"Are you all right? Er, well, I mean that you seem certain this isn't a concussion and--" Wesley leaned over and Giles raised an eyebrow as the man examined his face. "--your pupils are fine . . . What do you think this is? What, uh, what happened?"
It was harder to focus on things when they were right up in his face, but also the look of concern Wesley was giving him was . . . disconcerting. He was glad when the man leaned back into his own seat, starting the car and keeping his eyes on the road.
"Uh, well, I'm not . . . not certain. It doesn't feel quite like a concussion, but if I'm . . . 'drifting' as you say, I suppose I should see a doctor."
"Yes. I think that's wise. You still haven't answered as to what happened," Wesley reminded, glancing over at him. Giles shrugged, trying to think how to explain it all.
"I don't remember. One moment I was grabbing the . . . whatever it was by the arm and the next I was sitting on the floor. I just, uh, don't remember."
Wesley gave him a quick, sidelong glance. "I'm not a doctor, of course, but I don't think that's an encouraging sign. You don't remember what happened even before you were struck?"
Giles raised his fingers to his cheek, wincing as they connected with the cut. He knew he should remember something. After all, he'd looked right at the boy. That first startled glance was clear in his head, then his hand closing around the young man's arm and then . . . everything shattered and there was nothing.
"No. Uh. The door to the office opened. There was the young man. Uh, dark hair, dark eyes, then . . . he . . . he pushed past me. I dropped my things, grabbed his arm and then . . . then I was sitting on the floor and you and Xander were coming into the library."
"That's very odd," Wesley sighed. "I suppose it would have been better had you been just a touch later than you were."
"Later?" Giles blinked over at the man. "I was right on time. Uh, few minutes early, actually."
"Uh, no . . . Mr. Giles, it's almost ten as it is. I was quite late and if you were there on time--"
"I was unconscious for almost three hours?" Giles swallowed hard, shaking his head before he remembered the pain. Wincing, he raised a hand to his temple. "That's not possible. The boy was just running out when you two came in."
"Mr. Giles, if you're right that you were on time, then . . . well, it's hardly been a half an hour since Xander and I went into the library. It's not natural to be unconscious so long, not without serious injury or . . . help."
"Help?" Giles blinked, trying to think straight. Two and half hours. He'd apparently been in the library for two and half hours and the boy had been there with him until Xander and Wesley came in. "Either drugs or magic," he said to himself, biting his lip as he thought.
"Exactly." The car sped up and Giles glanced over at Wesley to find a rather confused look on the man's face. "I should have checked for head injury. Damn."
"I don't feel as if I hit my head," Giles argued, raising his own hand to check for bumps or tender spots and finding none. "I feel . . . well, drugged is likely a good word, but that doesn't necessarily mean the cause wasn't magical. Some spells would even produce the headache as they start to fade."
Wesley stopped at a red light and Giles groaned, squeezing his eyes shut again.
"Sorry."
"It's fine," Giles said immediately, more out of courtesy than because the moment of pain had passed. It hadn't. Rather, it had added itself to the growing cacophony of aches filling Giles' skull and pounding on the inside of it with tiny hammers. It felt as if all his worst hangovers had rolled themselves into a package and jammed themselves into his head through his ears.
"It's not fine," Wesley contradicted, though Giles was too busy rubbing at his closed eyes to see if the man were looking at him again. "You've gone even paler, if that's possible. I think even Angel has more of a rosy glow than you at this point."
Giles lost a bit of time then. It wasn't hard to figure that out. One moment they were just a block from the hospital, the next he and Wesley were sitting in the parked car, the other man calling his name.
"Sorry," Giles muttered, holding up a hand. His headache, at least, was beginning to ease. He still felt odd, but the pounding in his head was receding, leaving it feeling hollow. Giles stood for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and supporting his weight on the car. He heard Wesley's door close and pulled himself up. "All right. Let's get this over with. Whatever happened to me this morning, we have to let Buffy know. Call Xander at the library and make sure he goes to tell her everything."
"I know, Mr. Giles. I'll take care of it." In Wesley's voice, Giles could hear him rolling his eyes, but chose to ignore it. At the check-in desk, Giles was vaguely disturbed to find he recognized the nurse.
"Oh," she said, looking up to find them standing there. "Mr. Giles. Not another concussion?"
"Uh, no. I don't believe so," Giles said with sheepish shrug.