Author: Sandra Pascoe

Rating: FRT

Pairing: None ... really!

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me ... I wish they did. They belong to the great god, Joss Whedon and UPN etc, etc.

Notes: Just a few of the things that could run through Giles' head whilst Buffy is out on patrol. Could be set anytime during the first couple of seasons - whenever Giles is still Buffy's Watcher anyway.

Dedication: For Fledderjohn. See? There was no underlying B/G-ness on my part regarding my theory as to why Giles keeps his door unlocked!

Watcher training is a strange thing, you know. They teach you how to fight, how to train, how to research. You become an expert on Demonology, on vampirism, on the occult. The training seems comprehensive, it seems to cover everything ... but it doesn't. It leaves out one of the most soul-destroying, gut-wrenching and arduous tasks that a Watcher has to undertake. They don't teach you how to cope with the waiting ... how to cope with sending your Slayer out on patrol ... to sit here in relative comfort whilst she could be out there, hurt, bleeding ... possibly dying. The more I think about it however, the more I wonder if it's not deliberate. Could they ever teach someone how to cope with this?

Strangely, the Watcher Diaries don't mention it. They're so ... cold, so emotionless, as though written by automatons. Maybe they've been censored ... or maybe it was the only way they could cope with it. Treat the Slayer as a weapon ... that way you don't get hurt when the ... the ... inevitable happens. Surely they didn't all think like that? I refuse to accept that Watchers could all be such emotionless fools. How many of them felt like this? How many felt the nervous tension eating away at them? The dread and worry that settles in the pit of your stomach like a huge rock ... the sweaty palms ... the dry mouth ... your heart pounding furiously at every tiny noise. How many of them deliberately left their doors unlocked? I may get laughed at for it, scolded for it, but I simply cannot lock my door ... I WILL NOT lock it. I need to know that Buffy can gain access at any time. What if she were hurt or injured? What if she was in trouble, in danger, and had to fumble about trying to find a key? No ... better for Buffy and better for my peace of mind that the door is unlocked.

I hate this ... I hate this interminable waiting. I've just looked at my watch for the third time in as many minutes ... god, I need a drink. I don't dare have alcohol ... I need a clear head in case I'm needed. I'll have to settle for a cup of tea. At least that will give me something to do for a few minutes ... take my mind off things for all of a millisecond, I suppose. I should be researching ... should have my head well and truly buried in a book but, when Buffy's out on patrol, I simply can't do it. I can't concentrate worth a damn. The books are there, of course, open on the table ... in case Buffy decides to stop by after patrol ... it gives the impression that I've been working. I haven't been waiting up for her ... haven't been that worried ... I've merely been researching. Like that fools anyone, least of all Buffy. Remarkable perceptive girl at times ... of course, she can also be incredibly blind but ... can't we all?

It's taken bloody long enough for the kettle to boil ... it always does for some reason. The old adage of "a watched pot never boils" could have been written by a Watcher. Well, I've just managed to successfully waste a few minutes making a pot of tea ... I could stretch drinking it out to about half an hour or so, I suppose, but what then? More waiting, more pacing, more worrying. You know, one of the worst things at a time like this is the fact that you can't switch your brain off, you can't stop your imagination from running riot. The later it becomes then the worse the scenario in your head. Why are things always 10 times worse at night? Things that you wouldn't even give a second thought to during the day suddenly become overwhelming problems or concerns once darkness has fallen. There might be something in that ... I'll have to research it ... tomorrow, of course, not tonight.

I've pictured it all, you know ... every possible scenario. She's died a thousand times or more in my mind ... and each time it's seemed so real ... so painful ... so final. Then she'll phone or breeze through the door without a care in the world and I'll call myself all kinds of idiot for thinking such things. How do you stop thinking though? How can you stop the thoughts that pound away in your head ... never giving you a moment's peace? The short answer is, of course, that you can't. You have to, as Americans would say, "deal". A short while ago, I thought I had found the perfect solution - I would accompany Buffy on patrol. That little experiment didn't last long. I realised rather quickly that my presence was only putting Buffy in additional danger ... she had to watch out for me as well as herself. I am a Watcher ... I train the Slayer but that doesn't mean that I have the same "supernatural" abilities ... it doesn't give me her speed, her strength or her stamina. It was one point that I had neglected to consider. Once I realised that I was spending more time either on my rear or unconscious than actually helping, I quickly decided that Buffy would be far better off if I stayed at home.

God, it's so hard though. Sitting here ... gazing at the clock ... wondering what she's doing ... praying that she's okay. I haven't even touched my tea ... I can't drink it ... I wouldn't be able to keep it down anyway. Oh god ... that's the phone ... I suddenly feel sick ... what if she's hurt ... what if ... come on, you damned fool, answer the bloody thing. My legs feel leaden as I walk across the room and I take a deep breath before picking up the receiver. I can almost taste the relief as I hear her voice on the other end ... she's okay ... she's at home. I'm rather proud of the fact that I manage to keep my voice from shaking ... in fact, I sound almost normal. Almost. I suspect that I haven't fooled Buffy for a second but she doesn't mention it. Maybe it helps her to know that I worry ... maybe it helps to know that someone cares. I say goodbye and replace the receiver ... I then have to sit down before I fall down. Tears are pricking my eyes but with a struggle I manage to contain them. I feel exhausted ... feel as though I've run a marathon. At least now I can make a pot of tea, actually drink it and go to bed. She's safe ... I can sleep ... no more dreadful thoughts, no more worries ... everything is fine ... until tomorrow.