Written for the Watcherlove Ficathon, for bethynyc who wanted combat, magic, and a mystery solved.

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Giles was the first to the library, as usual. Outside the halls were still nearly empty, a few early students here and there, but not the crush of chattering teenagers that would later fill them. He liked arriving early, having a little time to himself to get everything in order before the day started and he was dragged along with it.

He had a routine, a way to minimize the time he spent situating everything and maximize the time he got to spend with a cup of coffee and his thoughts. First he'd go to his office and put away his lunch and the books he'd taken home. Then he'd go over which books were due, which were late. He rather liked that bit, though he doubted the job of librarian would have satisfied him were that all he did.

As his hand closed around the cool metal of the doorknob, the door itself jerked open. There was a flash of black hair and dark, surprised eyes. Startled for a moment, Giles blinked, letting out a startled yelp he'd probably omit should he ever tell the story. The young man pushed past him, but he recovered quickly. Dropping books and lunch, Giles reached out and grabbed the boy's arm.

"What the hell were you--?"

The next thing he knew he was sitting on the floor against the research table, blinking away sparks from his vision as the boy ran for the library doors. Wesley and Xander got in the boy's way as they came into the library, but didn't stop him when the young man pushed past them.

Giles sat, half-sprawled on the floor, trying to shake the pretty colors from his vision and recall how he'd gotten there in the first place. Wesley noticed Giles first and the clatter of his footsteps only amplified the pain in Giles' head.

"Are you all right, Mr. Giles? What happened?"

Blinking, Giles straightened himself. "I'm not sure, actually."

"Is it a concussion?" Xander asked, moving to stand beside him. "'Cause, you know, the doctor's not going to be happy if it's another--"

"I'm fine, Xander. Just . . . dazed." Giles stood, leaning on the table more than he'd have admitted. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would clear away the sparks. "I, uh, was . . . there was a young man in my office. Wesley? Please check to make certain nothing's missing, would you?"

Giles tried to straighten away from the table and his knees seemed to turn to rubber, almost going out from under him. Xander was there, helping him to the nearest seat, glancing back toward the library doors. "The guy that pushed past us?"

"Yes, yes, that was him. Do you know him?" Giles removed his glasses, pressing his fingers against his closed eyes in an attempt to soothe the dull ache that buzzed behind them and seemed to be worsening by the blink.

"Uh, no. Never seen him. Which is weird, 'cause this isn't that big a school. You'd think, even I if didn't know know him that I'd have at least seen--"

"Yes. Xander, could you not, uh, speak?" Giles glanced over to see Xander's expression and realized he'd sounded far harsher than he'd intended.

"Excuse me," Xander grumbled.

"My head," Giles said, giving him an apologetic look toward the young man. "It's, uh, rather pounding, at the moment."

"Here." There was suddenly tea before him and a smooth hand offering him two aspirin. He glanced up to find Wesley standing at Xander's side. Giles' forehead furrowed. He hadn't heard Wesley come from the office.

"Oh. Thank you, Wesley. How . . . how did you make tea so quickly?" Taking the cup, he reached for the aspirin, fingers dragging over those smooth palms.

"It's from my thermos," Wesley said with a small shrug. "I'll, uh, finish checking your office."

"Thank you," Giles said with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead. "This blasted headache is odd. I . . . I don't remember hitting my head."

Xander gave him an anxious look. "Maybe you should go home? Or, you know, let me check for a concussion. I mean, you kinda look like you were on the hurting side of a fist to the face."

"What?" Giles blinked, trying to remember exactly what had happened, his fingers moving over his face to find a cut on his cheek and blood dried along his skin. "Oh, my," he muttered, sighing. "Lovely."

"Well, the boy doesn't seem to have taken anything," Wesley said, coming out of his office. "Everything seems just as I remember it, but you would know your things better than I. You should check again, once, uh, once you're able. What happened? Who was it? How many?"

Giles groaned internally.

"It was just some kid," Xander answered for him and Giles sunk his head into his hands.

"A kid?" Wesley's voice was filled with disbelief and Giles just knew the bastard was going to be gloating over this. Wonderful. He'd just gotten to work, right above the Hellmouth. This was not a wonderful way for things to begin.

"Well, uh, it wasn't anyone I'd seen around," Xander said and Giles could hear the consolation in the young man's voice. He snorted to himself, though a smile did form on his lips, hidden by his hands. Now Xander Harris was protecting his honor; how much stranger could this day conceivably get? "So, you know, it could have been a demon kid. Or, uh, something."

"A demon?" Wesley sounded thoughtful now and Giles was actually grateful to have the gloating put off. His headache was not-so-slowly escalating and at the moment, he wanted to drink his tea and then go lie down somewhere. Possibly die for a few days. Yes. That sounded rather nice. "Well, there are relatively few that can actually change their shape. Glamours and such are, however, fairly common. Did you sense anything on this boy?"

"Uh, what?" Giles looked up at the two men, blinking in an attempt to bring them into focus. He hadn't quite managed the feat when he heard Xander's muttered, 'oh, god' and Wesley's 'dear lord.' "What?" he asked more harshly this time, finally bringing the two into focus and seeing their worried expressions.

"You, uh, look like you're about to fall over," Xander answered, studying his face. "All pale and . . . can you even follow my finger with your eyes? I knew it was a concussion."

"It's not a concussion," Giles replied with a sigh, making to stand. "I think I've had enough concussions to know," he grumbled, even as dizziness swarmed into his head, making him wobble and grab for the table edge.

"I think I should take you to the hospital, Mr. Giles, just the same. You don't exactly seem steady on your feet. And, Xander's right, you do look . . . very pale."

"Yes, Wesley, and that will leave exactly who in charge around here?" Giles started to shake his head and then stopped when it felt as if something had been knocked loose.

"I can do it," Xander said with a shrug. "Checking in books, finding books, stamping books, seems easy enough."

Giles gave Xander a look that would likely have been more impressive had he been able to look over the rim of his glasses.

"What? It's not that hard. Besides, how many people are we expecting to rush the library today?"

"That's not the point," Giles said. "You have classes and--"

"And Willow will stop here when she gets to school and I'll ask her to take notes for me. Come on, if you go now, you'll be back before the after-lunch rush."

Giles gave in, more because at least they'd be able to give him something stronger than aspirin for the damnable headache. Morphine. Yes, morphine would be nice. "All right. Fine. It's not a concussion, though. And you should get started looking for that demon," Giles said, waving at the stacks.

He turned to find Wesley trying to hand him his coat. Blinking, he tried to think when the man had picked it up from where he'd dropped it and failed. "Uh . . . Did . . . when did you do that?"

"What?" Wesley flashed a worried look to Xander.

"Uh, have . . . have you been standing there long?" Giles took his coat, still trying to sort out when Wesley had had time to go and pick it up.

"Well, uh, no. Not-not too long. Though, uh, you . . . did seem to drift for a moment. Really, Mr. Giles, perhaps we should hurry."

"Yes . . . I think we should." Suddenly worried, Giles put on his jacket, ignoring the ache of muscles that hadn't been strained when he came into work that morning.

Trying to clear the fog in his head, Giles followed Wesley to his car. The halls were far more crowded than they had been when he'd arrived and he was thankful to get to the parking lot and away from the noise. Getting into Wesley's car, he fastened the seat belt without a thought, still considering what it meant that he was . . . 'drifting'.