After Rupert pulled her out of the shower, he held her for a moment, trying to just let her cry. But she had refused to let go while he was there, and he had felt her become angry with him for being there. Rupert realized that Buffy needed him to do more than be there. She needed him to act, even if it was something small and unrelated to the funeral, the death and this thing between them. He grabbed the bath towel from the hook and wrapped it around Buffy, and while she shivered and choked on her sobs, he shut the shower off and filled the bath. He took his tear soaked shirt off, hung it and Buffy's towel up on the hooks and lifted her into the hot water.

"Buffy, I'm sorry that this has happened to you." When she didn't say anything, Rupert tried to continue, "I'm sorry all of this has happened. I never thought… I guess that's just it, I never thought about any of this."

She was somewhere else, listening to something else, and it was frightening her. He couldn't sense it over the noise of his own heartbeat, for suddenly the sound of blood pumping had taken on a very noticeable volume within him, and with it came a feeling of awe. He placed a hand on Buffy's back and flinched at the matching rhythm he found there. She instinctively sat forward and held her knees, not looking at him, just letting the world blur and spill over.

Buffy kept crying, even as Rupert tenderly bathed her and washed her hair. He didn't speak, and neither did she. They didn't have to anymore and it was unbearable. It wasn't mind reading; there were no coherent thoughts, just waves of grief, guilt and love, driven by the identical pounding of their hearts.

As she got out of the tub, he just stared at her a moment, sad and gray, and Buffy could feel him loving her, but she couldn't make it fit within her. She absently took the towel from him and wrapped her hair up in it. She fetched her robe from a hook and put it on.

"Buffy," Rupert said her name like a sigh; "I wish I knew what to say."

She turned to face him as she tied the robe's belt and said, "We need to talk."

He smiled awkwardly at her as he put his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, he knew what she was feeling, and Buffy realized the urgency of what she was about to do, "Of course, we'll talk, after you're dressed…"

"I need to say this now." And to emphasize the point sat on the edge of the tub.

"Buffy, I -" She threw her hands up, and the action silenced him.

"No. Don't. I can't. Giles… I feel so guilty for letting her die and Dawn is right, on some level we were waiting for mom to get out of the way... And this attunement… you can't even let me cry alone in the shower. This isn't what I wanted." Buffy looked at him, her eyes a steely blue.

"Buffy, I love you and, not an hour ago, you told me that was all you needed to know. I can't be the only strong one. I have done nothing but be what you wanted me to be, I thought that I could make you happy."

"Giles, I can't help but feel like this is completely wrong… like we're dancing on her grave. And I don't want this attunement… now our hearts are beating the same…this can't end well."

"And it's wondrous for me, Buffy. When I touch you, I feel like I've found a whole new part of myself, always there and yet undiscovered." He knew she understood the feeling behind the words, she felt it, too, but her words and feelings struck back with an equal force of feeling.

"I, I'm angry that I've lost that barrier. My privacy. And I regret making you vulnerable to me." She looked up at him, and tried not to appear frightened.

Rupert moved forward to her and put his hand on her face, "Nothing has changed… I have always been vulnerable to you, Buffy. You have always been my weakness."

"You're supposed to be the strong one, my Watcher. I can't do what I need to do without you. The old you…I can't lo-, do this the way you do, and just accept these changes."

"I'm sorry Buffy… I didn't realize that this was so much more difficult for you." He had said it more bitterly than he intended, but what did she think? That he was without worry and pain? "I'm going to go home and see if I, I can't find something to reverse this attunement." He turned and felt Buffy's fear rise again, and didn't know if he could leave her.

"Giles," her voice was quiet, "You're not going to stay? You said you'd be here for me today... you said."

"If you wanted someone to shelter you, you're looking in the wrong place, Buffy. And if you want this reversed, we may have to move quickly if we're to succeed at it."

She was getting angry with him now, and he was getting frustrated. "Bloody Hell! I never realized you had this many mood swings, no wonder this is so cocked up." He reached out to her with both hands, "What do you want, Buffy?"

"I want you to take care of me, like always." She was really irritated with him, and what he had said had stung her. Buffy crossed her arms in an attempt to slow their rapid heartbeats and stave off her desire to slap him.

"Take care of you?" Rupert was so angry he didn't realize how close he was to her, until he could feel her breath on his face. The bitter words left his mouth before he could stop them.

"No matter how much you wish it so, I am not here to take care of you. I never was! I am here to prepare you; I am your Watcher. I am not your father." He hissed it and his hot breath carried all the venom and pain of a life spent in futile service.

As quickly as Buffy's fist made contact with the side of Rupert's head, he fell to the bathroom floor. He was being swallowed by feelings of fear, anger, hurt, regret and disappointment that poured in from all over, but before he lost consciousness he heard Buffy say his name ("Giles!") and felt her small hand check for his pulse. His last thought was, "Silly, it's the same as yours…"

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

Buffy couldn't believe that she had laid him out with one punch. She had expected a fight. She had wanted a fight. She needed it and, instead, she had knocked him out. What he said had struck a painful nerve and she wanted him to feel it, too. But he had, of course he had, because he felt everything she did. This was the second time she had hit him in fear and anger, the first time was after he had gone after Angel on a suicide run. She couldn't lose him, and she had hit him to make him stay.

She had hit him this time because she was angry. She had sent a clear message, and if he could bring himself to do it, he'd leave her for what she'd done to him today.

She was too panicked to do anything, all she could do was sit there in her robe and make sure he was breathing. But it was silly, she could feel his heart beating just the same as hers, but when she had reached for his pulse, Buffy had feared there would be nothing to feel.

Giles usually came-to quickly, but this time it seemed like it was taking too long. She was stroking his hair and whispering his name when his eyes opened. He gasped audibly, and his eyes spun around as he tried to reorient himself.

Rupert tried to focus on the girl that floated above him, but she refused to hold still. His head felt like it was anchored to the floor and he could taste blood, and as the salty mucus began building at the back of his throat, his stomach demanded to be emptied. He managed to launch himself to the edge of the toilet before his breakfast tea and jelly donut made their second (and now unwelcome) appearance that morning. He pressed his forehead against the porcelain in an attempt to make himself still.

A cold, wet washcloth landed on the back of his neck, and he heard Buffy say very quietly, "I'm so sorry." He heard the words, but he didn't feel it. The complete lack of emotion frightened him and made him angry. She didn't care; she didn't even care enough to be annoyed.

Rupert coughed and took a deep breath, "I'm going home now, Buffy." Nevertheless, he didn't get up to leave. There was no reaction from her; he could feel nothing but his own confusion and hurt.

Buffy knelt beside him and he turned his head away. "Buffy, please, leave me alone. I just need a moment, then I'll be on my way."

"Let me help you." Rupert felt her lift his arm over her shoulder and her slide around his back, her small body propping him up and steadying him as he assumed a standing position. She moved him out into the hall and started to steer him towards her room.

"Buffy, I'm going home – I need to go home." He pulled away from her, and fell sharply against the wall.

"You shouldn't go anywhere, you can lie down in my room." She was looking at him intently, fear clouded her eyes, but he couldn't feel anything other than his own confusion.

"No, I'm going to go home and rest, by myself, for awhile." His heartbeat was quickening, and then he realized it was still double, still his and hers. He reached out his hand and placed it on her chest, the rhythm so foreign and familiar.

"Let me take you… You shouldn't be alone." She moved towards him, arms reaching to support him again.

Rupert put his hands up in a defensive position and slid along the wall towards the stairs, "I've been knocked unconscious often enough, I think I can take care of myself. Can you bring me my book?"

The girl stopped moving and began pleading with him, "You don't have to go. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." Their hearts were racing.

"Don't." Rupert said it like a slap; she turned her eyes down and away from him.

"I know you. You have a temper and you meant to hit me. You meant it to hurt..." He paused and she looked up at him, her eyes were glassy, and her lips were quivering but he couldn't feel it, so he didn't stop talking. "What you didn't expect was for me to drop like a sack of potatoes! I can't fight you, Buffy. I'll lose every time."

He slowly walked to the bottom of the stairs, sliding along the wall as he went, more shaken by the fact that the emotional attunement had seemed to disappear than still dizzy from his head trauma. She would have to know, he'd have to tell her. He needed his book, his sanctuary, and then he could think of a way to tell her.

He pulled on the jacket that he had hung on the coat rack over his still unbuttoned shirt and opened the door. He didn't turn to look up at her, instead, he dropped his head and said, "If you could bring me my book, I'll go and then I'll see you at the memorial service."

Buffy began to walk down the stairs reaching after him, "Giles, I -"

"Fine, no book, I'll see you later!" He heard her gallop down the stairs as he moved out the door, and then felt her hand clench too tightly on his forearm. She was being impossible.

"No! Don't leave me, Giles!" Her voice was low and desperate, and her tears flowed freely. He looked into her blue eyes, and felt their heartbeats quicken once more. "Please! Just stay."

"Buffy, I can't stay, I shouldn't stay," She looked at him, uncomprehending. She knew something was wrong but couldn't understand why he wouldn't share it with her.

"What's wrong, Giles? Why… Why can't I feel you?" She was scared. For all of her violence and anger, she was frightened that the link was gone and what its disappearance might mean.

"Don't you understand? It's gone! Whatever the emotional attunement was… after you hit me, it's gone…"

Buffy's mouth moved and her face became twisted, unreadable, moving quickly from laughter to anger and back again when she finally leaned up and kissed Rupert.

Rupert pulled away and looked at her, He moved to go but Buffy's grip on his wrist tightened and she put her other hand on his arm, holding him in firmly place. He gently placed his free hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes as calmly as possible, "I have to go, Buffy."

"No, our hearts, you have to stay. We have to fix this." The determination on her face told him she meant it, and he wanted to believe that it was right. The problem with that was that without her emotions clouding and influencing his own, he knew staying would be the wrong thing to do. Before she could kiss him again, he managed to pry himself away from her grip.

"We don't know how to fix it, or even if we should… want to. I mean, you said it: 'This can't end well.'"

"No… I did. But I was just upset, with everything… and tired…"

"Yes, which is perhaps why we should let this lie until things have calmed down. In addition, why I should go. Tara and Willow will be arriving any minute, and Xander and Anya will soon follow them. Dawn and Angel are sleeping, but they'll soon be awake. The house will be full of people whose only concern will be the memorial and you. I won't be able to research…"

As if on cue, Willow and Tara shaped shadows appeared in the doorway, quickly followed by voices that sounded just like Willow and Tara uttering a confused and questioning, "Research? What needs research?"

Rupert fumbled awkwardly with his shirt buttons and smoothed his hair, "Ah, yes, well, nothing really… just some unfinished business. Buffy, if you could get my book?"

Buffy stared at him for a moment before realizing what he referred to, and walking upstairs mumbled, "Oh, yeah, sorry, I'll be right back."

Willow and Tara squeezed past Giles into the foyer, carefully avoiding the still partially open and untucked shirtfront.

Tara looked around the living room and casually wandered back the hall towards the kitchen, "Is Dawn up? Has she eaten?"

"No," Rupert said, "She was up all night talking to Angel, he's in the basement." Before Willow could fire off a round of questions, Buffy came downstairs carrying the brown leather book, and gingerly handed it to Giles.

"I get my wish after all," she said it sadly.

"I'll see you tonight, I promise you that, Buffy. I will be there for you." He squeezed her arm once more before walking off the porch and into the sunlight, toward his small apartment.

Buffy stood staring after him, Tara making noise in the kitchen in the background of her thoughts, when Willow spoke.

"Buffy, what was that about? Research? Angel's here? Did you just get out of the shower? And why was Giles' shirt open?"

Without taking her eyes from his retreating form, and without really hearing the question, Buffy answered, "It's Watcher/Slayer stuff."

Willow, eyes widening as she looked back and forth between Giles and Buffy, gasped, "Oh, boy."