Healing by Coast2Coast
Chapter 2
When they arrived at the Summers' residence, they found no lights shining from the windows; the front porch light the only illumination besides the dim streetlights. Buffy felt a quick stab of concern for her mother, then noticed a large duffle bag perched near the steps at the edge of the front porch. Buffy heaved a deep sigh and leaned her head against the car window. "Oh, great. Just great," she whispered to herself.
Giles had come around the car and was preparing to pull on the door handle until he realized Buffy would fall out if he did so. "Buffy?" he called to her. She straightened up to allow him to open the door. "Are you all right?"
"Just peachy," she answered, in a flat tone. When Giles offered her a hand out of the car she shook her head. "I think I'll save myself the walk," she said, pointing to the bulky bag.
"What is it?" Giles asked.
"You'll see. Don't bother ringing the bell." She watched Giles walk up the path. He paused only briefly as he passed the duffle, stepped up to the door and rang the bell. He waited a moment, then rang again.
"He really ought to start listening to me," Buffy muttered to herself.
Giles recognized the duffel as the bag Buffy used when toting a larger than normal arsenal of weapons and wondered why it was sitting out on the porch. Had she intended to take it to the boardinghouse and then abandoned it here for some reason? Deciding not to waste time on pointless speculation, he continued on to the front door and rang the bell. When his summons caused no visible activity in the house he rang again. He peered in the small panes of glass set in the front door but could see no movement, no lights; listening intently brought no sound whatsoever to his ears. Although he was apprehensive about what might have happened to Joyce, he was more concerned for Buffy. He returned to the car, bringing the bag with him. He noticed when he picked it up that it didn't clank as usual when loaded with stakes and other weapons but reached the car before he could consider the matter further.
"It seems your mother isn't home. Can you think where she might have gone?"
"She's there."
"But... do you mean she might be injured; that she couldn't make it to the door?"
"No, that's not what I meant," she answered tiredly.
Giles waited but Buffy volunteered no more information. "Do you have a key?"
"I doesn't matter. Even if it still works the chain will be on," she held up a hand to forestall more questions. "There's no point staying here. You're sure you don't have enough medical stuff at the library?"
Giles frowned. "Not sufficient for our needs at the moment. I have a better kit at home."
Buffy chewed her lip and looked up at him. "Do you mind?"
"What? Mind? Oh... of course not," he replied. "If you're sure your mother is all right this mystery can certainly wait until your wound has been tended." Giles shut the passenger door to the car and walked around to the driver's side.
No great mystery. Just more bad news, Buffy reflected, sadly.
When they arrived at Giles' flat, he helped her out of the car and stepped toward the door but she pulled him to a halt with a tug on his arm. "Could you bring the bag? I'll need a change of clothes."
Giles gave her an assessing look then nodded, seeing her firm resolve to remain upright; at least until she got inside. As he hooked the bag over his shoulder and locked the car, Giles silently commended her for showing more foresight than she ever had before by including a change of clothes in her weapons kit. He couldn't count the number of times Buffy had returned from a patrol or battle soaking wet, muddy, bloody, covered in demon slime, the list went on - and, although she had two school lockers and access to the showers in the girls' gym, rarely seemed able to get cleaned up without going home.
Once inside, Buffy kept moving until she reached the bathroom, not wanting to leave blood anywhere but the sink drain. She carefully peeled off her tank top then gingerly hauled herself up to sit on the bathroom counter.
"Ah, good," Giles said as he entered with a large box of medical supplies; only slightly startled by the sight of Buffy perched on his bathroom counter wearing only a pair of bloody running pants and a light blue sports bra. Giles carefully cleaned the skin around the wound and gently probed the damaged area.
"It needs stitches," he finally admitted.
"Okay."
Giles insisted she move to the couch. He would be able to do a better job of stitching the wound if she didn't need to adjust her position as he worked. He found, as he had feared, that he had no local anesthetic in the rather large medical kit he maintained. That makes bloody good sense, he mentally chastised himself. Sutures, suture needles, no bloody anesthetic. He tried to tell himself that her Slayer abilities had allowed her to escape serious injury until now, when they had been artificially reduced; but her seemingly practiced ease at concealing this wound made him wonder.
He set up a tray of sutures and needles. "I'm sorry, Buffy," he told her when he could delay no longer. "I don't have any anesthetic. It's going to hurt."
"It already hurts. Go ahead."
He picked up a needle and began. After two sutures, she spoke. "Will it ruin your concentration to, um... talk to me, to distract me?"
"What do you want to talk about?"
"My mind's a blank. You pick."
"Would you really have let him kill you?"
"Way to avoid the small talk, Giles," she said, then punctuated her statement with a small hiss as he pulled the third suture through her skin. When he didn't react to her deflection, she went on. "I guess so, but I didn't think it would come to that."
"Why?" Giles knew that Quentin had no reason to attack her, but Buffy had no way of knowing that. It angered him that she had acted in such a cavalier fashion in regards to her safety.
"Why was I going to let him kill me or why did I think he wouldn't?"
"Both."
"I thought I asked you to talk to me - not the other way around."
"Is it distracting you?"
"Yes," she admitted.
"Then answer my question."
"I didn't think he would kill me because there was nothing for him to gain by it. He probably thinks I'm going to run off half-cocked and get myself killed, he'll get his new Slayer and he can pretend my blood isn't on his hands."
"Win-win," Giles quoted, darkly.
"Giles!" Buffy exclaimed. "A 20th century concept from your lips? I'm... I'm..."
"Hold still, unless you want a scar. And I was quoting Quentin."
"See, I was right."
"But what if you weren't," he snapped. "You shouldn't play with your life that way."
"I wasn't playing," Buffy let out a sigh. "Look, Giles; say he did decide to use that sword on me. There were only two ways it could go. First, you were his guy and would let him gut me. If that was the case, I wasn't going to be living much longer anyway. Think about the times I haven't listened to your warnings or haven't waited for you to finish translating and figuring out the meaning of prophecies. What would happen to me, and how soon, if I didn't have any help from you?"
Giles felt warmth seep through him at her blunt admission of how much she counted on him to keep her safe; he hadn't fully realized, until that moment, how much he needed for her to need him. "I see your point," was all he managed to say aloud. He finished another suture before he broke the silence again. "What did you see as the second possibility?"
"That you really were my Watcher and would take him out if he tried to kill me."
"You told me not to interfere," he reminded her.
"Yeah. Like that would stop you," Buffy said sarcastically, but Giles could also hear a hint of teasing pride in her voice. "That was for his benefit."
"So he wouldn't consider me a threat."
"Right. If he went for me, he would be watching just me - to see if I would dodge, or try to defend myself. He wouldn't have spared you a glance and you would have kicked his ass."
"I was ten feet behind you! What if I wasn't fast enough to..."
"Come on, Giles! Think about it for a minute. How was he holding the sword?"
Giles answered immediately, without thinking. "Loose grip, wrist not locked, point off target, edge turned almost perpendicular to the floor..." he trailed off.
"Had he even thought about how to attack me?"
"No."
"And if he had turned the blade parallel to the floor, or swung the point on target or locked his grip..."
"I would have 'kicked his ass'."
"My hero!"
Giles snorted derisively but felt some of his self-loathing dissipate as he realized how she had trusted not only his intentions but his ability to come to her rescue, if needed. And after what he had done...
When Buffy spoke again, it was in a subdued and serious manner. "Giles, does this mean you've really made your choice? I don't mean to doubt you, but..."
"But I've given you plenty of reason to do just that in the past week," he finished for her, in a harsh, defeated tone.
Buffy sighed. "You didn't want to believe they were the bad guys; or at least that they would take risks with their precious Slayer."
"And while I learned my lesson you could have been killed. Your mother as well."
"Think you'll ever trust them again?"
"Not bloody likely."
"We can't let them know that."
When he didn't move or speak for several long moments Buffy turned her head, craning her neck in an attempt to bring his face into view. When the movement transferred to her upper body, she felt him switch hands on the suture and place his left hand on her shoulder.
"I distinctly recall asking you to hold still," he said softly.
"Yeah, but it's probably best if you don't. At the rate you're going the wound will be healed before you finish stitching it," she countered.
"Oh, ah, sorry."
Buffy relaxed back into her previous position. Giles remained silent while he completed the last few sutures and carefully prepared the bandage to cover the wound. When he had finished taping the gauze in place and began clearing up the mess he had made, Buffy moved to a sitting position and laid a hand on his arm. Giles looked at her with a troubled expression.
"Giles, I know you don't want to have to lie and manipulate them; I'd rather not do it either. I'd rather confront them, tell them how it's going to be and that they'll just have to accept it; but we can't let them know we're still a team - partners. They'll see us as a threat and we might not see them coming next time. We aren't strong enough; we don't have enough information to have a chance of winning if we oppose them openly."
Giles sighed. "I suppose the Hellmouth and the forces of darkness weren't enough of a challenge for us."
Buffy nodded. "It bites."
Giles gave her a distasteful grimace. "Succinct, if not eloquent."
"That's your department," Buffy said. She shifted her weight in an attempt to rise to a standing position but failed in the attempt.
At her moan of pain, Giles reached out to assist her. "Buffy, what's this?" Giles asked suspiciously as he touched a darkened area of skin on her side, just below the elastic band of her bra.
"Owwww, Giles!" she hissed as she drew away; pouting slightly. He merely stared at her. She knew he was alarmed that she had at least one more injury but seemed more concerned that she hadn't brought it to his attention. She gave in. "A couple of bruised ribs. I don't think they're broken."
He nodded slowly, eyeing her. "And?"
She deflated completely. "I really don't know. Honestly. I hurt all over. It's kinda hard to sort one 'Ow' from another. Unless somebody pokes me."
"Well, then" he said. "Lie down again, please."
"Sweet talker."
Although he blushed slightly he did not relent and she somewhat meekly complied with his instructions. Giles started at the top of her head and worked his way down slowly, carefully touching, testing, probing; sometimes with his fingertips, sometimes the flat of his hand. He was all business and kept up a steady series of head tilts and 'hmmms' as he worked. Buffy amused herself with thoughts of bringing his attention back to what, and who, he was touching at certain points, but decided that making him faint from embarrassment might not be the best idea. For either of them.
When he reached her feet, he said "Roll over on your stomach." When she didn't move immediately he looked up.
"Um, I think I need a little help." Her side was really talking to her now.
Giles helped her ease over onto her stomach, and then continued his examination. Buffy squelched an urge to crane her neck in an untenable position to ensure that was still Giles leaning over her when she felt her bra being unhooked and firm hands curling around her ribs just below her breasts, pressing, testing, then gently moving on. Her credulity was tested again when he used scissors to continue the rip in her ruined track pants so he could peel them off and examine her legs.
"Here, let me help you sit up. I'm going to have to tape those ribs; I think they're cracked," he told her as he eased her into a seated position. Giles turned back to his medical kit and Buffy considered the bra dangling at her elbows. She knew, with her injuries, there was no way she would be able to reach back far enough to refasten it. She finally shrugged and dropped it next to her on the couch. It would have been in the way while Giles taped her ribs and since he was apparently okay with unhooking it she figured she was okay with leaving it off.
As Giles finished taping a protective layer over Buffy's damaged ribs, he drew one hand slowly along the ribs that were still exposed below the tape, then down over her diaphragm to her slightly sunken stomach. He shifted his thoughtful gaze up to her face. "When's the last time you had something to eat?" he asked.
"You mean something that didn't make a return trip in less than half an hour? Four or five days."
Giles nodded, concern and more than a little shame in his eyes. He turned once again to his medical kit. "Do you think you could handle some broth? Maybe some dry toast?" He pulled two chemical cold packs from the kit, crushed them between his hands and shook them out. He draped one over her bruised shoulder and laid one across her wrenched knee.
Buffy shook her head. "I'd rather not. Throwing up with these injuries would be even less fun than I've been having." She thought for a moment. "I could use some water. Or maybe some juice, if you have it?"
"Of course," Giles said, rising and moving toward the kitchen.
"Uh, before you go, could you get me some clothes out of my bag?"
Giles turned, a questioning look on his face until he saw her, actually saw her for the first time in about half an hour, and realized Buffy was sitting on his couch wearing nothing but bandages, two cold packs and blood-soaked panties. "Buffy!" he exclaimed, eyes wide.
"Don't cop an attitude with me, mister," she shot back, surprising even herself that she was more relieved that he had finally noticed she was an actual female person than she was embarrassed at her almost complete nudity. "You took it off me."
"Oh," he said, then realized he was still standing there, staring, while she waited for him to get her some clothes. He stooped to retrieve the bag he had dropped on the floor when they had entered earlier, lifting it to rest across the two stools that stood in front of the counter between the living room and kitchen. He pulled open the zipper and was puzzling over the unexpected contents as Buffy moved slowly down the hallway toward the bathroom.
She had just crossed the threshold into the bathroom when Giles' confused voice came to her. "Buffy, there are a lot of clothes in here. And a note."
"A top and some shorts or sweats would be good, Giles." After a moment, his hand poked through the crack she had left in the doorway holding a long sleeved knit top and a pair of cropped jersey pants. "Thanks," she said, accepting the proffered garments. His hand reappeared, the folded note between two fingers.
"It looks like your mother's handwriting."
"Yeah. Read it if you want. I pretty much know what it says."
Giles' hand withdrew and Buffy bit her lip trying, unsuccessfully, to hold back her tears. She pushed the door to until the lock clicked.
End Chapter 2
