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"So, you forgot that healing is part of the Slayer deal." Buffy would've smiled if she felt any friendlier, but it was too much. This town was too much.
She hadn't been the object of this kind of sustained attention since burning down her old school. And friendly--or friendly-seeming--attention? That was further in the distance.
A few days after her arrival, Buffy still wasn't entirely convinced about it not being a get in her pants thing.
"And watching over you is part of the Watcher deal," Giles responded. "We need you capable."
She shrugged. "There's always another."
"But not here."
Hmm. "Practical." She could accept that. Who knew when or where the next Slayer would be sent. Giles' Hellmouth had been neglected, and now that Buffy was here, he was taking full advantage for as long as he could. Logical Watcher behavior.
Taken this way, it wasn't bad when he patched her up. No pretense, just pragmatism. His fingers were warm, too.
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“You could—”
“Too late for that,” Buffy cut him off.
“I was going to bring up a G.E.D.” Giles adjusted his glasses.
“Oh.” She looked at him. “That’s a no.”
“If nothing else,” he persisted, “it would be a good cover for why you’re hanging about in the library of a high school you’re not enrolled in.”
Hmm, studying without the school part. Because that was what she’d missed.
“Not like anyone here minds.” They had other worries, and they were just fine with Buffy so long as she took care of those.
“Life’s short. No time to be a schoolgirl.” No reason to be either. That was a lot of effort just for a cover.
If he was trying to be the responsible adult figure in her life, well. He could keep trying.
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After a year in Sunnydale, Buffy didn’t bother calling her old Watcher anymore. Giles must have been doing it, conscientious as he was, but if so, he wasn’t telling her about it.
This Hellmouth was so much worse, she didn’t wonder why no one had ordered her back to Cleveland.
Buffy touched the latest evidence: a raw, red wound on her right shoulder. The vamp had missed the artery, what with her being faster, but she hadn’t been fast enough. And he’d been stubborn. Master or no, the vampires had infested this town for too long to cede territory. This was a hell of a job.
Of course she was healing, but she suspected she’d have a new scar.
“You’ll infect it,” Giles said mildly.
Buffy huffed but chose not to speak. She let him approach with the gauze. He was just being Giles, she decided as he went about protecting her wound, and apparently Giles wanted to play nurse to someone who didn’t need it.
She closed her eyes though. Touch, outside of combat—and the training he also insisted on—was rare.
“Are you alright?”
He’d drawn away, but Buffy’s eyes had remained closed. She opened them slowly. “Just tired.”
She must be.
She was not about to consider trying to get in his pants.
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“You’re still here.” He was more snappy than usual. Buffy had thought their arguments had rhythm and rhyme—he’d get his way if she felt it wasn’t too much trouble, or she’d leave him calm on the surface and he’d be calm for real when she returned. This time she’d stayed a little longer, watching his face.
Buffy stifled a giggle, then choked.
Giles looked astounded.
Buffy looked away.
She should’ve gone. That felt pointless now. But Giles was still doing the looking, and it was transitioning away from astonishment, so pointless was her best option. She turned around and took it.
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Buffy didn’t like to avoid him, but Giles was becoming an issue. She had to keep an eye on the reason he’d called for her. He was becoming a distraction, or at least her reactions to him were. He’d be proud if she told him—not in a hundred years though—what she was doing and why. Maybe he even knew it already. Giles was nice, sure, but he was a Watcher first or he wouldn’t be here.
She’d just pop in to report now. It had been a few nights. This was what she was meant to do. What they were both meant to do.
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Giles was bleeding on his couch.
Buffy put pressure on the wound.
“Too much,” he gasped.
Sorry. Sorry. She couldn’t say it. Instead, she focused on not hurting him as she patched him up, remembering all the steps. But Giles was far more fragile than she was.
“You look surprised,” he murmured.
“Why were you looking for me?” Buffy asked. “You know I always come back.” He knew not to be out at night, and he certainly didn’t need to be, with a Slayer around. Even the library was at least more defensible than a field of graves.
“As you’ve pointed out,” he stopped, and she regretted prompting him to speak. “You won’t. Eventually. But not tonight.”
“Not tonight,” she agreed, and stared at him. It didn’t make any sense.
He could’ve just waited for morning, looked for the body—
“Beautiful.” Giles was talking again. “Eyes like…”
Buffy kissed him, tentative, and he was still searching for something in her face as he passed out. She’d given him a good dose of his pain meds. It must have been that.
The explanation for her actions was still coming.
Buffy continued to watch him as her mind refused to offer one.