Flinch
By Jacqui

Title: Flinch 6/6.
Author: Jacqui wily_one24@yahoo.com.au
Rating: PG-13, the bad is mainly over, let the healing begin.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no sirree, no way no how.
Comments: Time may not heal all wounds, but it helps us find the means with which to cope with them.
Feedback: Please. I’ll be your best friend.

Buffy stared at him, she was surprised at the lack of emotion. If anything, given this situation, she would have wagered on deep, welling passions, a seething hatred, bubbling acidic pain. There was none of that now. Just a calmness, a smooth knowledge.

* * * *

She didn’t wake with a start, as she most often did, this time Buffy drifted into consciousness slowly. Almost as if her body was deliberately shielding her from reality and the harshness it would bring. The first thing she was aware of was a voice, familiar and comforting.

"I can wait. How is she?"

An answering voice, strange and unfamiliar, but friendly, came through closer than Giles. Buffy struggled to open her eyes, to move her limbs, to let the rest of her catch up with her ears.

"She’s going to be fine. A little sore and sorry for herself, but otherwise fine. You, however, you need treatment."

What? Her confused mind eddied and swam as she tried to swim to the surface.

"Just help her first."

His words left no room for argument.

All of a sudden, as if someone had poured a glass of warm feeling over her arm, Buffy could feel hands on her wrist, caressing… no… massaging them gently. The clinical scent of antiseptic and aloe entered her nostrils. There was no pain, no actual feeling, though she knew that by rights, her arms would be almost raw and sensitive as hell. She was almost grateful for this semi-consciousness.

"Like I have so much choice." The strange voice sounded resentful, but understanding of Giles’ position.

Buffy felt a gentle hand sweep through her hair, this hand she would have known anywhere. A soft, almost scared caress, comforting her. She wanted to lean into him, wanted to open her eyes and see him, wanted to tell him it was okay.

"I’ll never forgive myself." Giles’ voice was soft and almost inaudible. "If she doesn’t get better."

No. It was the last, soft, helpless word that went through her mind before she fell back into a deep blackness. No.

* * * *

Faith flicked her hair behind her shoulders, bringing her face back around with an eerily delighted grin. She kept her eyes locked straight into those of the vampire in front of her, without looking down, she pulled the stake from her forearm slowly, surely. She didn’t flinch.

The vampire did.

"You have a serious death wish, don’t ya?"

Behind her, she could feel the other vampire creeping up. Rather more excited than she was frightened, Faith could feel the energy surging up within her, knew that she needed to fight, that she had to beat these vamps to a pulpy mass before dusting them.

Knew that she would enjoy it a lot more than she should.

Waiting for her, she knew, would be Xander, ready to comfort her and not ask questions. That’s what she needed, someone who would hold her in the night, but not speak about it during the day. It scared her, how much she had begun to depend on him. Never again, she had sworn to herself once, saying it over and over like a mantra, would she let herself fall so hard and deep, would she allow someone else to hold that power over her.

He had wanted to come with her on patrol, but that was something she wasn’t ready for. When she fought, and especially lately, she scared herself. He had seen shades of that last year, Faith could still hear his shaky voice, telling her she was like a wild thing, that she could lose herself in it. If only he knew the half of it.

What would he do, she didn’t even like to think, what would they all do, if they saw how absolutely animalistic she became, how primal, how unconscious, as she let her instincts take over. What would they think if they knew she enjoyed it so much?

"He said you were dead!" The vampire hissed through broken, bloody teeth, an instant before she staked him. "He said they left the Slayers for dead!"

Faith blinked.

* * * *

The room was cool and slightly dark, but she knew it was daytime. She must have slept for a while. The shades were pulled down, but they held an eerie glow and she knew that daylight was struggling to get in. She was in Giles’ bed, she knew, the same one she’d been in since… her mind threatened to shut down… well, for as long she wanted to remember.

Across the room, if she craned her neck, she saw Giles stretched out, face down, on a small, fold out bed, hunching over him was a man. The owner of the strange voice, she reasoned, he must be a doctor. She watched with a curious eye as he rubbed salve into Giles’ back.

Her wrist itched, she felt the need to scratch it like nothing else. It was overwhelming. As the fingers of her other hand inched over, pushing the white bandage up, she dropped her eyes to look at it. The skin outside the bandage was bright red and sore, as she slid a fingernail underneath, she had to hold back a hiss as she scraped against the crust of a barely healing scab. She could feel the instant wetness of the wound seeping.

Without warning, a sudden onrush of emotion hit her. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the form of Giles, his face scrunched up in pain, though he was keeping it in, to the doctor’s hand blotting the blood from his back with a clean cloth, to the way his muscles shivered to the touch. It was all her fault. She’d done this to him.

"I’m sorry." She whispered.

Both men turned in surprise to her.

* * * *

He didn’t get many customers during the day, not that he needed a great onrush of business right about now. Willy shifted the weight of his arm in its sling. That damned Slayer had nearly killed him. His hand shook as he opened the bottle of pain killers and slowly placed two on his tongue, letting them dissolve at their own sweet leisure. He’d welcome the relief, as it seeped it through his blood. The sour taste oozed over his tongue and he considered, just for a minute, of washing it down.

"Wow, you’re lookin’ a tad worse for wear."

He fell down.

Just like that, without warning, his knees gave out from under him and a nameless terror sliced his spine up and down. Clawing his way back up the bar, Willy found his footing and managed to put a half convincing smile on his face.

"Slayer! Wasn’t expecting to see you back here, so soon…"

"Yeah." Faith grinned sheepishly and eyed him up and down. "Sorry ‘bout that. Extenuating circumstances and all, you understand."

"What can I do yer for?" To hide the trembling of his hand, Willy swiped at the surface of the bar with a towel.

"Relax Jumpy. I’m not here to play." She smiled sweetly. "Unless, of course, you don’t tell me what I want to know."

Willy gulped.

* * * *

Buffy watched the door close and wished that it would open again. She didn’t want to be here, with Giles, alone with him. The silence hung heavily and she knew that conversation would be needed soon. There would be no avoidance this time.

"Are you…?" She spoke because she couldn’t stand the silence, not because she didn’t know the answer. "Are you okay?"

He didn’t answer her, but grunted softly as he moved into a sitting position. Buffy winced as if the pain were hers. The awkwardness with which he moved did not belong to him, should not belong to him. In all her memories of him, he’d been smooth, fluid, comfortable within himself. Now he moved as if he wanted to escape his own body.

"Giles? I’m sorry… I…"

"No you’re not." His words were quiet, soft and gentle, but they sliced through her. "You’re not sorry at all."

"I… How can you say that?"

"Buffy." He looked at her, his eyes boring into hers, looking deep, deeper than she felt comfortable with. The urge to look away was strong, but she fought it, taking this punishment as she knew she must. "How can you be sorry when you don’t even know what you’ve done?"

She let the air pour out of her, feeling herself go boneless as she sat on the bed. The silence came back, thicker and heavier, harder to endure. All she wanted was to make it right, to burst through the lining of hopelessness that threatened to engulf her. She wanted things to go back to how they were.

"What should I do, Giles? Tell me."

"I don’t want…" He looked down, his shoulders slumped, before he spoke again. "Why are you sorry? Tell me what you’re apologizing for."

Buffy didn’t even need to think.

"For hurting you, for every time I ever hurt you."

Giles stood up, he walked over to her. Buffy could see the vein in his temple pulse, could see the restraint in his face and it terrified her. He had every right to be angry, she knew, but every cell inside of her screamed for her to run away.

"For this?" He wrenched his shirt from his back and gestured to the bandages. "You’re sorry for this? You didn’t do this to me, Buffy. I did this to myself. You could never hurt me physically."

Though she couldn’t actually see them, the mere suggestion of the wounds he had endured for her made Buffy tremble, she could feel the tears well up again and wanted to make him stop, wanted to cover his mouth with her hands so that he never spoke again.

"The only place you ever hurt me," Giles pointed at his chest, right where his heart would be, his finger stabbing violently, again and again. "is here. This is where you hurt me, Buffy. How can I help if you don’t let me in?"

Buffy’s lip trembled. Giles sighed and turned, walking towards the door.

"You need to eat."

As the silence descended again, Buffy closed her eyes and felt the first drop of a tear fall on her cheek, she whispered to the empty room.

"That’s what I meant."

* * * *

He placed the dishes on the sink and felt his shoulders droop heavier than they had in a long while. What was he doing? He honestly didn’t know. Once upon a time he would have known exactly what to do, exactly what to say, to make things easier for Buffy.

Now? Now he was helpless. He had tried everything and it seemed as if nothing was getting through to her. So many platitudes ran through his head. You had to be cruel to be kind. You have to knock her down to build her up. Nothing else had worked, nothing else had driven her to strive. But this new game of acting harsh was killing him.

Giles did not think he could look into those eyes, wide and wounded, one more time as he spoke the harsh words. They might be true, but they weren’t necessary. He’d wanted to take it all back as they’d sat there, awkward and silent, picking at the food he’d prepared, but not really eating it. He doubted if she even knew what had sat on the table in front of her.

The edgy movements, the starts of sentences never finished, the yearning within her to reach out and bridge the gap, he’d seen it all and he had barely been able to restrain himself from breaking down and taking her in his arms.

The crash of the door made him jump and he walked into the living room to see who had entered. He saw no one in the living room and when his eyes instinctually rose to the ceiling, seeking Buffy out through layers of concrete and plaster, he caught sight of a quick flash of black.

Muffled voices reached his ears before he even thought to take a step.

* * * *

"Hey Buffy."

"Faith?" Buffy sat up, her eyes puffy and red from crying. She felt thick, the world around her felt thick, as if she were pushing through a dense fog just to be awake. It took her several seconds to register that Faith was actually in the room. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came to say hi to my fellow Slayer." Faith let her voice flow casually, indifferent, as she placed one foot in front of the other. Her eyes scanned Buffy from head to toe, critically. "You know, see what you were up to, whether you had plans or not…"

"Plans?" Buffy echoed Faith’s word as if she had never heard it before, she didn’t know what the other girl was saying.

"Oh you know." As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Faith went to Buffy’s closet and began picking through her clothes. "I thought maybe you’d be up for a little double Slay fest. You, me, dead vamps."

A shiver ran through Buffy, cold, frozen terror inching up and down her spine. There was no way in the world Faith could mean what she had just said. Her mind threatened to shut down with the sudden thought of being outside, of leaving the house.

Of leaving Giles’ protection.

"Faith…"

"Oh no." Faith kept talking, she didn’t give Buffy any chance to finish whatever she’d been about to say. "I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ve done the Slaying in this town long enough, sister, and if you think I’m gonna let you sit in here and stagnate on your pasty pale ass, you’ve got another thing coming."

She threw Buffy some red leather pants and a black, three quarter sleeve shirt.

"Faith!"

Both girls turned to the door, slightly open mouthed at the sight of a livid Giles.

"Giles!" Although she managed to mimic the anger and outrage of Giles, Faith hoped that neither of them saw how hard she was shaking or heard the rapid beating of her heart. She glared at him, not saying anything as he glared at her.

"That is enough! I would have thought you, of all people, would have the sensitivity to understand…"

"To understand what, Giles? That you’re trying to help, but only really managing to stifle her? I know you mean well, Giles, but has anything you’ve tried really worked? You’re right about one thing, though, I, of all people, understand what she’s going through. I know what she needs!"

Buffy was quiet during all of this, her eyes flickering between the two, strangely unwilling to enter into the argument, as if it had nothing to do with her, unable to make up her own mind. She felt strangely pulled in both directions, at once terrified of leaving the safe walls, terrified of having to face hostile foes once more and also terrified of not having to face them. The thought was tantalizing, calling softly, darkly, at her to give in.

She watched as Faith stopped trembling, her shoulders squaring out and her chin rising slightly as she grew more confidence with what she was saying. She watched as something flickered through Giles’ eyes, a moment of enlightenment, and his shoulders sagged.

Giles didn’t say anything and in the silence that threatened to engulf them all, Faith felt pressured to explain herself.

"Buffy’s a Slayer, Giles," Her voice was quieter this time, almost soft. "you can’t fight that. You can’t keep her hidden away, wrapped in cotton wool. It’s built into her to fight."

He knew he was fighting a losing battle. He knew, also, that Buffy knew it, too, but that she’d side with him no matter what. That thought scared him, that she would fight so aggressively against her own instincts just for him. Faith was right, he’d known it all along, had he only stopped long enough to listen.

Suddenly, a scene from a few weeks before came back to him. Buffy, standing in the weapons cage, "That’s the great thing about being a Slayer, Giles, kicking ass is comfort food." The grinding of the Master’s bones. And now, finally, he was beginning to understand why she’d gone back to the mansion.

It was a vicious loop. She used revenge to create an outlet for her pain. She used pain to create the revenge she needed for her outlet. It went deeper than that, but that was all his mind threw at him at that moment.

And in this, Buffy had no one to exact revenge upon. Her pain was building up, swelling under the skin, without a proper release. She could not scream at anyone, blame anyone, for the anger and confusion, the pain and hurt that she harbored, because there was no one left to blame and she had been forced to create blame in others.

Giles looked at Buffy.

"Get dressed."

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised, Buffy or Faith.

* * * *

The noises that assaulted her ears seemed unnecessarily loud and there were too many. What should have been a quiet night, was full of small sounds, too subtle to be sought, but enough to make Buffy aware of them. She thought her head would explode.

A slight rustling in the bushes made Faith turn her head sharply.

"It’s just a cat."

As if to prove Buffy’s words, a gray cat stepped into view, giving them a disdainful look, before sauntering the other way. Faith turned to look at Buffy, her eyebrows raised in question.

"How the hell did you know that?"

"I don’t…" Buffy blinked, shrugging her shoulders. She thought about the question, how had she known? The answer came to her subtly, like the rising of warmth, an introduction of clarity. "Because I heard it."

"We both heard it, B, but…"

"No. I meant, I heard it breathing, I heard it walking. I heard it."

Faith stopped walking and stared at her.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Buffy looked down, an almost imperceptible flicker crossing her face. A glint of anger, swallowed as soon as it rose. She turned to look away, raising her chin, slightly, hoping that Faith wouldn’t see the tear that she’d tried so hard to swallow.

"I’ve learned to pay attention."

Silence. They continued walking, meeting nothing but the darkness. Faith struggled with herself, a million different things welling inside her. For a moment, she thought how easy it had been, under the Mayor’s influence, how simple it had been to forgo choice, to simply follow orders and let somebody else deal with the outcomes. To bask in the favor of another, to receive unlimited affection, no matter how false and shallow.

But nothing, she knew, nothing came without consequence and she, Faith, had to face her own actions.

"I could’ve stopped it."

"What?" Buffy, lost in her own thoughts, was surprised by Faith’s outburst.

"If only, you know, I’d done something, seen what was happening. Buffy." Faith turned and looked her in the eye, her chin trembling slightly, her arms gesturing futilely. "It’s all my fault. I did it."

"No." Buffy shook her head. "You were confused, angry… you weren’t you. You didn’t know…"

"I knew! Don’t you get it, B?" Faith’s eyes flashed, her face grew flushed. "I knew what I was doing and a part of me liked it!"

"No!" Buffy refused to listen, her head bubbled. "You’re not saying this, I’m not hearing it."

Before she could run, Faith grabbed her shoulders, forcing Buffy to listen.

"I am saying it! You don’t feel it, B, not the way I do. The killing, the slaying, the destruction, it runs through me and I like it. I get off on the feeling. You don’t. But I do."

Scrunching her shoulders, Buffy lowered her head as much as she could, trying to escape Faith’s hold, but not really succeeding. She could feel herself shaking.

"Doing those things, feeling no remorse, it was like a drug, Buffy. Don’t you understand? I liked it, I liked causing pain, I got off on making you and everyone suffer. But I was, you know, feeling that remorse. Deep down, it boiled."

Buffy stopped struggling.

"I was hurting and I refused to let myself feel it. Buffy, if you don’t release it, if you don’t let go of this pain you’ve got, it’s gonna erupt and hurt, not only you, but everyone you care about. You have to let it go."

Looking up, Buffy let the tears fall unashamedly, calling out to Faith.

"What if I can’t?"

"You have to."

Faith tightened her grasp and began to walk, forcing Buffy along with her. Buffy could do nothing but stumble along.

"I’ve don’t bad things, but I’m trying to atone. I’m trying to make it better, Buffy, but you have to help me. I’m not asking you to forgive me, I have no right for that, but I am asking you to forgive yourself, because you do deserve it."

She stopped.

"Faith, where are we?"

"I’m sorry to do this, this way, but you need it."

Five minutes before, Buffy had tracked a cat’s path without even realizing it, her senses tuned to the movements of her surroundings. She knew, before it even happened, that Faith was opening a door to an abandoned building with one hand. She knew, before it even happened, that Faith was pushing her into the building with the other. She knew, but she did nothing.

The door closed with a thud. Buffy turned in the darkness, broken only by the flicker of a few small candles, to meet her fellow captives.

* * * *

He paced. He took off his glasses and polished them. He did it again. He made tea, then stared at the contents in the cup without drinking it. Giles sighed. A part of him knew that Faith had been right, but a part of him just wanted to run out of the apartment, find them, and make sure Buffy was safe. Be the protector, the savior, the one she needed.

He was concentrating so hard on being frustrated, that he almost yelped in surprise when the phone rang.

"Giles, it’s me."

"Faith?" A million possibilities filtered into his brain, none of them good. "Where are you? What’s happened?"

"We’re okay, Giles. Buffy’s going to be fine. I’ve done my part. It’s time to do yours. She’s gonna need you now."

He wrote down the address she gave him and listened to the rest of the information.

* * * *

The vampire turned, obviously frustrated at his imprisonment, ready to do battle. His eyes widened with shock.

"You!"

Buffy’s eyes narrowed with recognition.

"You."

The vampire gestured to his two remaining friends, one of them was nursing a severely damaged arm. He seemed to be gathering strength from the reassurance that they were there, that, and the fact that Buffy, like them, were locked in this godforsaken room.

"We left you for dead."

"I remember."

Standing her ground, Buffy desperately hoped that they couldn’t see the fear, couldn’t sense it. Inside, she was shaking, about to melt. Her whole nervous system threatened to break down. She couldn’t deal with this, didn’t want to be reminded of the days down in the bowels of the mansion. Buffy was struck with the inability to move. She knew she should stake them, knew they shouldn’t be any real trouble to her, but her limbs refused to move.

The lead vampire grinned as he stepped forward.

The world disappeared as she closed her eyes, the darkness descending with finality. The last vestige of light flickered with the candles and she breathed. Her heart, beating with frightening speed, began to slow down. Her skin, hot and clammy with sweat, began to cool. Her lungs, burning with each breath, began to absorb the air, not fight it.

In her head, Buffy was the witness for many things, many times when she had laughed, when others had laughed, when they’d smiled. Times when they’d believed in a better life, believed that making the right choices would be rewarded. She did not see what was in front of her, did not hear it or feel it, she didn’t need to. Buffy had memories, she had a safe place.

He’d never been this close to a Slayer before. Once upon a time, it would have meant something, a thrill, calling back to the animal in them all. He’d seen too much over the past weeks to be awed by this girl, but the hushed, reverent murmurings of his fellow vampires made him draw this out. If anything, he’d gain some face with them. She smelled sweet and this, by no means, would be much of a chore.

He’d seen Angel break her down, had wanted to taste the salt of her tears mingled with the salt of her sweat. Two different tangs, so few actually understood that. Angel had, he’d known how to drag it out of her. He too, like Angel, would force this Slayer, this scourge of the underworld, to beg. He would draw out of her what Angel had sucked out. Fear, loathing, suffering.

He reached out and lightly ran his fingers down her neck, taking great pains to outline the scar.

* * * *

Faith shifted her weight from foot to foot, her arms alternately wrapped around her or flung desperately at her side. At the first sign of real danger, she was ready to burst through the door, but not until then.

Her eyes scanned the street harshly, blaming and cursing every inch of surface for not being that which she looked. So intent was she on looking for him, that Faith barely noticed Giles until he was right behind her.

* * * *

"You are the Slayer?" His voice was cold and hard as he whispered the words into her ear like a noxious gas, taunting her, with an edge of scorn. "Aren’t you?"

There was not even a flicker on her face, she was so still. He leaned in closer, his cold lips almost touching the skin of her earlobe.

"You know, Angel told me something. He told me that you and he were lovers. He told me you gave it up so easily it was almost funny. I figure, hell, if you’d do something as depraved as him, you’d certainly do me."

Slowly, almost casually, as if it had all the time in the world, a thick trail of red began to seep from Buffy’s nose. She didn’t move, not even when the blood pooled in the dent above her lip, spilling over and coating her mouth. Bright and shocking, it seemed, in contrast to the stark whiteness of her skin.

This was beyond tempting. He could smell it now, the blood, see it flowing down her face. The fangs in his mouth began to itch, as if moving of their own volition, dancing to the beat of her pulse. He wasn’t going to do it, though, not until she gave some sign, some indication.

"My god, he killed your folks and you slept with him? Let me ask you something, how did he taste, when you kissed him? Did he taste like death? Did he taste like someone who could kill you? Did you like it?"

He was pushing his face so close to hers that her breath, making bubbles in the blood as it passed her lips, danced across his nose. His tongue flicked forward and caught the bottom of her lip, a sizzle passing through him. Slayer’s blood. So drunk was he, that he missed the twitching of her hand by her side.

Out of the darkness, in less than a second, she rocketed back to Earth. Her eyes snapped open and he jumped back in surprise.

"Don’t. Do. That."

In her sleeve, against her wrist, Buffy could feel the familiar pull of a stake resting against her pulse. So easy was it, so natural, to thrust it forward into her hand, that she nearly stopped to wonder why she had put this part of her aside for so long.

Her skin began to itch, soiled with the touch of this vampire, with the residue of Angel’s ashes, with her own guilt and anguish. It crawled, moving over her flesh with a mind of its own. She did not like it.

He turned into dust barely realizing what had happened.

The other two vampires rushed forward, having been frozen by the scene in front of them, the suddenness of their leader’s death threw them into action. Buffy fought them, finding the ingrained knowledge of kicks and punches and ducks and feints where it had always been.

Then she stood alone. An emptiness flooding her. She didn’t hear the door open behind her, but she was aware of his presence as he got closer. Aware, also, of the absence of the now familiar resentment she had built up. Like a festering boil that had finally been lanced, she felt the deep agony ooze away and the remaining wound, though still there, was free to heal.

Giles stepped up to her back, placing a hand on each shoulder. He felt her tense for one second, then relax into him. She leant back, collapsing into his hold, her body loose and limp as though it had suddenly lost all its bones.

* * * *

Giles dangled his hand into the water, feeling the heat ooze into his skin. He left it there for a moment, swirling the steaming liquid thoughtfully. Not too hot, but hot enough, the water emitted a floral scent that he had long since given up trying to identify.

"Nearly ready." He called across the hall.

Closing his eyes, Giles breathed deeply, he focused on the large knot in his stomach and made it shrink, forced it to dissipate. Things were getting easier, eventually they would be better, but for the moment, it was still taking a little getting used to.

Buffy entered the bathroom in a large, fluffy bathrobe. Her feet and ankles, looking vulnerable in their nakedness as they stuck out of the robe, were deceptively clear and free of marks. She gave him a small, fragile smile of reassurance.

"Thanks, Giles."

He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes, but trying to. Then he left, closing the door softly behind him. Quietly, breathing shallowly, he pressed his ear to the wood, listening for each and every movement. He heard the soft, nearly imperceptible, breaking of the water’s surface. He heard the sharp intake of her breath as she lowered herself down.

The bruises had faded, then disappeared, as had most of the scars. Most. Some were still there, would always be there. Macabre souvenirs of a time that nobody, least of all Buffy, wanted to remember. But it would always be with them, in the awkward way Buffy sometimes moved, the way her wrist bone cracked audibly when it was moved suddenly, the way she winced when the weather got cold. The way she writhed in her sleep, her face scrunched up and bleached of color.

It would be with them, on days when they thought they were free and a shadow suddenly passed over her face. It would be with them, in the middle of the night, when she couldn’t sleep and cried in his arms as she spoke to him.

Words of fear, guilt, grief. Of pain. He held her as she ranted and raved, he took the outbursts of anger. He pushed her when she needed it, forced her back to the edge of her sanity when she teetered. He was there for her.

They all were. Xander and Faith, turning out to be an unlikely but successful couple, Willow and Oz, they were all closer than ever, drawn to each other in their healing. Buffy needed then all, but she clung to him. Looked for Giles, as if he were her grounding stone.

He took the steps without thinking about it, his feet finding their own way. Distraction ruled him as he went into the kitchen and ran water into the sink. Reaching for the dishes, his hands flailed at empty space. He looked around the kitchen to see it already clean.

Smiling to himself, Giles just nodded.

The END