Giles arrived at The Local Bar fifteen minutes late and he feared she had moved on. The initial unsettling encounter with the other Jenny had occurred the week before. He pushed through the curtain, to find his mystery woman sitting in the same spot where they'd first met, smoldering coffin nail in hand. Her close-fitting dress was black, and covered her from chin to ankle. When she saw him, she stabbed the cigarette into an ashtray and stood up. He wasn't certain what to do, if he should placate her with his excuse or if such explanations would be a greater insult.

He trailed her out of the common room with its overly polite music and into the hall. She ducked into the first open room and so did he.

"Jenny."

She slammed the door and then backed him against the wall using her shoulder, like an American football lineman. He was so startled, he fell back against the wall. She grabbed his crotch with a rough hand.

"This belongs to me. I don't like to wait for it. The next time you're late in delivering my things, I won't be here. Understand?"

"Yes, mistress."

Though he was helpless, she was still shorter by a foot and a half. She had to pull his head down to kiss him. Despite her insistence that he was nothing more than a responsive body, the way she kissed made him think she had missed him. Mad as it was, he'd missed her, too. She continued to squeeze his cock as her tongue soothed and seared inside his mouth. When he got hard, her moan vibrated against his lips. The sound made his stomach quake. She fumbled with the buckle on his belt. He almost helped her, then remembered he was playing at being her slave. It took forever for her to take down his slacks. When she'd finally succeeded and they were laying in a heap at his ankles, she stroked him in earnest.

"As punishment for keeping me waiting, I'm going to make you come before the torture starts. You'll be more receptive to me that way."

Her hand kept pumping and he leaned against her. She smelled like cigarettes and that same hint of flowers as before. Her breath was coming fast and her skin was starting to shimmer with sweat. The side of his face rested on her forehead and he could see her biting her skinny, lower lip. He could feel his orgasm climb, shedding the constraints of self control with its ascent.

"Come for me right now." Her voice was calm in contrast to the raw yelp he gave as he spurted against her hand.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. Giles pulled away from her and reached into the breast pocket of his leather suitjacket for his handkerchief. Carefully, he held each of her hands and wiped them clean. All the while her eyes sparkled and a wisp of a smile turned up her lips.

"How proper you are," she said.

"Hardly."

"Take off your clothes," she whispered, taking the handkerchief from him and tossing it behind her shoulder.

He peeled off his leather jacket and her seductive look was replaced with one of horror.

"Oh my god, you're bleeding!"

"It's nothing," Giles said, until he glanced at his arm and noticed the entire left sleeve of his green shirt had darkened to a sticky black. "Good Lord, that is rather alarming."

She took his hands and tugged. His feet were tangled in his trousers and he stumbled, but she caught him before he could fall.

"I'm sorry. Why didn't you say something, baby?" She dipped down, pulled up his pants and secured his fly.

"It didn't seem to be a severe injury at the time, but that might have been the adrenaline." Which was wearing off, letting the pain seep through.

They walked to the bed and she made him sit down with a commanding hand pressing on his shoulder.

"Who did this to you? If it was play, you need to stop. She doesn't know what she's doing and could hurt you very badly."

Giles chuckled and ruffled his hair with a quick scrub of his hand.

"This wasn't play. I was attempting to stake a vampire and it threw me."

"Did it escape?" she asked, touching his cheek.

"No, my companions got the better of the creature."

"So Sunnydale is safe for another evening?"

"Hardly, but we did our best. Also, it's been nearly forty years since I've been anyone's baby."

She kissed him, hard, surprising them both. He put his hands on her waist, regretting they were smudged with earth from the cemetery. Her boots shuffled against the concrete floor and she scrambled back.

"Don't."

"I didn't mean to offend you," he said.

"There are first aid supplies in the bathroom. Go, clean yourself up. I don't think it's safe for us to continue on with anything tonight. You should see a doctor." She breezed over his second apology of the night.

"Yes, well, I'll take that into account."

She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth then fled to the door. The other Jenny was gone before the warmth of her hand on his chest had faded. Soreness permeated his joints. He dragged himself to his feet and across the floor to the utilitarian bathroom. He'd expected gold taps and sunken marble, but the washroom was a sickly pistachio with a standup shower. Above the white, pedestal sink was a mirrored medicine cabinet containing the medical supplies. Gingerly, he peeled his shirt off, grimacing when the fabric stuck to the wound. Once that was over, he was relieved to see the mess was caused by nothing more than a scrape, albeit a long one reaching from shoulder to forearm. There were bruises on his side, too, but nothing was broken.

He washed up and began dressing the injuries. Caring for himself after a fight was normal. Buffy was the only one among the children who'd ever help him with that sort of thing. Willow had tried once, but her hands shook too much. Later, Buffy laughingly told him the diminutive redhead had a crush on him. After that, he would hide his minor injuries, but Buffy could always see through him. When they were on their own, she would dab him with rubbing alcohol or afix a bandage. Though she'd never said it, Buffy's nursemaid ritual felt like a proprietary gesture. He was her responsibility. Her Watcher.

As he slid his dirty shirt back on with careful movements, he realized one of the others could have helped him. Tara would have offered, and with a minimum of awkwardness seeing as she'd never considered him a sexual being. Dawn was always looking to be useful and Xander would have patched him up without complaint. Willow had outgrown her schoolgirl squeamishness and even Spike would have aided him. Of course, the vampire probably would have popped the soiled gauze into his mouth afterward.

Giles wasn't sure why he could not ask. They were his friends and had grown from being his students into his family. But he wasn't their Watcher. He belonged to none of them