Title: A Mile In His Moccasins 25/26
Author: Gileswench
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. Praise abjectly sought.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc., etc., etc. I just let them have all the fun Joss won't. I own nothing except my twisted mind which you really don't want. Please don't sue.

Willow and Tara both decided to skip classes so they could watch over Giles' cure. Dawn complained when she was told she had to go to school anyway, but she did finally go. About an hour after her departure, the doorbell rang and Willow found Xander and Anya on the doorstep.

"Don't you guys have to work?" Willow asked as she ushered them in.

"I tried," Xander said. "But after the fifth time I hammered my thumb instead of the nail I was aiming for, the boss sent me home to sleep it off."

"Couldn't concentrate, huh?" Willow smiled wryly.

"That's a much better way of putting it than the one Carlos came up with. You don't even want to know what that was."

"Construction workers can be very crude," Anya supplied helpfully. "They often ridicule their co-workers' sexuality."

"What about the Magic Box?" Tara asked, as much to change the subject as to learn the answer.

"Oh, that," Anya said with a wave of her hand. "It's closed for illness in the family. Giles is family. He's ill."

She glowered fiercely, daring anyone to argue the point. Nobody did.

The four went into the dining room and sat around the table. After a moment, Tara got up to make tea for those who wanted it. By mutual unspoken consent, they stayed away from the topic on all their minds. The conversation flitted from one inconsequential matter to another.

"This is silly," Anya said at last. "None of us is saying what we want to. We're all worried about Giles, but nobody will come out and talk about it. I want to talk about it. I need to talk about it. I feel bad. Like I might throw up."

"I know," Xander told her, "We all feel like that, An. That's why we're not talking about it. So we don't feel quite so barfy."

"That's stupid. Not talking about things doesn't make them go away."

"Talking about them doesn't do that either," he reminded her.

"No," Tara agreed, "it doesn't make them go away. But sometimes it helps anyway. What did you want to say, Anya?"

The former demon looked around the table a bit sheepishly.

"That I felt bad. I said that already. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't the only one."

"You're really not," Willow said. "I feel all tumbley in my tummy, too."

"Good."

The others shared bemused looks. They understood what Anya meant, even if she did phrase it badly.

The door opened and every head turned to watch Buffy and Giles file through it into the house.

"What are all of you doing here?" Giles asked.

"Circling the wagons," Xander told him. "We wanted to be here for you, big guy."

Anya launched herself across the room and pinned Giles' arms to his sides with a fierce bear hug.

"Yes...well...thank you all," Giles said as he carefully extracted himself from Anya's embrace. "But I can manage if you have other things to do - as I'm sure you all do. There's really no need to stay."

"It's gonna be pretty boring from what Mrs. Wilmot said, anyway," Buffy added. "And you know what they say: a watched poultice never heals."

"Who says that?" Willow asked.

"They...do. People who do say that."

Tara got the hint.

"In that case, why don't we go get some lunch and come back later?" she suggested. "We could have a pizza party tonight in honor of Giles' recovery."

"What if he doesn't recover?" Anya asked.

"We'll see you later. I'll bring the pizza and the beer," Xander volunteered as he steered his tactless love out the door. Tara and Willow followed in their wake. Soon the house was empty except for Buffy and Giles. Giles heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thank you for that," he said to Buffy.

"I know you wanted to be fuss-free, but you'll have to get used to it if you're staying. They're pretty crazy about you, y'know."

"I'd forgotten how...intense they can be."

"I'm not going anywhere," Buffy told him in no uncertain terms.

"Buffy..." he began.

"Uh uh. No way. Honestly, Giles, you're just like a cat sometimes."

"A cat?"

"When I was a little girl, we had a pet cat once. Every time it got sick, it disappeared and my dad would have to drag it out from under the bed or something to take it to the vet. This one time, it vanished into thin air and we didn't find it for a week. That was when the stink started coming from under the house. Mom never let me have another pet. If I let you, you'd duck out of this and disappear, wouldn't you?"

"I would not!" he protested. When she raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, he caved. "I might think about it, but I wouldn't do it. You'd find me and hurt me and make me do this anyway."

"Scratch the hurting part. I think I've done enough of that already. But the finding and making, definitely."

"All right. Lead me to my doom," he joked dryly.

Together they went into the back yard to find Mrs. Wilmot. The lady in question was mixing herbs rapidly and muttering to herself. When she saw Giles, she took a deep puff on her cigarette and smiled.

"Almost ready," she told him. "Now, Buffy, you spread out some old newspapers around that lounge chair. Mr. Giles, take your shirt off."

"I - I beg your pardon?"

"Go on, honey, you ain't got nothing I haven't seen before. I been married. Go on, this gets a little messy. You don't want to ruin that shirt."

Buffy and Giles shared a long, nervous look. At last, they both gave a mental shrug. There wasn't a lot of choice. Buffy began strewing newspapers around the chair and Giles unbuttoned his shirt.

Within minutes, Giles was ensconced, topless, in the lounge chair with a nearly scalding poultice over his eyes. As Mrs. Wilmot had predicted, glops of the rank herbal mess seeped from the cloth they'd been bound in, dripping onto the chair and down Giles cheeks. At first, Buffy did her best to keep the rivulets of herb juice from running down his throat to his shoulders, but even she had to give up after a while. She finally draped an old towel across his shoulders to soak up the mess as it fell.

Later, she could just throw the towel away. She was sure she'd never get the smell out in the laundry.

In the meantime, she stayed with Giles, holding his hand and talking to him.

Every half hour, Mrs. Wilmot removed the poultice and replaced it with a fresh one.

The day dragged on tediously. Giles did his best not to get snappish, but that was difficult between the smell, the wretched heat across his face, the growing chill across his towel-draped chest, the enforced immobility and the complete deprivation of his sight. He held onto Buffy's hand as if it was an anchor, keeping him from floating off his emotional moorings.

Buffy talked of everything she could think of until she was hoarse from the exercise. She stroked Giles' hair and held on tightly to his hand. All she wanted to do was to find something to hit - or at least scream at - but she knew Giles needed her to be strong and adult. She could hit something later. Or maybe Giles would need some help in the shower after this.

That was something to hang onto in her mind.

Eventually Dawn returned from school. She offered to relieve her sister from Gileswatch duty, but Buffy would have none of it.

"You need a break, Buffy," Giles told her. "You've been at this so long you're making my throat sore when you speak."

Buffy shook her head stubbornly.

"Not moving," she croaked. "Not shutting up, either. Dawn can get me a drink and we can take turns talking to you, but I'm not leaving. I'm staying right here with you."

Just then, Mrs. Wilmot puffed her way out of the kitchen and handed Buffy a mug.

"Drink up, dearie. It's lemon tea with honey for your throat. You'll sound better when you've had that. Probably feel better, too," she said kindly.

Buffy took the mug with a grateful smile. Maybe Mrs. Wilmot had some redeeming features after all.

"Thanks. Now I don't have to go at all."

"Just drink it, Buffy," Dawn told her. "You sound like a frog."

"A frog who can ground you for life."

"Did I say a frog? I meant a supermodel."

The sisters smiled at one another. Dawn took up talking, telling Giles about her day at school. Buffy sipped her tea but never let go of Giles' hand.

It was nearly nightfall when Mrs. Wilmot removed the final poultice and told Giles the treatment was over for the day.

"Just for the day?" Buffy squeaked. "Isn't it done for...ever?"

"We'll see," Mrs. Wilmot said. "But he probably needs another couple treatments and then a little follow up down the road. It took a long time to get things to this point, it'll take a while to fix completely. Don't you fret. He'll be good as new in a short time - if this today did any good at all."

Giles toweled the remaining gunk off his face silently. He reached for his glasses and his discarded shirt. He put his glasses on and took them off several times, changing his focus from things as close as his hand to as far as could be seen from the garden.

Buffy and Dawn watched nervously from the sidelines. Mrs. Wilmot lit up yet another cigarette. Buffy fumed at the thought that she could be so unconcerned with how her cure had worked. She watched as Giles blinked one last time and shook his head. At last, he placed his glasses firmly on his nose and turned toward Buffy.

"I'd best shower before the others get here," he said quietly.

Buffy moved to his side and put her hand on his arm. She looked up at him with large, worried eyes. His demeanor didn't seem right if he was any better.

"Are you okay? Didn't it do anything?"

He smiled down at her softly.

"I think we may just have something to celebrate after all," he told her.

Buffy launched herself into his arms and squeezed as tightly as she dared without hurting his ribs.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, you creep!" she admonished him. A moment later, she pulled back and made a wry face. "Okay, into the shower with you, pronto. You smell gross."

She dragged him into the house, both grinning widely. Dawn followed, almost dancing in her excitement. Mrs. Wilmot shook her head and laughed under her breath at the comical display. Then she set about cleaning up. This was what she had set up as a healer to do. She took a satisfying drag on her cigarette and looked up at the darkening sky.

"Did you see that, Abel? Another couple like that and maybe I'll be found worthy to see you in the hereafter. Just you wait for me, hear?"

*****

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