She turned, looking toward Angel in the hopes that he knew something, that there was some answer she wasn't seeing. The thought of Giles just losing it like that . . .
"I don't know of anything that would cause that." There was worry on Angel's face as well and the thoughtful look she just knew couldn't be a good sign. "If he's dangerous . . . do you think this Wesley guy can control him? I mean . . . from what I've seen of the guy . . ."
Buffy shrugged, shaking her head. "I don't think Wesley could handle a remote control car." Snorting, she thought of the way Wesley had been hovering around Giles, of the way he'd looked at him. "But . . . I think it might be good for Giles to have him around. I just don't want him getting hurt. Giles would never forgive himself. So . . . would you go keep an eye on them? Nothing too upfront, I mean . . ." Buffy shrugged again, but knew Angel would understand. Giles still wasn't comfortable around him. "Just . . . lurk. You're good at that."
-----
"Giles?" Wesley sounded worried and it pulled him from his thoughts. Realizing he'd been standing there, staring into the glasses of Scotch, he had to wonder whether he'd just been lost in thought, or whether time had passed him by again.
"Sorry. Just, ah, lost in thought. I think." Sighing, he handed Wesley his drink and brushed past the man to head for the living room. He had some books he could research here, and he could keep in touch with the others by phone. Giles nodded to himself, trying to believe this wouldn't be a long wait. It couldn't be. Buffy needed him. Official or not, he was her Watcher. Sitting in his armchair and laying the books he'd gathered on the coffee table, he stared at them for a long moment.
"I'm sorry," Wesley said, following him and taking a seat on the sofa. "I simply couldn't tell. I thought you might . . ." Wesley shrugged, a polite way of suggesting the problem without him actually saying he thought Giles might be about to attack him. Of course, Wesley could have just meant that he'd thought Giles might be losing time again.
Sighing, taking a deep swallow of his Scotch, Giles shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It hardly matters. Just, uh, perhaps you'd best not get too . . . close to me if, uh, if it happens again."
He glanced up to find Wesley looking at him strangely. Not at all enjoying the scrutiny, Giles turned his attention back to his books . . . and his Scotch. Opening the first of the many volumes he'd stacked, he was surprised when Wesley's hand came into his view, covering his own.
"Giles?"
Glancing up at the man, Giles blinked, sighing. He could tell at once, from the man's worried look and the taser that hadn't been in Wesley's hand a few moments ago, that he'd skipped a bit of time again.
"Damn," Giles muttered, raising his free hand to his temple and only then realizing that Wesley hadn't let go of his other hand, nor had he pulled away. "Uh . . ." Giles stood, his hand slipping quite naturally from the other man's grip. "Uh, my head isn't doing too badly this time. There's pressure, but . . . it's not nearly as painful as it was earlier."
Giles wandered over to the mantel as he spoke, seeking a distraction from the warm spot on his hand where Wesley had touched him and the pressure pulsing behind his eyes.
"That's good," Wesley said, "perhaps the effects are fading and this won't take too long. You could be back at the library by tomorrow."
"No," Giles spun around, fear and anger bubbling to the surface at the thought of being anywhere near Buffy and the others. "It's not that simple, Wesley! I can't go near them like this, you shouldn't even be here. We have to catch that . . . boy or demon, or whatever the hell it was. If . . . I'll never know I'm safe to be around otherwise!" Giles found himself trembling, realized he was shouting. Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, he shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"No," Wesley's voice was nearer than he'd expected. He opened his eyes and found the man standing not a foot from him, those too-blue eyes holding his own. "I understand. I do. It has to be terrifying to know that . . . to know that you could do something like this to the children next time and . . . I do understand. And there being nothing you can do to change it has to be--"
Giles blinked at that, his resolve suddenly hardening. That was the problem. He was sitting here waiting for Buffy and the others to solve his problem and it was driving him mad. He couldn't do this, couldn't just sit and wait and hope.
"I can do something," he said, nodding. He took a step toward the door, but Wesley was suddenly in front of him again, shaking his head.
"Giles. Please, you can't leave. If . . . if something like that happens again, you'll be putting people in danger." Wesley crossed his arms over his chest, standing firm. "I can't let you do that and you know I'm right."
Giles stared at the other man, still trembling, fear and anger warring inside. He felt hollow, as if everything in him had taken up residence inside his muscles and if he didn't move, didn't do something he'd fly apart at the joints.
"I know," he said, voice tightly controlled to keep himself from yelling. "But if I don't do something, I'm going to lose my mind. I can't . . . how can I just sit and wait?"
"We can research," Wesley suggested with a nod to the books piled on the coffee table. "We can . . . I don't know, there has to be something. Uh, we'll fence. Showing me up seems to cheer you." The last was said with a snort, but there was no bitterness in the man's voice, as Giles might have expected; rather there seemed to be humor, a small smile tilting the edge of Wesley's mouth. A place Giles should most definitely not be looking.
"Fencing?" Giles forced his eyes up, away from the man's lips. "Uh, there's no room for that here." Wesley shifted his stance just a bit, his face going thoughtful as if trying to come up with something else. It pulled on his shirt, exposed the beginning of a bruise on the man's throat. A bruise he had put there. Giles was almost overwhelmed by the urge to kiss it, lick it, make it better.