Title: All of Him

Author: littleotter73

Pairing/Characters: Giles/Buffy, Xander, Willow, Original Characters

Rating: FRM

Summary: When an accident causes Giles to lose his memories, he only knows Buffy as the depressed Slayer he left back in Sunnydale after her resurrection six years ago, not as his wife and the mother of his son. Takes place five years after "Crossing Lines" and three years after "In the Moment."

Disclaimer: Just playing in Joss' sandbox.

A/N: Written for Summer of Giles 2017

A/N 2: Many thanks to il_mio_capitano for the herculean beta effort! Special thanks to quaggy who helped flesh out a rampant plot bunny into a story late one evening over chat, and also to foreverbooks for the encouragement and sanity checks.

A/N 3: It is not necessary to read "Crossing Lines" and "In the Moment" before hand, but it is recommended as there are references to both in the story.

Chapter 1: Hospital

The beeping was incessant and not at all conducive to reducing the massive headache he was currently enduring. Or the throbbing in his right wrist for that matter. In fact, from what he could tell, most of him was quite sore. As he slowly wove through the fog fighting for consciousness, he tried putting the pieces together, but found no immediate reason to explain the reality that was dreadfully coming to mind.

He was in hospital.

Tentatively he opened his eyes, blinking them shut again against the light and groaned.

A hand grasped his left one. "Oh, Giles, thank god!"

Turning his head in the direction of her voice, he croaked, "What happened?" His mouth was quite dry and almost on cue, a straw met his lips and he took a sip of the cool water offered to him.

"You fell off the farmhouse roof and hit your head on gutter on the way down. There's quite a nasty gash on the side of your head and your chest and sides are practically one giant bruise."

That certainly explained the headache and why the rest of him felt like he'd been hit by a freight train.

"And you broke your wrist. The doctors had to perform surgery to set it."

And there was the explanation for pulsing pain in his wrist.

"Are you hurting?"

He opened his eyes and glared at her. What a silly question. Of course he was hurting. He was lying in a hospital bed hooked up to monitors and an intravenous drip.

Buffy leaned over him and picked up a cylindrical plastic pump that was attached to a tube and placed it in his hand. "You can push the button here and it will administer the good drugs."

"Did the Council bring you here? Or was it my meddling mother? Where is she by the way?" Giles asked icily as he gingerly repositioned himself in the bed and looked around the room. God, how he hurt.

"Y-your mother?" she replied, as confusion clouded her face.

"Must've been the Council, then. How long have I been been here?" he questioned, his voice terse with frustration and pain.

"Since you fell yesterday. They operated on your wrist and you've been pretty woozy ever since."

"Didn't waste any time getting you here, did they?" he muttered under his breath as he looked out the window into the gardens.

"Giles, what are you talking about? The Council didn't send me and neither did your mother-" she stopped herself. Something was terribly off.

"Then why are you here?" he snapped angrily. "Why are you not guarding the Hellmouth?"

Buffy was about to answer. With what, she didn't know, but she was about to think of something when the nurse came in.

"Ah, good to see you are fully conscious, Mr Giles. I am just going to take your vitals."

Buffy stood and squeezed his shoulder trying to convey her support. When he looked up at her in annoyance, she said, "I'll… uh… go get some decaf. I'll be back in a little while."

"Take your time," he replied flatly as the nurse placed the blood pressure cuff on his right arm.

—

Buffy walked out the door and immediately leaned against the wall, her mind going a million miles an hour. Perhaps Giles was just hazy and confused coming to. It had, after all, been a pretty nasty fall. She'd been up in the nursery putting together the crib when she'd heard a scraping noise coming from the roof followed by Giles' panicked yell as he fell. She had immediately run down the stairs and out the door, only to find him crumpled on the ground before her. Thankfully her mobile had been in her pocket and it had taken her about half a second to retrieve it and call 999 before falling to her knees not knowing what to do, but knowing that she shouldn't move him for fear of causing more damage. Mercifully he had been breathing, but the sheer amount of blood gushing from his head wound and his unresponsiveness had given her quite the scare.

After getting herself under control, she headed down to the cafeteria and, before exiting the ward, she ran into Dr Gibson, Giles's attending physician - consultant as they called them here in Britain - she reminded herself. He was tall with steel grey hair and compassionate eyes. "Ah, Mrs Giles, I hear your husband is awake. I am heading to his room now. How is he?"

"I-I'm not sure," Buffy answered honestly. "It could be that he's… just a bit disoriented."

"How so?"

"Well, he asked about his mother. She's been dead for a couple of years now… and he just… didn't seem to know that."

"Hmm, well, disorientation can be normal when one comes to after a trauma like he's experienced."

"Yeah, he's done the groggy thing before when he's hit his head and come to. I'm probably just stressing." She dug her hands into her pockets. "Pregnancy hormones and an injured hubby and all that."

"Yes, well, make sure you eat something and take care of yourself as well. When he's released, he's going to need a little help and TLC."

"Right!" Buffy stated with false cheer. Something was way off and she knew it. "I'll just go and get a snack."

—

"Mr Giles," Dr Gibson greeted amicably as he walked through the door. "How are you feeling?"

"Quite like hell, actually, but I am sure I would be better convalescing at home."

"Well, before we can get you there, I need to run a few tests, and the orthopedic surgeon will want to run a post operative exam."

"So it's not likely I will be released today, is it?"

"Likely not." The doctor's voice held a note of apology. "Now, can you tell me about your accident?" he asked as he checked Giles' pupil reaction time with the light from his otoscope.

"Buffy tells me I fell off the roof of the farmhouse."

He continued with his physical examination. "Why were you on the roof?"

"I don't remember," Giles shrugged. He honestly didn't know, but he could take an educated guess.

"With head injuries it's natural not to remember the accident or what lead up to it."

Continuing his thought, Giles mused, "The house needs a new roof. I suppose I was up there inspecting the neglect before I hire a company to replace it."

"I see," the doctor said as he checked the bruising on Giles' side. He prodded a little too hard and Giles jumped and winced. "Sorry, just a little more," he murmured as he prodded further down.

"The whole house is in disrepair," Giles offered conversationally after a few moment's silence as he tried to manage the pain. "It's sat unoccupied for a long time since my grandmother passed. I've recently moved back from living in the States for several years and figured it was time to settle down."

"Buffy tells me you live in Camden Town," he challenged.

"Excuse me?" Giles replied in confusion. Gingerly sitting up in bed, he stated, "That's… not correct. I have a flat in Bath."

The doctor looked at him. He held out his index finger. "Please squeeze as hard as you can with your left hand."

Giles complied, adding. "My employers are in London. Not Camden Town, but Westminster."

"Good. Government?"

"Security," he answered a little under his breath, releasing the doctor's finger.

"Now, try to push down on my hand and I will try to resist." While Giles did so, the doctor continued his line of questioning. "Does… Buffy work for them too?"

Giles blinked at the doctor. "In a sense."

Dr Gibson removed the bandage on Giles' head to inspect the laceration and stitches. "She's been your constant companion since coming in. What is she to you?"

"She's… a friend," Giles stated with finality.

"Ok, Mr Giles, could you tell me who the Prime Minister is?"

He rolled his eyes at the line of questioning. The doctor was following the usual script for a head injury. "Tony Blair," he answered.

"And the year?"

"2002. April 5th." He turned to stare out the window. It was a beautiful day outside: sunny with blue skies and puffy white clouds, fresh green grass, and the trees were budding. Too jolly for his current mood sitting in hospital and brooding over a certain Slayer visiting him. He couldn't figure out why she was here when she hadn't taken his calls nor answered any of his letters. Yet here she was visiting him in hospital four months, two weeks, and six days after he'd left her and the gang back in Sunnydale. Not that he was counting.

Though just who did he think he was kidding?

Dr Gibson made notes in his charts before saying, "I am going to order an MRI of your brain to make sure everything is fine there and a nurse will come in to bandage your head again. Your… Buffy indicated that you have had a few head injuries before, including quite a severe blunt force trauma in 1999 when you were attacked by a jealous co-worker. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, that damnable Post woman. Hit me over the head with a wooden statue."

"Are you prone to headaches?"

Giles wanted to heave a heavy sigh. "On those occasions when I have been researching too long, have eye strain, and am exhausted, yes. But then who doesn't?"

"Do they happen often?"

"Not as often as they used to," Giles replied. The lack of late night research sessions and waiting up for Buffy to check in after patrol had certainly helped in reducing the frequency of his headaches. But he was terminally bored out of his skull.

"Well, let us run some tests and see what's going on up there."

"Thank you, doctor." Giles replied as he scooted back down in the bed. He was hurting and he finally pressed the button to release the pain meds into his system.

As his patient drifted off to sleep, Dr Gibson found Buffy standing just out of the line of sight from the door. He gave her a sympathetic smile and said, "Perhaps we should go talk in the family waiting room."

Buffy braced herself for the worst. She'd returned just a few moments earlier to hear the earth shattering bomb that Giles thought the year was still 2002. Sitting down in one of the chairs, she patiently waited while Dr Gibson shut the door and sat down opposite from her.

"First of all, aside from his physical injuries, your husband is in fine shape, Mrs Giles. The orthopedist will want to inspect his wrist and she will be doing rounds shortly. Though the x-rays show that nothing is broken, his ribs and torso will be tender for a while. The stitches on his head will heal with minimal scarring and when his hair grows back it will cover what scar remains."

"That's the good news. Tell me about it being 2002."

"Well, I have ordered an MRI, but my initial diagnosis is that he has post-traumatic amnesia caused by the head trauma. Most cases are temporary."

"Most," Buffy repeated warily.

"And there is no reason to think that Mr Giles' condition won't be temporary as well. My concern is for you. He believes today to be April 5th, 2002 and to him you are… friends."

"To call us friends during that time would be… optimistic," Buffy answered with concern. "We were estranged much of that year… and for a majority of the year following. It wasn't until summer of 2003 that we started to grow close again and eventually…" she trailed off and turned her head to look out the window. "We have a little boy. Tommy. He's three." Tears started to well in her eyes.

"I can see that this will be difficult for you. I haven't told him that it is 2008 yet. I wanted to consult with you on the matter first since he didn't seem to recognize you as his wife. In order for him to regain his memories of the last six years, he will need gradual exposure to them."

Buffy wasn't quite sure what she was going to do about that, but her mind was racing a million miles a minute. "And what if he doesn't recover his memory?"

"There are cognitive and occupational therapies that can help in memory retrieval, but we need to give his brain some time to heal and to try and make those associations on its own first."

"When can I take him home?"

"I want to see the results of his tests."

"Of course."

"But to answer your question, the sooner the better," Dr Gibson stated in a sympathetic voice. "A familiar environment might be all he needs to bring him back into the present."

Smiling tightly, Buffy replied, "Hopefully."