Willow padded out from the bathroom dressed in her clothes from the night before, hair still soaking wet and dripping onto her sweater-clad shoulders. She perched on the edge of the couch opposite to him and stared intently at her hands.

Giles cleared his throat, "Willow, can I get you anything to drink?"

She shook her head and shifted her gaze to his lap, unable to meet his eyes.

"Okay," he tried again in a calm voice, "How are you feeling?"

"How do you think?" She asked in a gravelly whisper.

The color drained out of Giles' face. The silence in the room grew by volumes with every second.

"You have every right to hate—"

"Oh Giles," Willow cut him off. "I am so sorry!"

The older man was stunned into silence.

Willow's eyes filled with tears and overflowed. "I am so embarrassed! I was irresponsible and… Oh, God!"

She buried her face in the couch cushion, which muffled her strangled gasp.

"Willow…" Giles inched toward her.

She peered at him over the corner of the pillow and mumbled something that was lost in the synthetic polyblend.

"Didn't quite catch that."

"I was such a whore! I was a slutty-slut! You have to believe that I didn't mean to do any of that. I would never do anything to compromise our friendship. Especially after last summer! I understand if you don't want to see me again!"

Willow was hysterical, half-crying, half-screaming, her breath coming out in shaking gasps.

"Willow, shhhh," Giles tried. "Willow, Willow… WILLOW!"

She broke finally broke off, wincing as if waiting for a blow.

He moved as close to her as he could without touching her.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he spoke quietly. "I encouraged you to practice magicks again. And I was the one who… Willow, can you ever forgive me?"

Willow sniffed and looked up to him with an air of incredulity, "Forgive you? Why? Giles, you saved me! You did the only thing that would have worked!"

Giles looked away, "Well, that's what Anya said, but I should have explored…"

"You told Anya?"

Giles eyed Willow carefully, "Willow, what do you remember about last night?"

Willow swallowed and looked intently at the coffee table, "It started like I told you earlier. Buffy came home from patrol and I was in the kitchen…"