For Kivrin: "Protective", B/G, FRT
For kivrin, to make amends: a little B/G h/c.



Giles hissed again as Buffy swabbed yet another scratch.

"Are you gonna do that every time?"

"Afraid so, yes."

Buffy tipped the bottle and spilled more hydrogen peroxide on the cloth. She'd had to send Xander for more of the stuff, plus gauze for bandages and other supplies. Even so, she might not have enough to clean all the wounds thoroughly. Giles's torso was one big road-map of scratches.

"Tell me again how you managed to get in the middle of three Hotep demons and get scratched up like this?"

Giles did that looking-away thing. "It's Khat-peh, not Hotep. And they were younglings." He hissed again.

The mother had been Buffy's job--a demon almost the size of a bear that looked like a long-legged hedgehog on PCP. She'd gotten her own share of scratches, but thanks to Slayer healing, most of them were gone already. Besides, she'd been using a pike and managed to keep the thing at a distance.

"I think I got them all," she said, looking critically at his back. She circled round and studied his chest and belly. "But there's no way I can bandage 'em all, unless you actually want to look like The Mummy."

Giles stirred, winced. "Just wrap up my forearms, Buffy. I've some old shirts that are plain white cotton and won't irritate--too much."

Buffy bandaged up her Watcher's arms with an efficiency she had learned from him, then spread the antibiotic goop over the rest of the scratches with a lightness of touch that was all her own. Giles did not fight when she slipped her arm under his elbow to help him up the steps; he just dropped onto the foot of the bed and pointed to the dresser with his chin. "Old shirts are in the bottom drawer."

Buffy pulled out a plain white t-shirt, neatly folded and obviously clean, but so thin with age she could almost see through it. It glided over her hands and Giles's arms like silk as she helped him put it on.

He started to protest when she knelt to pull off his shoes, but a warning glare shut him up. He even gave her a weary smile as she peeled away his sweaty socks and unzipped his fly.

"I'm only scratched up, you know. No broken bones."

"Lie down, you."

Giles lay down, more or less on his right side. Buffy pulled his jeans off and laid them over the chair. At least his legs had been spared, or the jeans had been tougher than the little Hoteps' claws. "You want something for the pain?" It wasn't really a question.

"Yes, please."

She scooted downstairs for a glass of water and some aspirin. Aspirin did nothing for her, but Giles still preferred it. He managed to take the pills and drink half the water without sitting up, a trick that Buffy had never learned. At last she sat down on the bed and curled up close to her Watcher, who looked half-asleep already.

"You could have let me take the babies."

He shrugged with one shoulder. "You had your hands full."

"They would have been easy once I took out the mom."

Giles closed his eyes. "Sometimes I want to protect you." He opened his eyes just long enough to quirk a smile at her. "Even though I know it's foolish."

Buffy lay down and stretched out her legs to touch his. Cupped her Watcher's cheek in her hand. There were no scratches on his face. His mouth was soft and warm in response to hers.

"It's foolish. But I appreciate it anyway. Go to sleep. I'll be back later." She let her hand drift to his hip, his thigh. A promise.

Smiling, Giles slept.