Title: Am I Dreaming?
Author: LadyForASH
Prompts/Summary: After Chosen, so both adults. Giles hurt by vamp attack, and Buffy finding him at home trying to do first aid on himself. This one is for gilesbabe
Rated: FRT
Disclaimer: This fic was written for fun and consolation. Sometimes we all need some comfort, so hopefully Joss and the Powers That Be understand and realize the love that is intended in me taking these characters out for a spin. Not for profit, I assure you.

In many ways a Hellmouth was a Hellmouth. There were not a lot of changes.  Death, destruction, darkness, pain, secrets, loneliness, fear, anger, mourning... all existed in Cleveland just as in Sunnydale.

And just like in Sunnydale, there were Watchers, and there were Slayers.

However, the similarities stopped right there.

Giles blinked and winced as the pain ratcheted up a notch in his head.  Oh yeah, that didn't change either, he thought glumly.  He still got smacked up aside the head way too often.

He was lying on his stomach and he couldn't remember how he got there.  Then the memories came flooding back.  He'd been crawling on the floor towards his bathroom to get to his first aid kit.  He must have passed out.

The Watcher tried to move and groaned at the white hot pain.  No, no moving for now, he thought again.  He also reflected he was getting old.  He should have zigged instead of zagged, or jumped instead of ducked.  There was a time when his body would move with instinct.  That's how he'd patrol with Buffy, how they'd train together and fight together.  It had been a graceful dance. They'd been one body, one spirit, with one purpose.

Now Giles trained many slayers, but none were his Buffy.  There was no comparison in any way.

Monica had missed.  She'd whipped her empty crossbow around and knocked Giles a good one on the back of his head in her anger and despair.  She never got it right.  She was a klutz and had no motor control.  Giles feared it was a waste of time, yet he wanted to at least prepare her to somewhat defend herself.  More than once he'd thought about persuading her into research instead of the field. But she wasn't a quitter.  He'd give her that and determination, but... little else.

So he'd been a bit dazed when he'd called a halt to the rest of the evening.  He'd bowed out of dinner with Faith and Wood. They always offered their company and their table to him, and frequently he joined.  He knew it was charity on their part.  He was a sad and lonely man with a stiff upper lip, but he did need to eat, he mused.  And he did enjoy hearing Faith's stories. They never failed to amuse him.

But this night he'd refused, complaining of a headache and it wasn't a lie. 

It was as if they knew he was coming.  Giles had rounded a corner, and suddenly he'd been surrounded.  There were four of them, middle aged vampires in human and demon lifetime.  They knew he was a watcher.  Somehow they knew he was The Watcher of The Slayer.

"She's not here to protect you now, is she?" the leader taunted.  Giles barely got his forearm up in time to block a punch aimed at his chin.  His other hand snuck inside his jacket to pull out a stake.

They were good, but he was better.  But it was still four against one.  He fought bitterly.  He was on his hands and knees with a bloody nose and lip, a gash in his shoulder, and had suffered another head wound when he finally was able to shove the wooden stake between the last vampire's ribs.  It exploded in a cloud of dust and Giles had collapsed to the hard, cold pavement. 

He wasn't sure how long he was out when he was finally able to struggle back to his feet.  He could hear Faith in the back of his mind lecturing him about getting a cell phone. But he hated those contraptions.  He hardly ever used his laptop, and he knew Willow had got fed up and stopped emailing him.

If only it had been Buffy, maybe... maybe then he'd have stuck with it.  He smiled at himself, chagrined.  He'd have had the bloody thing on 24 hours if Buffy would just...

Eventually he'd dragged himself home.  Obviously he'd passed out again.  He vaguely wondered how much blood he'd lost.  Cursing and wincing, he slowly crawled his way into the bathroom.  It took him great pains to grab a hold of the sink and pull himself up. 

Inspecting himself in the mirror, he wondered if he truly was dead.  He was a mess.  His face was pale and covered in bruises and blood.  A trail of dried blood was coated on his upper lip from his nose.  His right eye was almost swollen shut.  His flannel shirt was in shreds and his shoulder looked like it had been through a meat grinder.  He hated the hospital, but he was beginning to wonder if he should call someone for help.

He'd just turned the faucet on in the sink when he heard his front door fly open.  The crashing sound it made had him wondering if it was still on the hinges.

"Giles!"

He stiffened.  What on Earth?  He must have hit his head hard.  That voice...

"Giles!"  Buffy skidded into the bathroom.  She took one look at him and dropped her suitcase.  Her face became as ashen as his.  "I felt... I knew you were hurt... the door was open a crack.  Oh my God!"

Giles was already weak in the knees, but seeing her was too much.  He lost his strength and sagged to the floor, only to be caught firmly in her gentle grasp.  She helped lie him down on the floor, easing a towel beneath his head.

She kept up a rambling monologue as she worked on him.  She washed his wounds and bandaged him, all the time talking about how she had to come, she knew something was going to happen, she'd had a dream, she missed him... she said she missed him!

"Am I dreaming?" he finally croaked, honestly not sure if this was reality or not.

Buffy, his Buffy, his angel, knelt down beside him. She gingerly touched his swollen face and gave him her smile.  "No, Giles.  You're not dreaming.  I'm here, and... and I'm not going anywhere.  Not ever."

If Giles could have smiled through his broken face, he would have.  But it was in his eyes.  Relief flooded him, and for the moment, all his pain left.  Slowly he moved his hand to cover hers as it rested on his face.  He patted it gently.  "Good..." and then he lost consciousness once again.

END