Giles was feeling stronger, and he sat in the Magic Box's last remaining chair while Anya attempted to dress his wounds.
"Agh," he hissed, disinfectant stinging one of his fresher cuts.
"Sorry," said Anya.
"No, no," Giles grunted, "Thank you, Anya."
Suddenly that little bell on the front door rang, somehow still intact, and the pair turned to see Xander, limping, half-guiding and half-dragging a newly red-haired Willow with him.
"I didn't know where to take her," Xander stuttered, the adrenaline of his heroism wearing off, "I figured someone would be here. Help her."
Anya grimaced at her ex's presence, but then sighed. "Help her? " she said, "Sit down. I'm dressing wounds and, ever the altruist, I won't skip out on you just because you shattered my heart into thousands of little pieces."
"I'm fine, Ahn," Xander lied, "Just some scratches."
He ventured further into the store, near-carrying Willow along with him. The witch was somehow simultaneously unbalanced and weak and also rigid in her stance, unwilling to move but either too weary or too ashamed to fight Xander as he took her with him. He let her go, eventually, too exhausted himself to continue supporting her, and she stumbled but stood, swaying slightly, eyes on the spots of blood that still painted the floor.
Giles glared, a coldness in his eyes that made their blue look like ice, and after too long Willow finally lifted her head to see his gaze. She was struck with such fear, then, that she turned and ran. Xander abandoned his own rest and took off after her, and as she flung the door open he tackled her to the ground.
"Willow, stop," Xander begged.
She squirmed in his grip, grunting and moaning, sobbing gibberish pleas.
Giles stood slowly, and Anya helped him limp over to where Xander pinned the witch down.
The Watcher loomed over Willow like a great giant. She averted her eyes in shame and struggled harder, pathetic groans escaping her throat before she let out a terrible, frustrated yell. And as she yelled, whatever glass still remained intact in the room now shattered.
"No!" she muttered. She seemed confused and panicked, "I didn't—" She clenched her fists, gritted her teeth, and a fresh fire started behind the counter.
Anya sprinted to put it out, "She's still on this!"
"No," said Giles, "I don't think she has control. Do you, Willow?"
"Please," she sobbed, "I'll go away…"
"No," said Giles, "You are going to stay right here." He raised a hand towards her, and she flinched violently away in Xander's grip.
"Please," Willow cried, "Please, please, please…"
"Willow," said Giles slowly, "I'm not going to hurt you."
Her struggles halted, and she looked into his earnest eyes.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he continued, "as long as you cooperate."
"You can't hurt me," said Willow, "No one can. I'm the only one… with the power."
"Are you going to use it?" asked Giles.
She glared, almost looked like she was going to kill them all right then and there. But then she hung her head in shame, "No."
"Xander," Giles said, "let her up."
"You sure?" asked Xander, "She's gonna bolt again."
"No she won't. Right, Willow?"
Willow responded with the slightest of nods, and Xander hesitantly moved off of her body.
Then Giles knelt down, looked deep into Willow's eyes. He put his hand on her face, like a father. And although the gesture appeared comforting, it was merely clinical to Giles. He tilted her chin up, studying her eyes for any traces of powerful blackness, checking for any dark magicks still pumping through her veins. Willow didn't react to any of it, just watched him with blank wariness.
"I'm so sorry, Willow," he said.
He turned to Xander, who had just finished helping Anya put out the fire and was leaning heavily, drowsily on the counter.
"I'm going to take her back to my apartment," Giles announced.
"I'm coming," Xander said, too fast, "I mean, you're in no shape to drive."
"I'm not blind or drunk," said Giles, "I can drive."
"You should go to a hospital," said Anya.
"The coven sent me with more than enough magical supplies to get myself back on my feet after fighting Willow. I'm taking her alone."
Of course, their concerns were valid. But he knew that he could only be so kind with Willow, especially if she defied him. He was all tea and tweed and English gentleness to them all, and he didn't want the others to have to see the alternative.
Giles grasped Willow's arm, tight, his grip some combination of viciousness and protectiveness, as he walked her to the car. She didn't fight him, but she didn't move on her own volition either. He sat her in the passenger's seat and buckled her seatbelt for her. She seemed dazed, and didn't say a word. Giles wondered if she was aware of what was going on around her, or if the power she'd used or the gravity of what she'd done had finally caught up to her and sent her into some kind of stupor. She rested her head on the window, touching the glass with her hand. She reminded him of a child, and Giles had to fight the urge to watch her as his eyes turned to the road and he began to drive.
The journey felt longer than it was. Giles' mind was racing as he was faced with terrifying unknowns. Of course he'd acted to the others like he had a plan, but in actuality he had no idea what he was going to do with the witch that was beside him. He didn't know what removing Willow's powers would entail, or if it would even be possible. And even if all of that went swimmingly—how could Willow live with what she'd done?
Giles squinted at the road, his vision blurring. No—it wasn't his vision: it was ice. Indeed, a thin layer of frost now covered the windshield, but it was May in southern California.
For a moment, he was wildly confused, wondered if he'd dozed off and was having a strange post-traumatic dream. Then he remembered the lack of control Willow had displayed in the Magic Box. He clicked his tongue, "Willow, are you doing that?"
Willow took a very long time to answer, so long that Giles wondered if she'd fallen asleep. He considered pulling over to check on her, but soon she responded with a very quiet, "What?"
"The windows are covered in ice."
She lifted her head and looked at the glass beside her, realized she'd been absently drawing pictures, runes and symbols, in the frost with her fingers. Giles shook his head and sighed before turning on the windshield wipers. He drove on for a bit, silence filling the vehicle again.
"Giles…" Willow muttered after a moment, "There's… lightning in my head."
It sent shivers down his spine. It meant nothing, but he dreaded to imagine how she felt. Trapped in a high, unbelievable power burning through her veins, guilt and grief and regret the only thing underneath it all. "I know, Willow."