Parts: 26 - 28
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~Part: 26~
Angelus watched as Drusilla danced around, spinning in circles and babbling and singing to the stars, and started to rethink his decision to bring her with him to kill Jenny. Dru had her good points, unquestionably, and she certainly enjoyed a good bloodbath, but killing someone like Jenny required . . . subtlety. Dru was not subtle. Angelus envisioned killing Jenny as a sort of pinnacle: a marking point in his life. The last time he drained a gypsy girl, he was shackled and bound to a soul. This time, he would kill Jenny and watch as the last, best chance of ever re-enslaving him to his soul faded away along with the life in her body. It would be a triumphing moment. He felt almost as if he should march down Main Street singing “We Shall Overcome.” It would be a moment to remember, a moment to treasure for all of eternity. Dru would be nothing but an inconvenience at a moment like that.
So how could he ditch her discreetly without her causing a fuss? The last thing he needed was to deal with one of her temper tantrums, especially without Spike nearby to take her in hand or drag her off if she got too rowdy. And after the effort she took to find out the information at the magic shop, she’d be expecting to be let in on the kill as her reward. Angelus glanced over at his childe. He should have gotten her to change clothes. Walking around in a bloodstained dress was not, perhaps, the best way to avoid notice. Nor was skipping and spinning and singing at the top of your lungs, while wearing a bloodstained dress. Angelus wracked his brain for something he could tell her, something he could make her do to keep her out of his way without causing her to make a scene. Finally, the answer occurred to him.
Angelus knew from experience that the best way to distract Drusilla from something was to buy her a present. She liked being pampered and spoiled, especially by Angelus, and would forget about everything else when she was given a new toy, or bauble, or dress. Also, although Drusilla was an insane, vampiric woman, she was still a woman, and Angelus had long since come to the conclusion that all women love to shop. With that in mind, he steered Drusilla toward the mall and into one of the more exclusive stores. He had gone in there a week or two earlier with Drusilla to buy her a dress, and had turned the night clerk. She was, therefore, eager to offer them anything that they desired.
Angelus seated himself in the chair placed near the dressing rooms and waited for Dru to try on and model for him the dozens of dresses that she picked out, with the clerk’s assistance. Over half an hour dragged by like that. Angelus was bored out of his mind and increasingly impatient to get to the high school and take care of Jenny before she left for the night, but he knew he had to take care of this, first. Finally, Angelus decided it was time to make his play. Drusilla walked out of the dressing room in yet another gown, and Angelus made his move.
He walked quickly over to where Drusilla stood and gathered her into his arms. She purred with pleasure, and wrapped her arms around him, as well, lifting her face to his to be kissed. He complied, and they passed a few minutes like that while the clerk discreetly looked the other way. Finally, he pulled his lips away from hers and began whispering in her ear while licking gently at her neck, in the way she had always liked. He whispered how beautiful she looked and how badly he wanted her. He told her that he hated the thought of leaving her to go deal with the gypsy, but that he knew that if she went with him, looking as stunning as she did, that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on destroying the gypsy or her memory box. Drusilla started to whimper in protest as she realized that she was not going to be allowed to kill the gypsy with her Daddy, but Angelus cut her off as he continued. He whispered instructions to her, telling her to go home and slide into his bed and wait for him, in that dress. He promised that he would be home soon, and that he would give her her reward for her help at the magic store.
Flushed with desire and pleasure at having pleased her sire, Drusilla scampered off toward the mansion. It wasn’t until she arrived and climbed into his bed that she remembered that she had forgotten to warn him about the eggs that the memory box would lay. For a moment, she worried. Miss Edith had said that the eggs would hold the memories, too, and that they had to be destroyed. But Drusilla shrugged it off. Daddy was so very clever. He’d figure it out. He’d destroy all of it, and then he’d come back and reward his princess. Drusilla quickly forgot about the eggs as her mind grew more pleasantly occupied, contemplating her upcoming reward.
Angelus watched Drusilla leave with a look of unmitigated relief on his face, thrilled at having disposed of her for the time being. He smiled a bit at his own cleverness. He knew that if he flattered Drusilla enough, she’d believe anything that he told her, and would be willing, and even eager, to do anything that he said. Women were so easy. Smirk firmly in place, Angelus headed toward the school, whistling, very softly, “We Shall Overcome.” The whistling stopped as he arrived in front of the school building. After all, it wasn’t any fun if they could hear you coming. Silently, stealthily, but with his smirk growing wider by the minute, Angelus slipped into the building and headed toward the computer lab. Jenny didn’t even look up as he entered the classroom and seated himself in the shadows, watching her.
“Come on, come on . . .” she whispered over and over again to the screen, focusing all of her energy on it as if she could force it to work by sheer willpower. It had to work. It had to. She’d get the translation, and she’d cast the curse, and Angel would return and together, they would get Willow back for them. Everyone would forgive her, and Buffy would stop looking so broken and they could all be happy again. All it would take would be this one thing. It just had to work.
Suddenly, her face lit up. Angelus didn’t know enough about computers to know exactly what she had done, but he could tell from her reaction that something good had happened. Whatever she had attempted, it had worked. “That’s it!” she exclaimed, with a smile. “It’s gonna work! This . . . will work.”
For a moment, Angelus wished he had a better understanding of computers. In his years as Angel, he’d been too busy brooding to bother to figure them out and since his return as Angelus, he’d been too busy wrecking havoc and mayhem. But still, computers could be useful. Maybe he’d have Willow teach him how to use one. Then he’d understand what it was that Jenny was doing as she punched some more commands into the computer and popped in and out a flat piece of plastic. He smiled as he heard the printer start up. That much, he understood. Once the curse was printed on paper, he knew exactly what to do with it. And with the computer. And with the teacher. The teacher who finally looked up and noticed him there, seated in the back of the class. Angelus couldn’t hold back a smile of gratified vanity when she gasped and jumped out of her seat at the sight of him. He loved having that effect on women.
“Angel . . .” she said, hesitantly, trying to inch discreetly over to the door. “How did you get in here?”
“I was invited,” Angelus replied, in an innocent tone. “The sign in front of the school: ‘Formatia trans sicere educatorum.’”
“‘Enter all ye who seek knowledge,’” Jenny translated, dazedly, wondering what idiot had put that on the school, and why more vampires hadn’t taken advantage of it to snack on students at school for a late running play rehearsal or sports team practice. Of course, most freshly turned fledglings didn’t have a real understanding of Latin. Just her luck to be up against a well-educated unscrupulous demon.
Angelus laughed as he stood and slowly stalked toward her. “What can I say? I’m a knowledge seeker.”
Jenny searched desperately for a way out of the situation. She hoped against hope that some of the Angel she had known still remained inside the vampire, and tried to appeal to that. “Angel, I-I-I’ve got good news.”
“I heard,” Angelus replied. Jenny started again in surprise. How had he known? Had Willow told him? Oh Lord, had he tortured Willow to get her to tell him?
“You went shopping at the local boogedy-boogedy store,” Angelus continued and Jenny paled even more. Willow hadn’t known about that. He must have found out some other way. But if he knew she had been there, then he probably knew what she had bought. And if he knew that, then he knew what she had planned. Jenny paled further as she realized there was no escape. She was going to die that night.
Angelus inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of her fear, slowly mixing in with the increasing scent of her despair. He turned his attention to the Orb that he saw sitting on her desk, and picked it up.
“The Orb of Thessulah,” he said, in a tone of mock awe. “If memory serves,” he continued, “this is supposed to summon a person’s soul from the ether, and store it until it can be transferred.”
The Orb began to glow as he looked into it. He glanced up at Jenny for an instant. She edged away from him.
“You know what I hate most about these things?” he asked conversationally, shifting the thing around experimentally in his hand. Without waiting for an answer, he hurled it at the chalkboard behind her. Jenny screamed as it shattered into countless pieces and lots of dust. Fragments of glass and shiny bits of powder settled into Jenny’s hair, making it sparkle a bit in the dim lighting. Dru was right Angelus thought to himself, distractedly, it does look kind of like a shower of diamonds. Angelus mused over that for a moment, then returned his attention to the point at hand.
“They’re so damn fragile,” he answered himself, with a smile. “Must be that shoddy gypsy craftsmanship, huh?”
By this point, Jenny had backed herself into the wall and was trembling with fear. She tried to inch her way toward the door, never taking her eyes of Angelus who pointedly ignored her as he focused his attention on the computer. He turned the monitor so that he could see it.
“I never cease to be amazed how much the world has changed in just two and a half centuries,” Angelus stated, smiling to himself as he heard her try to open the door that he had locked behind him. “It’s a miracle to me,” he continued. “You, you put the secrets to restoring my soul in here . . .” He shoved the computer off her of desk and onto the floor. The monitor shattered with a blaze of sparks and started to burn. Ignoring it, Angelus turned to the printer and tore off the pages that had printed. “It comes out here,” he concluded, still using the same, conversational tone.
He focused his attention on the paper. “‘The Ritual of Restoration.’ Wow. This, this brings back memories.” Angelus’ smirking superiority faded for a brief moment as he remembered how it had felt to be cursed. One minute, he had been strong, capable, ready to take on the world, and then there had been agonizing pain that dropped him to his knees as he felt himself shoved into a cage, trapped, bound, helpless as a miserable, guilt-ridden soul took over his body. He shuddered ever so slightly. If he had to tear apart every single human on the face of the earth, he would do it to see that that never happened to him again. Viciously, he started tearing the printout apart.
“Wait,” Jenny interrupted, unable to stop herself from interrupting as she saw all of her hopes and plans get ripped apart. “That’s your . . .”
“Oh, my cure?” Angelus asked, self-assurance returning as he finished tearing the paper to shreds. “No, thanks. Been there, done that, and deja vu just isn’t what it used to be.” He turned to the remains of the computer, now covered in flames. “My . . . Isn’t this my lucky day? The computer . . .” he gestured to the fire beneath him as he dropped the shreds of the printout on top of the flames “and the pages.” He warmed his hands at the fire. “Looks like I get to kill two birds with one stone.”
He crouched over the fire, absorbing its warmth. He had his back to Jenny and she took the occasion to head toward the back door. Angelus looked back up at her with his game face in place.
“And teacher makes three.”
Jenny tried to run for it, but Angelus caught her before she reached the door. He slammed her against the locked door hard enough to break it open. She lay there for a moment, terrified. She no longer thought about the curse, or appealing to Angel’s better side, or talking to him at all. The last veneer of civilization was stripped away and she was reduced to animal instincts. All she wanted was to get away. She scrambled to her feet and started to run for it.
Angelus smirked as he watched her try to escape. It was kind of sweet, in a way, how these humans always fought to the last breath, refusing to give up without a fight. He let her go, for the moment. Let her work up all that delicious adrenalin and desperation before he caught her. Chasing her down appealed to the hunter in him. It would be much more fun this way. “Oh, good,” he stated smugly to himself, wondering if she could hear him, “I need to work up an appetite first.”
Jenny ran. Her mind no longer processed where she was going. When she was thinking rationally, she knew the school like the back of her hand, but now, in her nightmarish desperation, the halls seemed alien and unfamiliar as she ran through them. She was incapable of planning a route or searching for a possible means of escape. Higher thought patterns shut down and she became nothing more than prey, blinding running from her pursuer. All she knew was that she had to put as much distance between her and the monster following her as possible. And so she kept running. She hadn’t run like that in years. Her breathing was labored, but she didn’t notice. The muscles in her calves were burning. She didn’t notice. Her heart was pounding and she felt sick and dizzy from the fear and adrenalin coursing through her system, but she didn’t notice that, either. All she noticed was the path in front of her as she kept running, running, searching desperately for any means of escape.
Angelus toyed with her for a while, letting her think that she was outdistancing him, enjoying the scent of her terror as it filled the hallways. Finally, he got tired of playing. He still had some plans for the rest of the evening, and he needed for his timing to work out. As amusing as it was to watch Jenny run, it was time for the game to end. Jenny might have been out of her mind with fear, but Angelus was completely calm and rational. Chasing her was pointless. All he had to do was anticipate her moves and she would run right into his arms. Which she did.
Jenny barely even registered when she ran directly into something solid, but she couldn’t ignore the cold hand that clasped around her neck. She screamed, but it only seemed to amuse him. He put one hand around behind her head and touched her lips gently with the fingers of his other hand.
“Sorry, Jenny,” Angelus whispered, “this is where you get off.”
He slid his fingers off of her lips and put his hand under her chin. In one swift movement, he twisted her head and snapped her neck. Her body collapsed to the floor. He looked up and around, a smile of pure, devilish enjoyment covering his face.
“Ah . . . I never get tired of doing that.”
Angelus regretted for a moment that he wasn’t able to drain Jenny. Snapping her neck seemed so . . . impersonal, somehow. He liked the intimacy of draining the blood away, of tasting the person’s death on his lips, in his mouth, with his tongue. Jenny would have tasted delicious, he was certain. But he had plans for her body, and he didn’t want any visible mark on her when he put his plan into action.
He lifted her gently in his arms and headed for the door. He nuzzled her neck slightly and he headed outside and if you listened carefully, you would have heard his humming softly, “We Shall Overcome.”
~Part: 27~
Angelus looked around and smiled in satisfaction at what he saw. La Boheme was playing on the stereo. Roses were scattered throughout the apartment. The champagne was chilling nicely, and it all combined to a textbook-perfect image of romance, just as he had intended.
Of course, it had been a bitch tracking down flowers and champagne while carting around a dead body, but Angelus always rose to a challenge, and the results spoke for themselves. He couldn’t help but be pleased with how it had all turned out. The stage was beautifully set. And Jenny, the piece de resistance, was displayed on the bed like the work of art that she was. An Angelus original.
Angelus reached over and stroked her hair, gently, arranging it against the pillow for the maximum effect. When he was satisfied, he pulled out his sketchpad, and took a seat. He frowned slightly. He was running quite low on sketching paper. He would have to pick up some more on his way back to the mansion. He hadn’t expected to use so much on Willow.
Angelus’s smile returned as he thought of Willow. Jenny was unquestionably lovely, but she couldn’t match his memory of Willow’s beauty as she lay, bleeding and defiant, on Spike’s black silk sheets. Angelus’s eyes closed as he remembered all the exquisite details of her: her startlingly beautiful eyes blazing with an iron determination, the rich, delectable flavor of her blood on his tongue, the velvety texture of her skin, so soft and warm under his hands and his mouth, the truly extraordinary experience of her mouth on him, the way it made him feel to watch her taste him, and most of all, the sweetly seductive pain in her voice as she recited for him, submissive to his whims, performing for his pleasure. He got hard again just thinking about it. His free hand rubbed idly at his crotch as he thought of all the delicious things he would do to her and force her to do to him when her training period was over.
He was startled to hear the door open downstairs.
“Hello?”
Fuck! Giles was home. How the hell had that happened? Angelus had stuck a note on the door, mimicking Jenny’s writing, telling Giles to pick up some dinner and come back in an hour, to ‘give her time to settle in’. Angelus had heard Giles come to the door and pick up the note, driving away as planned, leaving Angelus with, theoretically, more than enough time to set everything up and then get out of the way. Was Giles back early?
Angelus glanced at the clock on the bedside table and was shocked to see the amount of time that had passed. He had planned to leave at least half an hour before. Mentally, he cursed himself. This was supposed to be a triumphant moment: a link of pure victory in the chain he was forging to choke the life out of Buffy. How had he allowed himself to become so distracted that he lost track of time? Jenny was a masterpiece. She was supposed to hold his full concentration. So how was it that even when he looked at her, all he wanted to do was close his eyes and think of Willow?
Angelus heard the sound of the front door shutting. Scanning the room quickly, he ducked into the closet. He knew that he probably could have escaped out the window before Giles came upstairs, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave yet. He hadn’t completed his drawing. Buffy would be expecting a drawing, and he’d hate to disappoint her. Stepping into the closet, he pulled the door mostly shut behind him, leaving an opening only large enough for him to be able to see out into the room. Once again, he was reminded of Willow, and of how he had watched her from inside her closet only the night before, but he forced the thought away. He couldn’t allow her to distract him again.
“Jenny?” Giles called out once more to the woman who would never again be able to answer him. “It’s me!”
Angelus could hear Giles moving around downstairs. He tried to picture the man’s actions, imagining him putting down his things and taking in the music, the flowers, and the champagne. Angelus heard the rustle as Giles picked up the note he had left on the ice bucket, leaning against the bottle, containing the single word, “upstairs.” Not much longer now. He smiled in satisfaction as he heard the clink of the champagne glasses. He had ruined religion for Drusilla when he killed and replaced her confessor. He had ruined sex for Buffy when he lost his soul in her arms. And now, he was ruining romance for Giles. For the rest of his life, however short that life might be, whenever Giles saw champagne or red roses or heard the music from La Boheme, he would think of this. Angelus’s smile grew. Damn, he did good work.
Finally, there was the sound of footsteps on the staircase. The timing was absolutely perfect. Giles opened the door as the music began to swell. Angelus could see him perfectly and watched as the expectant smile slowly slipped off his face to be replaced with unabridged shock. The crescendo in the music corresponded nicely with the shattering glass as the champagne bottle and flutes hit the floor.
Giles backed up, backed away from the sight in front of him until he hit the wall, and then slumped against it until he was seated on the floor. He stayed like that for a long time. He was still breathing. His heart was still beating. Occasionally, he blinked. But he didn’t move. He just sat there, perfectly still, shock and pain pouring off of him in waves. The record continued to play, but Angelus doubted that Giles could hear it. It did, however, serve to cover up the soft scratching sound of a pencil against the pad of sketching paper. While Giles stared, motionlessly, at the dead body of the woman he loved, her murderer drew a pretty picture from the inside of the closet, only a few feet away, and drank in the delicious scent of his despair.
Finally, the music stopped. The needle lifted itself off the record and rested down beside it while the record continued to spin, soundlessly. Giles hadn’t appeared to notice the music, but he noticed when it ended. He finally seemed to snap out of his stupor and stood, exiting the room, walking slowly downstairs to the living room telephone where Angelus heard him mechanically explaining the situation to 911.
Exiting the closet, Angelus placed the drawing gently on the bed, next to Jenny, where the policemen would see it immediately when they entered the room. He wished he could stay and listen to Giles try to explain it away, but he needed to get back to the warehouse. Giles would be coming by fairly soon, and he needed to have the reception ready for him. Noiselessly, he slipped out the window down the side of the building, and disappeared into the darkness.
It was nearly an hour later when Buffy burst into the apartment. She could still hear Giles’s voice echoing through her ear from the phone call he had made. He had informed her that Jenny had been killed and that he was being taken in for questioning. He hadn’t gone into detail on the cause of death, but Buffy was able to read between the lines. It was Angelus. Again. The news on its own was bad enough, but it was Giles’ voice when he told her that had her truly scared. There was no emotion in it, no feeling whatsoever. He sounded dead, like he had lost the only thing that mattered. People do dangerous things when they think they have nothing else to lose.
After the phone call from Giles, she had called Xander and Cordelia and they had taken Cordelia’s car over to the police station, planning to bail him out. Knowing the incompetence of the Sunnydale police squad, they had expected to find him under arrest. To their surprise, he wasn’t there, and they were told that he had already been released, after being questioned. Buffy felt a mounting sense of panic as each minute passed where she couldn’t find him. Giles had stayed calm when Angelus returned. He had managed to control his emotions and behave rationally and intelligently even as recently as that afternoon, when Angelus paid his visit to the library. But even Giles had his limits, and Buffy was terrified of what would happen when he reached his breaking point. Willow and Giles had always been the two pillars Buffy depended on to hold her up. She counted on their intelligence, their advice, and their strength to guide her through her destiny. She had already lost Willow. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Giles, as well.
“Hello? Giles?” Xander called out, hoping against hope for a response, but not really expecting one. The place looked deserted. Cordelia and Xander ducked under the police tape and joined Buffy inside the apartment. What did they care if they contaminated the crime scene? It wasn’t like the police were going to be able to solve this one, anyway. Three sets of eyes scanned the empty apartment. The roses still lay on the floor, crushed and trampled, with their petals scattered.
“I guess Giles had a big night planned tonight,” Xander murmured.
Walking over to the desk, Buffy found the sketch that Angelus left. Giles had brought it downstairs. “Giles didn’t set this up,” she said, her voice harsh with pain. “Angel did.” She handed Xander the sketch. “This is the wrapping for the gift.” She wandered around the rest of the room, taking in the whole of the scene, then headed upstairs, following the trail of torn rose petals into the bedroom.
“Oh, man,” Xander sighed. “Poor Giles.” His eyes scanned over the rest of the room, and fell on the weapons chest. The open weapon’s chest. Giles always kept it closed. Rushing over, Xander’s eyes widened in shock at what he saw.
“All his weapons are gone.”
“But I thought he kept his weapons at the library?” Cordelia asked.
“No,” Xander answered, “those are his everyday weapons. These were his good weapons. The ones he breaks out when company comes to visit.”
Buffy came back downstairs. She couldn’t bear stay in the bedroom for a moment longer. The police had gathered the shards of the broken bottle on the chance of finding fingerprints, but the room still smelled like champagne and roses. It nearly made Buffy throw up. They had drawn one of those damn chalk outlines on Giles’s sheets. Angelus had laid her out on the bed. Rushing out of the room, Buffy could only think of getting away from all of it as quickly as possible, but paused on the corner landing when she heard what Xander said.
“So if he’s not here, then where is he?” Cordelia questioned.
“He’ll go to wherever Angel is,” Buffy answered.
“That means the factory, right? So Giles is going to try to kill Angel then?” Cordelia, in classic Cordelia fashion, bluntly stated what they were all afraid to admit.
“Well, it’s about time somebody did,” Xander muttered.
“Xander!” Cordelia squealed. She hoped to high heaven that Xander wasn’t getting any ideas. The last thing she needed was for her boyfriend to go all white knight and try to go after Angelus. Angelus would tear him apart and Cordelia silently admitted to herself that she couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to him.
“I’m sorry,” Xander replied hotly, unaware of the direction Cordelia’s thoughts had taken, “but let’s not forget that I hated Angel long before you guys jumped on the bandwagon. So I think I deserve a little something for not saying ‘I told you so’ long before now. And if Giles wants to go after the fiend that murdered his girlfriend, I say, ‘Faster, pussycat! Kill! Kill!’”
“You’re right,” Buffy stated quietly.
There was a small pause as Cordelia and Xander got over their shock at what Buffy said.
“Thank you,” Xander replied, belatedly.
“There’s only one thing wrong with Giles’ little revenge scenario,” Buffy said as she came the rest of the way down the stairs.
“And what’s that?” Xander asked, snidely.
“It’s going to get him killed.”
Xander’s jaw dropped as he stared at Buffy. She was right. Dear God, she was right. On his best day, Giles didn’t stand a chance against Angelus. And now, when he was angry and emotional and heartbroken and incapable of thinking calmly or rationally, he might as well have been a sheep going to the slaughter. Angelus would shred him, and leave all the pieces for the rest of them to find. Buffy stared at Xander, maintaining steady eye contact as she watched understanding sank in.
Cordelia’s eyes slid back and forth from Buffy to Xander to Buffy to Xander, waiting for one of them to say something or do something. They were the original slayerettes. They were supposed to know what to do in these situations. Finally growing impatient, she decided to make her move.
“I’m driving,” she stated, imperiously. They had better not think they were getting behind the wheel of her car when they were in such unstable states of mind. “But I’ll drive fast,” she said, more gently this time. “We’ll get there in time. I promise.”
Buffy broke her gaze with Xander and looked over to Cordelia. She nodded once, and Cordelia felt an odd sense of pride as she realized that she had just been fully accepted into the Scooby gang, not for her relationship with Xander, but for herself. It felt . . . nice.
“Let’s go,” Buffy said.
~Part: 28~
Giles snuck into the warehouse carefully. Despite his supplies, despite his strength, despite his training, he knew that he wouldn’t get out of there alive. Truth be told, he didn’t really want to survive. If he died, the pain would stop. His only hope was that he would be able to drag Angelus into hell with him. But in order to defeat a master vampire surrounded by his minions, he needed to take advantage of every opportunity he had, especially the element of surprise. Giles moved silently, sticking to the shadows, until he was close enough to see the figures ahead of him. There were four vamps lounging around a table including a tall, dark-haired vamp in a leather jacket with his back to him. Angelus. Perfect.
If Giles had been thinking rationally, he might have wondered why there was no one on guard around the warehouse to keep out intruders such as himself. He also might have wondered why the vamps were sitting in the only patch of light in the entire room, opening them up to the possibility of hostile figures encroaching from the darkness. Of course, if Giles had been thinking rationally, he wouldn’t have been there in the first place. He was beyond rational thought. Sliding into position, he decided it was time to announce his presence, with a bang. Practically bursting with a feeling of perverted triumph, he flicked open his lighter, lit the end of the wick on his Molotov cocktail, and tossed it on to the table.
All the vamps rushed away from the flaming table, but not before Giles had the chance to fire off his crossbow. He underestimated the vamp’s speed, and hit the shoulder instead of the heart, but Giles shrugged it off. Maybe it was better this way. He didn’t want Angelus dusted too quickly. After all, he couldn’t release all the punches he was aching to swing at a pile of dust. He wanted Angelus to hurt before he was destroyed.
Everyone slid out of the light into the shadows, but Giles kept his eyes on Angelus. The rest of them meant nothing to him. Angelus was his sole concern. Giles could no longer see Angelus clearly, but his outline was still visible in the darkness and the flames from the table reflected off his leather coat.
Giles stalked forward with a baseball bat in hand, and stuck the end of it into the flames, watching with satisfaction as it caught fire. He swung it and felt a rush of pleasure as it connected with Angelus’ face, then hitting him again on the return swing. Angelus staggered and bent down, but didn’t speak. Giles was oblivious to everything but the pleasure of pure violence as he whaled on Angelus' back several times. He didn’t notice Angelus leading him further away from the light of the center of the room. He didn’t notice when the flames on the end of the baseball bat were beaten out, leaving him in near-total darkness with only the outlines of shadows to direct his blows. He didn’t hear the footsteps slowly surrounding him from all the corners of the dark warehouse. All he was aware of was Angelus, the baseball bat, and the pain he was inflicted on one by use of the other.
Then suddenly, it all changed. Instead of lying on the floor, taking the beating almost passively, Angelus caught the bat as it aimed another blow at his head. Giles didn’t react quickly enough to let go, so using Giles’ grip, Angelus yanked Giles forward, back into the light, then wrenched the baseball bat away from him. Giles’ breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight before him.
“No . . .” he whispered, “it can’t be . . .” He was so oblivious in his shock that he barely noticed when a group of four vamps came up behind him, grabbing him and holding him in place.
“But it is,” said the vampire in front of him. The vampire with dark hair and a leather jacket who had been the recipient of his rage. The vampire who was not Angelus.
“I’ve heard all about you, watcher,” the vampire said, slamming a fist into Giles’ stomach, knocking the air out of him. “And I have to say, I’m a little disappointed.” This time the fist slammed into his left kidney. “Who knew it would be so easy to pull you into a trap?” The fist smashed into Giles’ face with a distinctive crack, signaling a broken nose. “Did you really think Angelus would be here? Did you think it would be so easy for a broken-down librarian to attack the Scourge of Europe?” This time, the vampire laughed, and it hurt worse than any of the punches. Giles stopped struggling against the vampires as the fight drained out of him. The footsteps around them grew louder and Giles saw the others approaching from the shadows. There were about fifteen vampires total. And they looked hungry.
“Oh, and before I forget, Angelus wanted me to give you this.” The vampire reached into an inner pocket in his jacket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. He unfolded it carefully, and smiled at it for a moment. “He has quite a talent, don’t you think?” The vampire turned the sheet to face Giles. It was one of the pictures Angelus had drawn of Willow, augmenting the charcoal with her blood. The vampire tucked the picture inside Giles’s shirt. “He’s counting on you to hand-deliver the picture to the slayer, which means we can’t kill you, yet. But the night is still young. You had your fun. Do you know what it’s time for now?”
The vampire’s speech was interrupted as he abruptly fell to the ground, having been hit from behind by a blow that none of them had seen coming. Startled, the vamps all turned to see the attacker.
“My fun,” Buffy answered, falling immediately into action. Cordelia and Xander stepped out from behind her, each armed with a supersoaker water gun filled with holy water that they quickly unloaded on the group of vamps. Unprepared for this kind of attack, the vamps didn’t even manage to lift their hands to protect themselves, and both Xander and Cordelia were able to hit several of them directly in the face.
Following Buffy’s strict orders, they stayed back from the actual fight, retreating to their pre-placed supplies once the water guns were emptied, switching to firing flaming arrows from their crossbows, at a safer distance. Neither of them had very good aim, but the lit tips insured that any bolt that didn’t hit the heart would send the vampire quickly up in flames. It was surprisingly effective. Without them, Buffy probably wouldn’t have survived. Even with them, it was still one hell of a fight.
Buffy was like a machine: a barely visible flurry of motion attacking, blocking, kicking, striking, destroying everything that got in her way. She was pure slayer. If Giles had been conscious, he probably would have proud, but the vampires who had held him in place had knocked him out before joining in the fight.
Buffy threw a vamp directly into the flaming table, causing it to break apart. It effectively destroyed the vamp, but caused some of the crates around the wreckage of the table to catch fire, as well. Fallen vamps hit by Cordelia and Xander’s flaming arrows started other little blazes around the warehouse before they crumpled to dust, and the flames spread quickly. Too quickly. Buffy was so wrapped up in the fight that she didn’t notice, but Xander and Cordelia did.
They rushed over to the unconscious Giles and started frantically slapping his face and shaking him, trying to get him awake. Finally, his eyes started to flicker open. Xander hauled him up to his feet, tucking Giles’s arm over his shoulders. Cordelia propped him up on the other side.
“Buffy!” Xander screamed. “We have Giles. This place isn’t going to last much longer. We need to get out of here, now!”
Buffy looked up and seemed to notice for the first time the flames raging around them. Her eyes widened with fear as she saw Giles’ barely conscious body held up by Xander and Cordelia.
“Get him out of here!” she yelled. “I’ll be right behind you!” Xander and Cordelia managed to make it to the door and outside, into the fresh night air. They dragged themselves over to the car and collapsed against it, coughing the smoke fumes out of their lungs. Within a minute, Buffy joined them. She looked battered and bruised and ever-so-slightly singed, but she seemed heedless of her injuries as she rushed over to her watcher.
“Are you alright?” she asked frantically, yanking him to his feet and feeling him over for injuries. Giles roughly pushed her away.
“Why did you come here?” he screamed, fighting against the tears that were streaming down his face. “This wasn't your fight!”
She punched him in the jaw, and he fell to the pavement.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Buffy yelled. She broke into tears and crouched next to him on the ground. She hugged him to her fiercely. Giving into the tears, Giles broke down, clinging to her and sobbing in her arms.
“You can't leave me,” Buffy pleaded. “I can't do this alone.”
Giles didn’t respond, except to cling to her even tighter as he continued to cry. Cordelia turned into Xander’s arms, burying herself in his embrace. He held her close, stroking her hair while her tears soaked into his shirt. For a few minutes, the only sounds were the muffled sobs and the crackling of the flames as the warehouse burned.
Finally, wearily, they pulled themselves together. Cordelia went around to the driver’s side and started the car. Xander slid in beside her in the front seat while Buffy loaded Giles and herself into the back. They drove to the hospital in silence. Even when they arrived, they did not bother to speak. There was no need. It wasn’t the first time they had done this, after all. They had made late night trips to the hospital after hard fights dozens of times before. They all knew what they were supposed to do. Cordelia dropped Buffy and Giles off at the door, and then went to park the car. Xander stayed with her so she wouldn’t have to walk through the parking lot alone. Buffy and Giles headed to the emergency room reception area where Giles collapsed in a chair and Buffy went to the desk and got the necessary paperwork for her “father.” Silently, she filled it out, returned it to the lady at the desk, seated herself next to Giles, and waited.
A few minutes later, Xander and Cordelia joined them with cups of coffee they had gotten from the cafeteria. Giles reached out his left arm, the arm closest to Xander, to take the coffee, then flinched and dropped his arm as the pain reverberated through it. It felt like someone had stomped on his arm and broken it, which was, in fact, exactly what had happened. Adding that to his catalog of injuries to list to the E.R. doctor, he reached out his right arm instead, but froze as his arm brushed against his chest, making a crackling sound as it hit the paper pushed inside his shirt. The paper. Angelus’ horrific drawing of Willow, highlighted with what was obviously her blood. He had forgotten about that. He wished he had remembered. He wished he had thought to hide it from the children. It was the last thing they needed to deal with now. But it was too late. Buffy was already reaching into his shirt and pulling it out.
“Giles?” she asked, her voice sounding shaky and uncertain and surprisingly young, like a small, scared child. “What is this?”
“Buffy, no—” he tried to stop her, but by then, it was too late. The paper was already unfolding in her hands. For a moment, she just stared at it, as if she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Xander stepped behind her to look over her shoulder, and his expression of lost bewilderment matched Buffy’s perfectly. Then Buffy started shaking, head to toe, uncontrollably. Her face went dead white and was covered with an expression of unmitigated horror. She bolted, dropping the paper and running over to the garbage can in the corner of the room where she violently threw up everything in her stomach. Xander raced over beside her to hold her up; she was still shaking and she looked ready to collapse. He gently held her hair out of her face as she continued heaving into the trashcan long after her stomach was empty.
An emergency room nurse came over and tried to help.
“Has she been like this for long?” she asked Xander, when it became obvious that Buffy was in no condition to answer.
“No, it just started a minute ago,” Xander answered, distractedly. Part of him wanted to concentrate on comforting Buffy, and another part of him wanted to push her aside so he could have a go at the trashcan, himself, and all of him wanted the nurse to go away and leave them alone. Couldn’t she tell they were grieving? They did not wish to be disturbed. If she left them alone then maybe they could start to deal with what they had seen.
The image from the sketch seemed to have burned into his retinas. He saw it before his eyes whenever they closed, even when he blinked. The thought of it made his stomach churn. If Buffy didn’t finish with that trashcan soon, he’d leave her to find one of his own.
“What other symptoms is she showing?”
Xander looked at her in confusion for a moment, before he realized why she was asking.
“Oh! We’re not here for her. We’re here for him,” he clarified, nodding over in Giles’ direction. The nurse looked over at Giles. He obviously needed medical attention, but he seemed calm and stable. She turned back to Buffy.
“Still,” she argued, “I think she should be taken in to see a doctor. Vomiting like that is never a good sign, even if she isn’t showing any other symptoms. The gentleman with you looks like he can wait a few minutes more.”
“No,” Xander shook his head, “you should take Giles in. He needs to see a doctor. Buffy will be fine in a minute.”
“She doesn’t look fine,” the nurse insisted stubbornly. “In fact, she looks like she’s barely managing to hold on. How can you know that she’ll be all right?”
Xander’s eyes slid over to Giles and Cordelia, seated silently, frozen with pain. The drawing of Willow lay at their feet where Buffy had dropped it. As Xander stared at it, he could just make out the outlines of the image. He pictured Willow as she appeared in the sketch, her body covered in cuts and bruises, her soft, sweet features tightened with pain. He only vaguely heard the increasingly strident voice of the nurse beside him.
“Your friend is in need of medical attention. Are you just going to ignore it? Are you just going to ignore her pain?”
“There’s nothing I can do,” he whispered. “There’s nothing any of us can do.”
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