Wrong
By nightshift

The usual disclaimers. All hail Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. for making the world more interesting. None of the characters are mine. I own nothing except a beaten up 1992 Fort Escort. Want it? Take it. No, really, the doors don't lock and the tape deck doesn't work.
Spoilers: Um, yes. Up to halfway through Hell's Bells (Season 6). Then it takes a weird slide into my version of reality.
Distribution: If you want it, please ask. But flattery will get you everywhere. I do own this story and like to visit occasionally to make sure it has a good home.
Rating: R to be on the safe side-mostly for language. (most of the chapters probably PG-13. I'll make sure and mention at the beginning of a chapter if things slide into the NC-17 range, although I doubt it will happen.)
Title: Wrong
Author: nightshift
Email: kalliebailey@hotmail.com
Summary: Buffy's confused about Riley, upset about Spike, and worried about Dawn. Not to mention the whole "came back wrong" thing. Tara can't possibly be right, it's time for someone better versed in magic to take a look. Sounds like your cue, Giles.

He continued to research. Buffy slowly started waking up. She opened her eyes and looked around. Okay, not in Spike's crypt—that's to the good. Not in my bed—not so good. On a mat at the Magic Box. Oh, yeah, that's right. "Hey, Giles. How's the research going?" Giles turned around to look at her.

"Not as well as I had hoped. If you need demonology texts or books on Slayer lore I have a multitude of them. There is a dearth of metaphysical or natural magic manuscripts, however. Most of my spell texts deal with darker magics. I shall have to contact Tara and see what she might have. She's more familiar with natural magics than I am."

"What time is it?"

"Sometime around three o'clock."

"Giles, you need to get some sleep."

"I nodded off for a bit."

"Not in a chair, real sleep. I'll share my mat with you."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea."

"C'mon Giles, my skin is the right size and not buzzing, so your virtue is safe with me. I'm just worried you'll miss something important because you're too tired to see straight. You said yourself that Tara probably has the books you need. Why not sleep now and be rested for research later."

"I'm afraid I'm a bit too sore to sleep right now. I must've been dozing in a strange position." He looked back down at the book he had been skimming. She got up and walked behind his chair.

"Okay, where does it hurt?" She put her hands on his shoulders and he sat bolt upright. "Giles, relax. I'm just going to rub your shoulders until they're not so knotted up. What is with the excuses, anyway? You're not afraid of me, are you? I mean, I'm not going to go all evil and try to strangle you." Her hands started to tremble a little. "Am I?"

He reached up and put his hands over hers. "No, Buffy, you're not going to turn evil. I just...very well, go ahead." He released her hands and sat there, shoulders hunched.

"Geez, Giles, you need to relax. Everyone should have someone to rub their shoulders when they get too tense. I just nominated me for Giles duty. Problem is, I can't reach much through the chair. Your choice, you can either straddle it or lie down on the mat. You can argue if you want, but you know I always get my way eventually." He sighed and stood long enough to turn the chair around. "Take off your sweater, too. Kinda hard to find knots when there's cable knit involved." He complied. Buffy couldn't control her audible intake of breath. He turned around to look at her, puzzled. "I forgot how nice you look in a t-shirt. Guess I should've remembered that you trained two slayers and survived." She started with his neck, which was extremely tense. "Hold that pose, I just remembered something." She went over and started looking at one of the displays. "Ha! I thought she still stocked this." She brought back a container that sat above a candle. "Hot oil, just the thing for knotted up muscles. I know she doesn't have any Tiger Balm here and mine is at home. Let me find some matches, I think Anya keeps them by the incense somewhere."

"Buffy, this isn't necessary. You're not obligated to..." She lit the candle under the container.

"I know I'm not obligated. I want to do this, okay? I just was thinking, you always did so much research and patching up and stuff for me, and who takes care of you? Nobody. Well, as long as you're here, I'm taking the job. Besides, as long as I'm touching you I don't seem to get the skin buzzies as bad. See? Symbiotic relationship. Goodness all around. So deal with it. Now, take off your shirt because I don't want to get oil all over it."

"Buffy, I don't think that you should..."

"You're right. You'd better lie down on that mat so your back is flatter. Oil is a liquid and gravity works, even on the Hellmouth." He turned around and looked at her, his expression difficult to read. "Go, Giles. You'll feel better when I'm done, and there's the side benefit of being already horizontal when you fall asleep. Mom always told me that I have good hands. I used to massage away some of her headaches, back before we knew about the tumor." He stood and hesitantly moved over to the mat, removing his t-shirt. "I'll be right back." She went into the training room and came back with a towel. "Here, put this under you. I know that bare skin on that mat is not comfortable." There was a pause as she thought about what she'd said. "Um, not that I ever...never mind, not important." He knelt on the mat and spread the towel out. She looked at his bare back. In a soft voice she noted, "you've got more scars than I do. Watchers are supposed to watch, research, and do occasional magic. Are all of these because of me?" She reached out and touched one of the more obvious ones. He recoiled. "I'm sorry. Does this hurt?"

"N-no. It just startled me. I really don't think this is a good idea. I should be able to sleep without the backrub." He reached for his shirt.

She gently took his arm. "Giles, are you mad at me?"

He sighed. "No, Buffy, I'm not mad at you."

"Afraid of me?"

"No. I'm not afraid of you, either."

"Did I do something wrong?"

Exasperated, he turned around to look at her. "No, you've done nothing wrong."

"Are you ashamed of the scars? Do they bring up bad memories?"

"Buffy, it has nothing to do with my scars. If you must know, Angelus gave most of them to me when he was trying to get information about Acathla from me."

"Oh. Another Buffy screwup where you got hurt." She looked down. "No wonder you can't stand to be around me."

"When did I ever say that?" He put his hand under her chin, gently compelling her head back up so he could look into her tear-filled eyes.

"Didn't have to. You couldn't wait to get the entire continent and an ocean between us. Angel was the same way. He wanted to make sure I was alive. He kept touching me, kinda like I poke a demon to make sure it's really dead. Then it was all tra-la back to LA. Don't call me, I've got way too much going on to bother with you. Riley didn't even know, so that sideshow was avoided. Did you know Spike actually knew how many days I'd been dead? Morbid much? Since I've come back, I get two reactions. Either they touch me then run away or they keep touching me until I want to run away. Nobody can keep their paws off of me. I feel like I'm in a petting zoo sometimes. All I need is someone to come at me with one of those ice cream cones full of food pellets. Oh great, now my skin is buzzing again and I'm starting to get really pissed off."

"Buffy, come here." She moved in closer and he enveloped her in his arms. "I'm not angry with you. You're just a little more...mercurial since you came back. I'm not always sure how to take things you do or say. It unsettles me. It's not you, it's my reactions to you. I'm not certain you understand sometimes what you're saying, or what you're doing to me."

"What exactly do you mean? What did I do wrong this time?"

"Buffy, I...just forget it." He sighed. "It's my problem, not yours. Forget I said anything."

"I really screwed up this time, huh? That's where you came up with the 'mercurial' thing, isn't it? You're disgusted with me because I slept with another vampire."

"This has nothing to do with Spike. It's me. I'm afraid my reactions are not...those of a gentleman."

"You mean you want to hit me?"

"No I do not want to hit you. Surely you can't be that oblivious."

"That's me, clueless girl. Not to mention self-centered and unemployed. Now give, Giles. Little words for the college dropout, please. What. Do. You. Mean?"

He took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders until she was far enough from him to focus on his face. "What I mean is that when you keep asking me to take off clothing and putting your hands on me, I want to throw you to the floor, rip off all your clothing and shag you until you scream my name." He released her and grabbed his shirt and sweater.

She just looked at him and blinked. "Oh. OH!" He started putting them on. "Giles?"

"Buffy, I don't wish to hear whatever you have to say right now. I'm getting dressed; blow out the candle and put the mat away. I'm going to drive you home. I'm going back to my hotel. In the morning we will meet and research, we'll fix your problem, then I'll go back to England. We will pretend this conversation never occurred."

"Giles, I want to ask you something. Please, it's important." She stood and walked over to him.

"By all means, ask." His voice was tired, defeated. "My wishes have never been factored into your equations."

"Why haven't you?" At his look of confusion, she elaborated. "Tried, I mean. Is...is it just a physical thing, directed at any female? Or is it me in particular?"

"Does it matter? I can control myself. Especially now that you know better than to touch me."

"It matters. It matters a lot."

"If you absolutely must know, it's you. It's your scent, your voice, your smile. Nobody else, just you. Now that I have been sufficiently humiliated, I wish to leave."

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"No. I am your Watcher. It is inappropriate."

"Inappropriate how? I don't understand."

"Shall we start with the age difference? Move on to the definition of a Watcher/Slayer relationship? Keep going with..."

"Considering I'm the one who has passed my expiration date twice--I don't see what age ever has to do with anything. Hey, consenting adults and all that. I'm a Slayer on the Hellmouth. I've seen more than people three times my age. Not that I'm telling you what to do or think or anything, but it's nice to know that it's not because you're mad at me. I was thinking you couldn't stand the sight of me, that you were sorry I was back because you had to keep being my Watcher instead of being back home in England. I'll try to be clue girl, but I'm still going to need the hands on treatment. It's the only thing except fighting and...um...being with Spike that helps the senseless rage and the skin buzzies."

"You are certain this new knowledge doesn't disturb you?"

"Nah, what's a little lust between friends? I mean, Xander used to look at me like that all the time. Kinda flattering, actually. Besides, I know you're not going to do anything. I mean, I only spent four hours in your hotel room asleep with my head on your lap. I trust you, Giles. Now every so often when I'm feeling bummed I can look at you and think that at least one male in the human being category thinks I'm a hottie." She smiled at him. "So, still a no on the backrub?"

"It won't upset you? Knowing what I'll be thinking the entire time?"

"Didn't I just say that? Giles, as long as you don't mind me knowing, I won't mind what you're thinking. You've never taken advantage of a situation like this before, even with all the physical contact we've had during training. Besides, with my Slayer massage abilities you won't be awake long enough to worry. So if you're still interested, take off your shirt and lie down on the mat." He hesitantly took off his shirt and set it aside. She gave him a naughty grin. "Besides, how often does the woman of your fantasies offer to put her hands all over you?" He stretched out face down on the towel.

"Now, relax and let my magic fingers do the walking." She moved the hot oil within reach and straddled him, sitting on his back. He groaned and tensed. "Giles, I mean it, don't tense up like that. It really doesn't bother me that you think about me that way. Relax and enjoy this. You're allowed." She started with his neck, working the knots with thumbs and knuckles. "Just listen to my voice. Let the tension roll off your shoulders."

"What scent is that?"

"My favorite, sandalwood. I think this blend has a little clove oil in it, too. It always relaxes me. Mom always preferred cinnamon, but it just makes me hungry." The knots were slowly releasing, one by one. By common consent, they tried to keep their conversation light as she massaged him. Eventually her searching hands couldn't find any more problem spots to work on and his neck muscles were much looser. "Better. I'm gonna move down a little to your shoulders. Please try to remember to relax when I scoot back." She moved back so that her behind fit in the small of his back. His tensing was noticeably less, this time. "See, not so bad. Giles, you're a knotted mess. Have you ever had a professional massage? You should consider it."

"I think I prefer to leave my body in the hands of an enthusiastic amateur. That way there's no cost, no time limit and the conversation is much less impersonal. Besides, I don't have to explain why I'm so bruised and scarred." She worked his right shoulder first, then his left. Buffy could feel him relaxing.

"Not that I go out trying to get them, but what's the big deal about scars? As long as you didn't get them doing something stupid, they're proof that you're a survivor. That you're tough. That you're still around after something horrible happened. Did you know I have more scars from digging my way out of my coffin than I got from the fight with Glory? Strange, huh?" She could feel him tense again. "Did I hit a sore spot?"

"Only verbally. I was just remembering that day." She moved her attention to his spine, moving her thumbs from his center outwards in small sweeping arcs, kneading with her knuckles.

"I wasn't sure you'd remember much. You were half-dead from that lance injury." She continued, working on various knots throughout his upper back.

"Buffy, that was the worst day of my life. I still have nightmares about it."

"Yeah, I guess losing a Slayer pretty much screws any hope of keeping your job as a Watcher."

"Buffy, you can't think that was the only reason..." He started to turn over. She put a palm flat on his scapula in a quelling motion.

"No. It was just a joke. In very bad taste, evidently." She leaned forward and brushed her knuckles gently against his cheek. "I'm sorry. I think I just undid with one sentence what it took me half an hour to do." He leaned into her hand, relaxing as she didn't pull away. "That's better. Flatten out a little, your spine's all curvy now." He straightened out a little, then froze.

"Buffy, you have to get up for a moment." His voice sounded a little distressed.

"Why, what's wrong?" She rose up a little, startled.

"I just have to...rearrange things. My...keys are in my front pocket and they're poking me in an unfortunate portion of my anatomy."

"Giles, your keys are right there on the...oh." She stood for a minute, until he had arranged himself satisfactorily. "Better?" He nodded, silent. "Uh, it's not going to hurt your...keys...if I sit back where I was, is it?" He shook his head. "You can talk to me. It's okay. I'm not grossed out or anything."

"How can you stand the thought? Or do you just not think about it?" His voice was a little raspy.

"It's you. My Giles. You've tried to die in my place. You're one of the good guys, you won't hurt me. Besides, you can't control what wanders around in your brain." She continued until his upper back was knot free. "Arms next." She got up and moved over so she was sitting cross-legged by his head. She took his right arm and rested it across her lap with the hand dangling off the other side. She started with the upper arm and biceps. He turned his head to look at her. "You're looking a little sleepy. Do you want me to stop?"

"No. I'm enjoying this far too much to sleep. My eyes were closed before because the scenery was uninviting. Now that the view is considerably more lovely, my eyes will stay open."

"Flatterer." She smiled at him. "So, what inappropriate things are rambling around in your head?"

His head snapped up, and there was a panicked look in his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I just wondered." She shrugged. "I know what kind of fantasies Willow and I have, I was just curious to hear a guy point of view. Riley didn't have much imagination and Xander could never get past the whole Willow and Tara in the ice cream truck thing. His version of Anywhere But Here was always the same, too. You don't have to tell me if it bothers you." She shifted her attention to his forearm. He relaxed his head back down on the towel. "Most of mine start out on the beach sometime in the morning. I think morning because I know there won't be vamps or other nasties around. It's a private beach with big cliffs and almost no outside access, so I'm trying for an allover tan." His eyes widened and a strangled groan came from deep in his chest. "Giles, are you okay? I can stop if you don't want to hear it."

"I think it would be best if you stopped." She took his hand and gently began massaging the palm. Then she moved on to each individual finger. They chatted about inconsequential matters for a while.

"So, are yours settings or situations?"

"My what?"

"Your fantasies. Are they dependent on a place or an event? Or are you a prop guy?"

"Buffy, what are you trying to prove? Or are you just trying to torture me?"

"Other arm." She gently took his arm off her lap and put it back on the mat. Then she went over and sat in the same position as before on his left side. He turned his head to continue looking at her. "I just wondered. I have a mature, articulate guy that I'm turning into mush with my own two hands. I thought maybe as a favor he would answer some questions about the male psyche." She draped his left arm across her lap and began her attentions on the upper part. "I promise to only use the knowledge for good. I just hoped it might help me next time I get into a relationship. I sure haven't had a clue the last few times. Or is there some kind of guy code, where you can't give me any insight into the male brain without being kicked out of the club?" She smiled and moved her hands to his forearm. "See, I'm shooting for massive self-improvement here—trying to grow up and understand the opposite sex instead of just running blind into hormone heaven."

"So I am an experiment, then?" He sounded a little huffy and definitely defensive.

"Giles, no. You are not an experiment. You are a man I trust to tell me the truth. To my knowledge you have not lied to me since my eighteenth birthday and you made that one right. You haven't always been share with the class guy, but I know if I ask you a direct question you won't lie to me." She moved to his hand, still looking at him intently.

"Are you looking for general information or particulars? I-I don't know that I wish to provide you with specific details."

"Just start with the small stuff. Your favorite fantasy, where does it start?"

"The Sunnydale High School Library, of all places."

"Arms done, I'm going back to your back, now." She put his hand down and moved over, straddling his thighs as she sat carefully down. "Everything okay? This isn't uncomfortable, is it?" He shook his head. "So, the library. The before, not blown up version or after the Ascension?" She got a little more oil and spread it over his lower back.

"After. But since it's my fantasy, the library is undamaged."

She snorted in laughter. "Giles, you are so protective of those books. And your attention to detail is amazing. I'll bite, how do you know it's after?" She started spreading the oil from the center of his back to the sides, making slow arcs with her thumbs.

"The calendar on my desk always has the current date. I hear a noise out in the library. I leave the office and look around. You're…um…she's there, sitting…" She started kneading his back in earnest.

"I know it's about me. You can say 'you'. If it involves names, you can say mine. I promise I won't get mad, I was the one who asked." He took in a deep breath and released it slowly.

"It's just that it is very difficult to tell you this. I—I want to see your face, to know that you're not dis…" She stood up, wiping her hands on what she could reach of the towel.

"Not a problem," she interrupted. "Your lower back is fine, you must not carry much tension there. Not surprising, it seemed to be mostly shoulders and neck. Roll over, it's time for feet." His entire body went rigid. "They're not ticklish, are they? I can do ticklish feet, but it's a lot more work."

"The turning over part might be a bit…"

"Please. Like I had no idea about your 'keys'. Giles, I'm not going to run in terror, I'm not going to point and laugh. We're telling fantasies here. You're hard. Not a big surprise. Don't worry, I'm going to be looking at your face or your feet. Roll over." Slowly, he complied. She reached for his feet and started untying his shoe. His expression was dazed and his breathing was uneven. "Are you okay?"

"I just have to catch my breath. It's difficult for me to comprehend, that you would be so…so impassive about this. I was expecting aversion or denial at the very best." She had slipped off both shoes and was tugging on his socks.

"Hey, I'm a big girl now. Besides, if you're not disgusted about Spike, why should I be disgusted about this?" She placed his socks neatly in his shoes, then took his right foot in her hand. She thought for a minute, then shifted so her legs ran along his. She put his leg crosswise from her right ankle to midway up her left thigh. She started with the arch, gently at first, but slowly increasing force until he moaned. "Too hard?"

He barked out a laugh. "There's a loaded question. No, the pressure on my foot is good. Perfect in fact. You could do that all night. Do you want me to continue?"

"As much as you want me to. So I'm sitting in the library. What am I wearing?"

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