This MorningBy Liz
"GILES!!"
A black boot, wasting no time for a simple wooden barrier, kicked the front door open, and Giles awoke to a deafening crash.
Buffy…
He flew to the railing to look downstairs, and the sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold. Spike, wide-eyed and covered in blood, cradling a limp and beaten Buffy to his chest. Years of training barely kept Giles' immediate fear from rooting him to the spot, and he took the stairs at a run.
"Spike, what in God's name have you done?!"
"Just saved her life is all, Watcher, and my efforts are about to be wasted if you don't help me stop this bleeding!" Spike's face shifted fiercely at the last word, and Rupert Giles flinched. Even without his glasses, he could plainly see something he'd never thought possible. William the Bloody was frightened beyond belief.
"Spike, the desk…" Giles prompted and crossed to shut the door. He latched the deadbolt to hold it closed, then turned to the desk, sweeping aside piles of books and papers. But the vampire hesitated, unwilling to let go of his precious bundle.
Giles knew he would never be able to erase the image of Buffy's listless body in Spike's arms. He also knew without doubt that he had never seen anything so unnervingly earnest as this vampire standing, golden eyes flashing panic and warning, with tears coursing down his cheeks. He looked Spike squarely in the eyes, a gesture both insistent and soothing, and spoke with all the patience he could muster. "You have to let me look at her."
The Watcher was right. He had to let go of her if he wanted this man to save her. Rupert Giles valued the Slayer's life above his own – had done so since long before Spike had ever come to Sunnydale. He brought her to this man because he trusted him to save her. And now he had to let him. Spike steadied himself and slipped back into his human guise.
Still holding the now-crimson shirt to her head, he laid her down as gently as he could, wordlessly imploring the Watcher to know what to do. Giles, for his part, worked with a calm efficiency that belied the terror in his heart as he set about his task.
The first thing he did was to unwrap her from the coccoon of Spike's leather duster. What he saw pierced him to the core. Buffy's shirt had been torn away, and her breasts were covered with scrapes and bruises. After assuming the worst of Spike, his next thought was of Glory, but the distinct twin lines of red across her breast clearly marked her assailant as a vampire. This wasn't the damage of a random attack, though. This was personal. Brutal. A growl of protective anger rumbled low in the Watcher's throat, and Spike startled, resolving never to underestimate this man again.
Giles easily spotted the dislocated shoulder, as well as a number of minor cuts, but the head wound was the obvious place to start. "Spike," he began, "I need you to go to my kitchen. Under the sink you will find a bucket. Fill it with water and bring it to me, along with the garbage bin and several towels from the hallway closet." The vampire looked uncertain, unwilling to leave her side, but when Giles put his hand over the makeshift compress, he reluctantly moved to comply. "And ice, a bag of it," the Watcher called after him.
Giles checked her neck as delicately as he could, feeling along the line of vertebrae from her shoulders to the base of her skull, but nothing appeared to be broken or sprained. Next, he carefully began to peel Spike's ruined garment away from the wound. He paled to see the shirt so drenched with her blood, but he continued, determined not to let his fear or his love for this girl make him careless. He slowly uncovered the cut, heart pounding in his chest. His emotions were a tangle of haunted alarm, but his hands were steady as the sodden fabric came away. Giles could see that the worst of the bleeding had clearly passed. Before he could feel relieved, however, he checked her pulse. It was steady; Buffy hadn't bled out. She was beginning to heal. A strangled cry of gratitude escaped his lips, and Spike emerged from the hallway at the sound, clutching a bag and a bundle of towels.
"Watcher?"
"The bleeding has slowed considerably, Spike," he breathed, afraid to say more until she was out of danger, but both men found immesurable hope in that one sentence.
"Right, then," Spike nodded, setting the plastic grocery bag he'd filled with ice against her injured shoulder. "I'll be after the rest of it." He put the towels on the desk next to Buffy, then paused. Taking a towel from the pile, he unfurled it, laying it gently across Buffy's exposed chest, and Giles noted the odd way Spike brushed her cheek with his fingertips before he exited the room again.
Giles set the shirt on one of the towels, then lifted another to hold to the wound, applying steady pressure as he waited for Spike's return. He knew the vampire's more violent tendencies towards humans had been reined in by his chip. He also knew that Spike appreciated the benefits of staying on Buffy's better side, since he was rather dependent on the whole group's good graces of late. But the desperation he'd seen in Spike's eyes at the thought of Buffy dying… Giles closed his eyes a moment, bracing himself against what he'd seen in that delicate caress of her cheek, but it seemed unavoidable. Another vampire had fallen in love with his Slayer. Even if Buffy weren't with Riley, Giles doubted the possibility of any real affection between them, but he nevertheless sat awed. What was it about this young woman that inspired such fierce loyalty in the men around her?
First things first. There were still serious injuries to attend to, and he would need Spike's assistance. "What do you need next?" Giles jumped slightly; he hadn't heard Spike's return. Yet another reminder that here was a vampire in his home, doing his level best to help save the life of the Slayer.
"Ah, yes. Um, if you could just set the bin on the floor here?" Giles indicated the side of the desk by Buffy's head, then slid her carefully, his hand supporting her neck, until her head was over the edge. "And if you could hold her here?" Spike reached for another towel. Dipping it into the water he'd brought, he quickly wiped as much of her blood as he could from his hands and arms, then reached to support her neck as Giles indicated.
"What's the plan, then?" he asked, hand now cradling her neck as Giles reached for the bucket.
"We need to determine the extent of the injury before we can proceed, and it's rather difficult to see clearly with so much blood." He noticed the vampire flinch at the word, and a horrifying thought settled in his gut. Turning cold eyes to his assistant, his voice was an implicit threat. "Spike…"
"Not a drop, Watcher. You have my word."
Giled opened his mouth, about to suggest that Spike's word was poor currency indeed until he thought about what he'd seen. Not just the sincere concern for Buffy's welfare, but something Spike had just done. Unable to kill for over a year, he had stood with blood on his hands. Human blood. The Slayer's blood, no less. And he had wiped it away without a second thought. Giles closed his mouth again and returned to the task at hand.
"Just hold her."
Spike supported Buffy's head while Giles carefully tilted water from the bucket. It washed over her hair, pouring into the bin below, and neither man spoke for a time. At first the water fell as a deep red, but before long, it was tinged only lightly pink. With much of the blood finally washed away, Giles was able to take a better look at the injury, and he seemed satisfied with what he saw.
"It's still bleeding a bit, Spike, but I believe we can stop it now." He gestured for Spike to reapply pressure, then left them to retrieve his medical kit from the bathroom. More confident now that Buffy would indeed survive this night, he marveled at the abnormality of life on the Hellmouth. He, a Watcher, had just willingly left his unconscious Slayer alone with a vampire. And the fact of that bothered him nowhere near as greatly as the fact that it didn't bother him more. Not that he'd be taking his time; Buffy still had wounds to tend to. But he felt more certain than he could have imagined that at least for the moment, she was safe with Spike.
Kit in hand, he returned to the living room to see Spike still at his post, speaking softly to her with more kindness and concern than Giles would have thought possible from this creature. "Right, um… she probably ought to have stitches, but I'm loath to bring her to a hospital in this state."
Spike nodded, understanding. He'd brought her here for the same reason, and he was glad to see that her Watcher seemed to agree. After a final rinse of water, Giles produced a pair of scissors and several butterfly closures from the kit. He moved to trim the hair away from the wound so the bandages would hold better, but he smiled as he imagined Buffy's reaction and put the scissors away. She would recover from this injury, but he didn't think she would ever forgive him ruining her hair over it. Spike grinned, seeing what the man next to him was thinking, and began to feel better himself as he heard her heartbeat coming steadier and stronger.
With the bandages in place, Giles spoke again, gesturing to her shoulder. "Alright, Spike. Now for the hard part."
Spike nodded, seeing what he meant. "Woulda done it myself, but…"
"I understand, Spike. But I would appreciate your assistance?" At Giles' instruction, he set the ice aside as they raised Buffy gently to sitting. Spike sat on the desk behind her, his right arm holding the towel to her chest as the left went firmly around her waist.
"Just hold her, Spike, and it should be over quickly." They both doubted that simply holding her still would prompt his chip to punish him, but Spike resolved to keep her steady, regardless. Giles lifted her left arm, feeling the swelling in her joint, and noted thankfully that the ice had kept it from filling with too much fluid. He took a deep breath, and with a nod to Spike, Giles twisted the joint back into position.
Buffy's eyes flew open, and she screamed.
"RILEY!!"