HERE TO WATCH GIRLS, Chapter Twelve: Old Reliable (12 OF 14)

[protoneoromanic.livejournal.com]

Title: Here to Watch Girls
Author: ProtoNeoRomantic
Betas: Gilescandy & porkwithbones
Rating: Mature (work as a whole bordering on NC-17, but really just because of that one chaper a few chapters back)
Paring: Giles/Willow, Giles/Buffy, Giles/Cordelia, Giles/other female characters
Word Count:  1630 (this chapter)

“*Now* can I call an ambulance?” Willow pleaded, not for the first time. Nor the tenth.

“No!” Giles ground out between clinched teeth. “I'm fine!” he lied transparently. “We need to keep—nuhg—working.”

“But, we've already found out how the Harvest works and that they can't do it until exactly tomorrow night,” she half wailed in frustration, trying to make him 'see reason'. “And that Buffy's set to come in front of the Juvenile Court in the morning, so most likely she'll be out by then! And, and you're NOT fine!! You need medical attention!”

“It's just pain, Willow,” Giles tried to be dismissive, grimacing, though he'd meant to smile. He had taken some pills, which he'd described to her as 'left-overs' from an unspecified surgery, kept in case of an emergency. At twice the recommended dose, they were helping but not enough, reducing his pain from unbearable to merely crippling. He didn't dare to take more for fear of becoming as near to totally useless mentally as he was physically. He also hadn't dared to explain that the surgery they were 'left over' from had actually been performed on another individual, one of several who had sold him a few pills for $20-35 each. He expected Willow to have a typical post-Regan American teen's attitude towards 'drugs', and this was no time for long explanations about what a professional fighter of evil legitimately might require for his first aid kit.

And no time to let the girl you plan to keep using to get your work done and your rocks off know you are nothing like the same person she thinks she knows and admires. Filthy, scum-sucking piece of shit!!! Looks that way to me yeah, but hey, I'm into that. Willow took the anger on Giles's face for purely physical suffering, of course. Poor sweet, silly child. He tried harder to smile at her and succeeded modestly. Taking her hand, squeezing it gently, he explained—read lied—he EXPLAINED, “I'll grant my condition is very uncomfortable, but I'm in no danger. Anyhow, we've got to stay focused on the problem at hand.”

“Rupert!” Willow corrected him, her voice somewhere between scolding and panicked, “I want to keep feeling like we're helping too. I'm worried about Xander, you have no idea how much! And I get that, that they could be dying right now, but there is literally nothing else we can do tonight! Unless you *want* us to go down into an electrical tunnel full of vampires with you practically crippled and me... being me!!! And, and, you *are* in danger! Of losing both your testicles!! Which is extremely not okay!!!” Damn, how did she know the common complications of testicular torsion? Even he hadn't known that until the demon had explained it to him. Was there anything she didn't know? She doesn't know you fucked Cordelia Chase. Have I told you lately to piss off!?!

“But tomorrow—” Giles tried again to object, above her insistence and through his pain. “To-Tomorrow Bu—erm I'll, I'll be needed to, to—”

“Let me worry about Buffy,” Willow countered. “She won't listen to you anyway, because—and, and I already know everything she needs to know to stop the Harvest.”

“You don't know where it's happening,” Giles objected sharply, “other than in or near Sunnydale. Nor when for that matter! Other than between dusk and dawn.”

“Yeah, well, neither do you!” Willow countered, just as fiercely, “And, and... I know this town way better than you! Plus, with the laptop! Which you won't even touch. So, I'll probably figure it out first anyway!

“Willow, I hardly—”

“Shush!” She said sharply, holding a finger in front of her lips with such a stern, schoolmarmish expression that his annoyance momentarily overwhelmed all thoughts of pain and danger. He tried to interrupt her again, to tell her how foolish this all was, but she would have none of it. “Bup! Bup! Bup!” she cut him off with a warning wave of the hand and a jerky, exaggerated head shake. “I've made up my mind. Now, are you going to call an ambulance this instant and let them take you to the hospital while I hide upstairs until they go away, or do I have to call them myself and make you explain what I'm doing here at ten-thirty at night?” Her expression said she absolutely meant it and was capable of following through.

Giles opened his mouth to object, but couldn’t quite formulate an objection that made any sense. That's called her being right. Look, when I want your opinion—I'll never want your opinion! With a sinking sense of defeat that was also a floating sense of relief, Giles drew breath to capitulate to her demands. Something to be said for *not* being a martyr, isn't there? But he was stopped by a sudden, sharp wrapping at the door. Gesturing for Willow to run upstairs, which she began to do, Giles limped to answer it.

Before he was even close, the door burst inward. Or rather, it was kicked open, the flimsy latch snapping easily in half without much damage to the door itself. Willow froze on the stairs. Giles stood frozen as well. There stood Buffy. Her hands were on her hips. She radiated casual hostility and deep impatience. “Okay,” she demanded, her tone almost businesslike if a bit harsh, “what's the sitch with this Harvest deal?”

“The Harvest?” Giles repeated, startled. “How do you know ab—?”

“Your friend told me,” Buffy cut him off, even more impatiently than before. “Some kinda vampire deal, right? Ritual killfest or whatever. I'm guessing it opens the Hellmouth or something like that.”

Before Giles could make any response to that, Willow spoke up, “Wait? How are you even here?”

“Why are *you* here?” Buffy snapped. “As if I didn't know. God!” she turned and scolded Giles, taking an actively invasive step over his threshold. “Do you club baby seals to death too? I mean, she's like an actual kid. What is the *matter* with you?” So... she was paying absolutely no attention when you completely explained in humiliating detail exactly what the matter is with you? Yes, exactly! Thank you! That's what I—OH! OH! SHUT UP!!!

“Hey!” Willow shouted, coming down the stairs two at a time, finger wagging before her. “He's not—he can't help it—and anyways, I'm almost two whole months older than you are! And, and—!” at the foot of the stairs, Willow stopped abruptly. Given the fact that Buffy had just taken a second and third step forwards, that was probably a good thing. But the odd way that she cocked her head, clearly puzzled, looked potentially, well... less good. “Wait a minute,” she asked, almost calmly, brow deeply furrowed, “What friend?”

It was a fair point. On this continent at least, he was hard pressed to think of anyone who would call him that. In fact, the only person who might was the one asking the question. And besides, at this point, she'd have probably attached a prefix that changed the meaning of the word entirely. Not to mention, it had to be someone who knew about the Harvest without having heard it from him or read it from the book he had lying on his coffee table. Which could almost certainly mean only one thing. “I'm not friends with any vampires,” Giles said aloud, finishing with a grimace of pain, which Buffy finally seemed to notice.

“Hey, what *is* the matter with you?” the Slayer asked, actually seeming a little concerned.

“Acute, bilateral testicular torsion,” Willow explained tersely. At Buffy's completely uncomprehending expression, she added, “The demon is twisting his balls off to punish him for trying to stop the Harvest. How are you not in jail? I mean, good,” she hastened to add, straining for a friendlier tone, “but how?”

“This guy,” Buffy explained, “Big, tall, dark, annoyingly gorgeous guy. Young but not very. He said he was 'a friend', but maybe not mine.” She turned to Giles, “I thought he meant he was yours.”

Giles was more puzzled than ever. He opened his mouth to say so, only to find Willow stepping on his cues once again. “That doesn't explain anything!” she blurted in frustration. “How is 'this guy' how you're out of jail?”

“He got them to change it in the log so it looked like I was supposed to be released without a bond, and so my court's not til next week. He like bribed them or something, I don't know,” Buffy explained, clearly growing even more impatient with having to explain anything to Willow. She turned, once again, and began to address herself specifically to Giles, who had retreated to a position in which he could lean on the back of the couch for the support he needed to stay on his feet. “I really didn't ask any questions since I *assumed* you set the whole thing up! Which is kind of, you know, your job!?!” Then her expression abruptly changed again, to one of not so much concern as sheer puzzlement. “You know, you really don't look so good,” she noted casually.

Once again, Giles marshaled himself to reply. Once again Willow spoke first. “He's not. He needs to go to the hospital, but he's being stubborn.”

“The Harv-harves—” Giles managed to grunt.

“Is something we can handle,” Willow cut him off. “Between the two of us, we know more than everything you know, so...” She walked over and picked up the phone from the end table. Setting it before him on the backrest of the couch, she admonished him, “Quit being such a *guy* and call for help.”