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Inversion
by Trekker
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Chapter One

He was falling in love. It was so wildly inappropriate right now, with BuffyÕs pain, and AngelÕs soullessness, and the very real threat of death hanging over all their heads, and yet, there it was. Love.

He should have been thinking about vampires and research, and what AngelÕs next move may be, but instead, all he could think of was Jenny... saying she was in love with him.

Jenny, who, right now should be waiting to meet him at home. HeÕd been half-hard since he left BuffyÕs house and now, as he pulled up to the curb in front of his place, he could feel himself trembling lightly with anticipation. Desire, like a fever: shaking, shortness of breath, cold sweat, weakness settling around his joints and making his step a bit uncoordinated. Odd, really, he thought as he fumbled for his keys, that this was a condition people actually sought to be in.

Not that he was complaining.

His hand stopped with the key halfway to the lock when he looked up and actually saw his front door for the first time.

A single red rose was taped at eye level. He felt a grin cross his face as he took down the flower and held it to his nose. The familiar scent brought back soft, pleasant memories, of days as a youth in his familyÕs rose garden, and romantic dinners lit by candlelight.

He stepped through the unlocked door into a scene from a romance novel...  candles, roses, champagne chilling. He called out softly and received no reply, but it didnÕt worry him.  A bone-deep contentment was settling in alongside the urgency, two forces that should have contradicted, but didnÕt...

He took off his coat and then picked up the folded piece of paper that had been propped against the ice bucket.

ÒUpstairsÓ

A rush of fire swept through his veins.

Trading his glasses for the champagne bottle and two flutes, he made his way up the stairs to the loft, carefully stepping around the roses that had been left on each step. The heat was pulsing through his body now, coiling in his groin, and his heart was pounding.

He stopped at the top of the stairs, pausing for a moment just to drink in the sight of her... or as much as he could see without his glasses on, anyway. She was stretched out across the bed, atop the covers and still dressed, her head turned towards him. 

For a moment, she was very still, then she pushed herself up on one elbow.

ÒRupert.Ó

ÒJenny,Ó he answered, a besotted grin spreading across his face. He crossed the room in a few easy steps and set the glasses and the bottle down on the night stand.

She reached up for him and he leaned down, her hand cupping his cheek and guiding him the last few inches to her lips. They kissed deeply, and then he pulled back a bit.

ÒYouÕre cold...Ó

She smiled.

ÒItÕs a chilly night.Ó

She paused, then added, with a sexy quirk of her brow, ÒWant to help warm me up?Ó

His grin widened and he shed his jacket and flowed onto the bed, filling in the space she made for him and dropping a series of light, teasing kisses across her lips. His hand slid down to her hip and he tugged on it, urging her closer.

They kissed deeply for long, uncounted minutes, lost in the simple pleasure of touching and holding. Her body was a miracle... soft curves, gentle hands. He decided heÕd be content if he could just spend hours exploring her, finding all of her secret places, the spots that made her sigh, and moan, and whisper soft, dirty words between his lips. HeÕd dreamed of this, but his dreams had never even touched the reality of it. Dreams were always too transient, too fragmented. The joy of this was in taking their time, reveling in the joy that finally, finally, they were really here. 

Nevertheless, after awhile, she slipped one leg over his and wrapped them together, moving her hips restlessly, suggestively. He gasped and pulled her hard against him, and she threw her head back, inviting him to run his tongue along the long column of her throat. And he did so, tracing the small mole there, and then rolled them over, capturing her beneath him.

ÒToo many clothes, Rupert,Ó she said, the first real words either of them had spoken aloud since heÕd joined her on the bed.

He smiled and reared back a bit as her fingers went to work on his tie, loosening it and then drawing it over his head and tossing it aside. His smile changed to a mischievous grin, and he ducked his head down to kiss her lips, and nose, and cheeks as she unbuttoned his shirt. Once, her knuckles brushed against his nipple and he shuddered with pleasure.

ÒMmm, like that, do you?Ó she whispered, her voice husky.

In response, he lunged closer to her, nipping at her neck, then her earlobe, then stopping and sucking at the loose skin there.

She chuckled and slid one hand beneath the open flap of his shirt, her fingertips skating over his chest lightly before she laid her hand flat over his nipple and rubbed firmly with the heel of her palm. He gasped... partly from the pleasure of the touch, but also from the cold. Her hand was like ice.

He pulled away, looked down at her.

ÒJenny?Ó

She frowned, small annoyed lines appearing between her brows. Her eyes... something... something wasnÕt right.

ÒJenny, are you-Ó he didnÕt know quite where he was going with that sentence, until something caught his gaze out of the corner of his eye.

He turned his head, found himself staring into his own eyes... the mirror over the dresser. For a moment, he couldnÕt figure out quite what was wrong with the image he was seeing.

And then, Jenny lunged up beneath him, flipping them both over with inhuman strength, and pinning him to the mattress.

No reflection.

ÒOh, dear lord,Ó he whispered, and then her fangs were in his throat.

HeÕd never quite figured on the extraordinary helplessness. HeÕd always thought, rather disparagingly, actually, that if a vampire ever did get close enough to bite, heÕd throw it off and run. But it wasnÕt that simple, he saw now. He was defenseless. He had no cross or stake, wasnÕt at a good angle at all to get enough leverage to shove her away, and her strength was startling, even though heÕd faced many vampires before. 

It was a helpless terror, feeling the slow ebb of blood from his body, and every second he became still more hopeless as he grew weaker.

Her hands were tight like steel bands around his wrists and her body was shifting rhythmically against his, a horrible parody of the lovemaking from a few moments earlier.

ÒJenny,Ó he breathed, uselessly, as her hair tickled his cheek and nose, and her death-cold hands leeched heat from his arms. ÒJenny, please.Ó

He was getting dizzy... the room, everything, seemed far away, muffled by unseen cotton. His breath and heartbeat seemed strangely loud, though, as did the wet sounds of her feeding. His feet and legs were tingling and his head ached. *Blood loss,* his mind supplied, unhelpfully. And then, even more unhelpfully, it added, *Oh God, Buffy. What about Buffy?*

And that thought was enough to make him throw all his remaining strength into one last ditch effort to escape.

All it amounted to was a weak tug against her restraining hands.

She stopped, though, and lifted her head. He could feel his blood trickling down over his shoulder, soaking into his shirt collar.

ÒShh,Ó she said, looking down at him, shifting to her human face. Her eyes were dead, and her bloody smile did not touch them. ÒEverythingÕs fine. Just relax, lover. YouÕll be fine. JennyÕs gonna make it all better.Ó

ÒOh, God. No. No, no, Jenny... please!Ó

She pressed her lips to his, and for the first time all night they were warm, and he shuddered again, this time with nothing but revulsion. He could tasted his own blood, coppery and hot.

She dropped her head to his shoulder again, her cool, wet tongue lapping at the wound, coaxing the blood to flow. The world grew dim and quiet, and he began to understand why people talked about lights and tunnels as his vision narrowed down to a single point.

He felt only vaguely her moving away, and then, a moment later, the soft pressure of her wrist against his mouth. It was wet, and slick. He pressed his lips together, tightly. To drink, even one mouthful, would mean a fate far worse than death.

But then her fingers were pinching his nostrils shut, and even moments from death, his body couldnÕt override the instinct to breathe. His mouth opened against his will. He felt the silky cool liquid, thick on his teeth and tongue. The taste, the smell: copper and salt, and a tinge of something he could only define as death.

He knew in that moment that he had failed. Failed his family, failed himself, and most importantly, failed his Slayer. His last thought before he died was, ÒOh God, Buffy, IÕm so sorry.Ó

***

Chapter Two

Jenny sighed and gazed at her fingernails. She was sitting with her back against the headboard, one leg drawn up, nothing to do but wait. And wait. God, it hadnÕt taken *her* this long to come around, she was sure of it. 

She cast a brief bored glance over at the body in bed beside her. Rupert was still lying in the same pose heÕd been in all evening, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed, the other resting across his chest, head turned to the side, dead eyes staring off into space, blood still tacky around the bite marks on his throat. A small pool of it was congealing on the bed beneath his shoulder and the smell was making her hungry. AngelÕd warned her that sheÕd be ravenous... sheÕd thought that draining a grown man would have been enough to satisfy it. Apparently not.

She sighed again and went back to inspecting her cuticles. Damn, she wished sheÕd brought her purse.

Then suddenly, bam, she was on the floor, pinned flat on her back.

ÒHello, Jenny. IÕm back.Ó

He pressed a hard brutal kiss against her lips and then hopped up, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

ÒAnd IÕm famished.Ó

He turned his head and looked down at her from his considerably height, game-faced and grinning, his yellow eyes glittering with an unholy glee.

ÒCare to accompany me for dinner, my dear?Ó

She began to grin back, feeling her fangs pressing against her lips.

ÒWhy, Rupert. IÕd love to.Ó

He grabbed her arm and swung her to her feet as though she weighed as little as a feather, then reeled her into his arms. He touched his forehead to hers and looked into her eyes.

ÒCall me Ripper.Ó

***

The anger at AngelÕs taunting of her mother had lingered, making Buffy tingly and restless. SheÕd tried to sleep, but it had been useless. SheÕd laid awake for hours, just tossing and turning, staring around her room, listening to Willow breathe the steady breath of the peacefully sleeping down in her sleeping bag on the floor. Finally, sheÕd just given up and slipped out the window, armed with her usual assortment of stakes, holy water, and crosses. She might as well get in some patrol hours. Her sleepless night could be someone elseÕs salvation, after all.

She mused on that as she wandered down the quiet Sunnydale streets. All those people who died while she was off in dreamland. Great, that was a real upper. Like she needed any new depressing thoughts right now, with her boyfriend off being the scourge of the world.

She frowned and fiddled with her stake as she walked.

Seemed like a quiet night, really. No sign so far of demons or vampires or-

No, wait. She froze, listening. Was that a-

Yes! A scream, or at least, an Òeek.Ó Definitely worth investigating. Buffy shot off into the park in the direction of the sound at a dead run. Could be a rabbit, of course, they did make noises like that, as she had become well aware after two years of false alarms and very startled owls...

But no, this was no rabbit. This was the real deal. Two vamps, one male, one female, and one human of undetermined gender... the two feeding vamps were blocking her view. She only had seconds to make the save, so she dashed in at full force. If these vamps had friends nearby, sheÕd worry about it later. The man was closest, so she grabbed him by the shoulder and flung him back, then shoved the woman away. The human, a young guy, dropped to the ground in a faint, and she spun back towards the male vamp, who had just regained his feet and was lunging towards her.

She froze, stake held high.

The vampires froze, too, and for a long, long moment, they all stood there like statues in the deep darkness of the park, and the only sound was the breeze. And then, very softly, Buffy said:

ÒOh God. Giles?Ó

His lips pulled back in something that could have been a sneer or a grin, or more likely, something in between, and then he shifted out of game-face. His eyes were the same green theyÕd always been, but they were colder. Emptier. The gentle soul that sheÕd always seen shining in them was gone. She thought that she just might pass out.

ÒBuffy,Ó he said, and his voice was the same as it had ever been, soft and gentle.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, and she instinctually fell back a few paces, putting a tree behind her back and turning so that she could see both of the vamps. The female had also shifted back to human face, and now moved to curl up against GilesÕs side, her arm around his neck and her other hand on his chest, as she watched Buffy with clear amusement.

ÒJenny?Ó Buffy whispered.

ÒMm-hmm,Ó Vamp-Jenny said, then twisted her head up to gaze at Giles adoringly. ÒSheÕs very perceptive, isnÕt she, England?Ó

ÒOh, yes,Ó Giles said, ÒThatÕs my girl. Very bright.Ó

A familiar half-smile tugged at his lips and he looked her up and down, his eyes dragging over every inch of her body from head to toe, unapologetically.

ÒAnd quite the looker, too. DonÕt know why I never did anything. Was in the perfect position to abuse my authority with an attractive young thing. Ethan was right. I was pathetic. Thank god thatÕs done with.Ó

Ok, that just went too far.

ÒNo,Ó Buffy said, though shock was still leaving her far too numb to do anything but shake her head in helpless denial. ÒNo. This is a dream, or, or one of those, those alternate reality thingies. This- this isnÕt real...Ó

Giles detached himself from Jenny and all but glided towards her, one hand coming to rest against the tree trunk just above her shoulder. He was close enough that she could smell him, old books, cologne... dried blood... His eyes stared into hers from a distance of mere inches, and if he could have breathed, she would be feeling it against her lips.

ÒOh, I assure you, it is very, very real.Ó

And then she shuddered all over in horror because she knew, she really knew that it was true. Her every Slayer sense was alive and screaming ÒVampireÓ at her, and there was nothing human left.
With a soul-deep, inarticulate cry, she slammed both arms against his chest and sent him flying back, and in seconds, she had snatched another stake from the waistband of her pants.

He was laughing as she came at him, and he danced aside when she plunged the stake forward. The missed blow sent her reeling, but she recovered quickly, and caught him well before he could get his fangs into her neck. She shoved him away again, but this time, instead of just waiting, he backed away, game-faced and still looking amused, and then he grabbed JennyÕs hand and together the two newly-turned vamps fled into the night.

Buffy slowly lowered the stake as she stared after them. A few moments later, her knees finally gave out. She dropped to a kneel on the dewy grass and sobbed her heart out.

***

Chapter Three

God, heÕd never felt so alive! The night air was shimmering against his skin, his every sense was singing. Foreign blood was rushing through his veins and the thrill of the hunt, the chase, the kill, and the fight with the Slayer were all still with him. The *power* of it.

He couldnÕt seem to stop laughing with pure joy. It was like being high, only more so than anything heÕd ever experienced.

They were far enough away now, and he knew Buffy wouldnÕt be following them, so he suddenly stopped. Jenny didnÕt, though, so she was pulled up abruptly by their linked hands like a bulldog hitting the end of its chain. Ripper used the extra momentum to swing her against the side of the pool shed theyÕd stopped near, and he covered her body with his own and kissed her deeply.

She growled, that deep vampire growl, and he answered with a snarl of his own, shoving her back against the faux-wood paneling with a thrust of his hips. He found he couldnÕt kiss her and hump her at the same time, so he lifted his lips from hers and went for full-body contact. The shed thumped and rattled under their weight, and a light went on upstairs in the house.

ÒI... am gonna fuck you. Right here. Right now.Ó

She just smiled toothily up at him, and hummed her approval as he pressed his hand to the side of her cool thigh and slid it up and down slowly. His fingers traced the seam of the silky fabric with light, teasing touches.

ÒWell, then, get to it, Rip,Ó she said, and nipped at his throat.

His only response was to ruck her dress up around her waist. Her hands beat his to his fly and she unzipped him and wrapped her fingers around his cock, pumping him once, twice, holding him tight just the way he liked it. He rolled his head back and cursed, loud and heartfelt. It was about damn time they did this, anyway.

ÒHey!Ó

Ripper lowered his head, and slowly turned it towards the house. A middle-aged man, clad in an old bathrobe, stood mostly silhouetted in the back doorway.

ÒHey,Ó the man repeated. ÒWhat the hell do you think youÕre doing? This- this is-Ó

Ripper released Jenny and turned, utterly unconcerned at the state of his clothing. He let out a low growl and let the demon take over, moving towards the man like a tiger stalking its prey. The man, maybe thinking himself brave, but in actuality, merely stupid, took two more steps out of the safety of his home.

ÒNow, see here. IÕll call the cops, donÕt think I wonÕt. My children are asleep upstairs, I wonÕt have them seeing-Ó

The light from the open doorway fell over RipperÕs features, and the man went completely pale. Ripper quivered with the effort of restraint, but he waited, until the exact moment the man realized that he should run, and run now, and then, at that moment, he struck.

He gripped the manÕs wrists and pinned them around behind his back, holding him in an embrace close enough that he could feel the manÕs body shaking in terror against his. He was staring up at him, his eyes wide, and Ripper watched and enjoyed as he saw every defense, every denial fall away, as the realization deepened and ripened and the man become truly aware that everything that had haunted his nightmares, everything that had seemed to lurk in the darkness, was real.

Watched this, first the logic. Then, the emotion. Terror, horror, sadness, desperation. Felt the man go completely limp.

Monsters were real, and he was doomed.

Ripper smiled down at him.

ÒQuite right, my dear man. You are dead. Or, rather, you will be, once IÕve drained your blood.Ó

ÒPlease,Ó the man rasped, and this made Ripper chuckle.

ÒYou know, I was saying the very same thing myself just a few hours ago. It didnÕt save me, either.Ó

And then he lowered his head and began to drink.

He drained the man halfway and then held him out to Jenny by hair at the base of his skull.

ÒCare for a taste?Ó

She shook her head slowly, not breaking eye contact with him. 

ÒRight, then,Ó he said, and snapped the manÕs neck and then let him drop.

This time it was Jenny pushing *him* back against the house. He let his head thump back against the siding as her cool hand closed around his cock again, drawing it out of his pants and then pushing her panties aside and sliding him inside of her. His eyes fluttered closed with pleasure and he sighed, even though he didnÕt need to breathe.
ÓOh, yes,Ó he murmured, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him as he began to move his hips. In seconds, he was lost in the feeling of her body, tight and slick around him. Perfect.

ÒRipper,Ó she answered, finding his rhythm and going with it.

They took their time with it, letting the pleasure build slowly from a spark to a raging bonfire. It was odd, though, at this point, to not be sweating, not be panting. It was also invigorating. Hell, he could do this all night. He laughed again, and pulled her harder against him, then flipped them over, so that her back was against the wall again. She made a small startled sound, then laughed, but her laughter quickly changed to pleased moans as he took advantage of this better positioning to take her deeper and harder.

Just as he was beginning to feel his climax come within reach, there was a flash of a shadow across the light from the open doorway beside them, and a moment later, a distraught woman shot out the door and fell to her knees beside the fallen man, crying out, ÒJohn!Ó

Ripper craned his head over his shoulder to watch her, and couldnÕt contain an amused snort. The woman looked up in horror and could only stare.

If he hadnÕt been quite so pleasantly distracted, she would have made yet another ridiculously easy kill.

To her credit, however, she was faster on the uptake than her late husband, and within seconds, she was back on her feet and in the house. He could hear her dialing 911, and he shouted to her, ÒYou know, I did you a favor! Old John was probably a terribly stuffy old bore!Ó

He looked back down at Jenny. 

ÒOr maybe that was me,Ó he said, lightly, and then he really went for it, each thrust slamming her up against the wall hard enough to rattle the windows. Her internal muscles gripped him hard as she came, and drew him right over the edge with her. Just as the last aftershocks of it were sweeping through him, he heard a soft childÕs voice in the house, asking ÒMommy? WhatÕs going on?Ó

And then, in the distance, a siren.

Better to not tangle with the local authorities, even if there was nothing they could do to him. Besides, the sky was getting pale.

ÒWhere to, love?Ó

Jenny smoothed down her skirt and said, ÒAngelÕs.Ó

***

Chapter Four

Willow had awoken to find herself alone in BuffyÕs room. For a moment, sheÕd panicked, but then, sheÕd remembered the spell. Angel couldnÕt get in. Buffy was probably patrolling. She rolled back over in her sleeping bag and shut her eyes. But then, her stomach growled, and the floor felt really hard. She sighed, and decided a little snack was the way to go.

She slunk downstairs in the dark and crept to the refrigerator. She opened the door and stood bathed in the welcoming yellow light. Hmm, she thought, should she go with a cheese stick, or the more healthy veggies?

She was still pondering this momentous decision when she heard the front door quietly open and shut. She bounced out of the kitchen and into the living room, feeling bright-eyed and wide awake, and hoping that BuffyÕs patrolling had left her in a similar condition.

ÒHey, Buff!Ó she said, keeping her voice low.

And then, she caught her first real look at her friend.

Buffy was pale, her hands clasped in front of her, her head hanging down. Her clothes and hair were damp with dew. And when she raised her head, looking at Willow like she wasnÕt quite sure who she was, her eyes were dead.

WillowÕs face fell.

ÒBuffy?Ó She approached her, slowly. ÒDid something happen? Is it Angel?Ó

ÒWill,Ó Buffy said, her voice coming out raw and damaged. It sounded like something had broken inside her that could never be fixed. She took a few aimless steps forward.

ÒOh, god. Oh, god, Buffy, what-Ó

Willow gently caught hold of BuffyÕs arm and steered her towards the couch.

ÒHeÕs dead, Will.Ó

They both sat down slowly as Willow spoke gently:

ÒWho? Angel? Did you fight-Ó

Buffy was staring at some invisible point near the center of the floor.

ÒGiles.Ó

ÒWhat? What did Giles do?Ó

Buffy raised her head again, turned to look at Willow, but her eyes still didnÕt quite focus.

ÒWill, Giles is dead. HeÕs a vampire. They turned him. They killed him.Ó

Even hearing the words, it didnÕt quite make sense at first. And then, slowly, it sank in. Willow went cold all over.

ÒOh. No. No.Ó Suddenly, she rallied herself, ÒNo!Ó she turned urgently towards Buffy, grabbed her arm and tugged on it, ÒYou must be wrong. A mistake. Bad lighting. Not, not Giles. He wouldnÕt- heÕs too-Ó

For the first time that night, Buffy focused, and her eyes went hard.

ÒIÕm not. HeÕs dead, Will. I saw him myself. I know what I saw. And-Ó Buffy looked down at her hands. ÒAnd Jenny, too.Ó

This second blow hit hard, blasting through what little was left of her ruined defenses. She opened her mouth to try to speak again, beg for it not to be true, but instead, all that came out was a sob. And then, once the tears started, she couldnÕt get them to stop. She felt like someone had just stabbed a knife through her chest.

BuffyÕs strong arms wrapped around her, crushing her almost painfully against her. She knew she should be getting ahold of herself, comforting Buffy, something, but all she could do was cry, cry like she might die of it, like every drop of liquid in her body was escaping down her cheeks, and her chest burned for air because all she could do was gasp between sobs.

This couldnÕt be real. Not Giles. Not Jenny. How could she lose the two people sheÕd come to look up to, to count on, more than almost anyone else in her life? God, Giles had been there for her more than her own parents ever had.

And then, a horrible thought hit her.

ÒOh, god,Ó she gasped, ÒBuffy, Xander! And- and Cordelia, and Oz! We- we need to warn them.Ó

She looked up at Buffy through the blur of tears and saw her friendÕs eyes were still dry, although her shoulder was soaked. Buffy nodded. 

ÒYou... think youÕre up for it?Ó

Willow sat up straight and drew in a deep breath, swiping the sleeve of her pajama tops over her eyes.

ÒYeah. Yeah, I am.Ó

Buffy waited for her in the living room as she snuck back up the stairs and changed, and then they both slipped out into the grey haze of near-dawn. It was a short walk to XanderÕs, where the threw rocks at his window until he appeared at the window, then joined them outside. Next, OzÕs place. Then, CordeliaÕs. They were silent in their mission, and the others picked up on their silence and merely followed them all the way back to the school.

They settled in their usual places in the quiet library. Willow pointedly tried not to look at anything. Buffy seemed to be looking at everything.

Cordelia was the first to break the silence.

ÒSo, weÕre all here. WhereÕs Giles? DoesnÕt he like, live here?Ó

For a moment, Willow was uncomfortably sure that Buffy was going to kill her. She went completely still, her eyes drilling into Cordelia like lasers.

ÒWhat?Ó Cordelia said, looking put out.

Willow couldnÕt keep it in any longer.

ÒHeÕs dead.Ó

Now all eyes, except BuffyÕs, who was again avoiding eye contact with anything, were on her.

ÒHe- he got- heÕs a vampire now.Ó

Again, Cordelia: ÒHeÕs what?Ó She looked even more put out than before. ÒLook, is this some kind of a joke? I mean, hello, itÕs like, oÕ dark thirty in the morning, this is not fu-Ó

Buffy backhanded her.

She hit the shelves, bounced to the floor, then scrambled to her feet with one hand pressed to her face. Everyone just stared, wide-eyed, too shocked to move.

ÒHoly shit,Ó Oz said, ÒHe really is, isnÕt he?Ó

Willow nodded, the tears pressing against her eyes again.

ÒOh, god,Ó Cordelia said, ÒI think you dislocated my jaw.Ó

Willow squeezed her eyes shut and then Oz was there, his arms so warm around her, holding her tight and keeping her safe.

ÒWhat do we do?Ó he said.

The darkness was comforting. Willow just drifted on it, feeling a slow trickle of tears running down her cheeks, floating on the sensation of OzÕs embrace, the only thing that really seemed real.

ÒWe need to stop him,Ó Buffy said, softly. ÒHe could be dangerous, with all the Watcher stuff he knows. We should stake out his house, and here. He might come back, and then, then we can-Ó

Kill him.

The unspoken words hung in the void around them, and no one spoke for a long, long time. Oz was quietly rocking her, his face pressed to her hair. She could feel his breath against her ear, and feel it cooling the wet tracks on her cheek.

After awhile, she had to open her eyes. Buffy was leaning against the bookshelves. Cordelia was sitting at the head of the table, down near the computer. She looked slightly spaced out, but she was still gingerly probing her jaw with her finger tips. Xander was standing, a few feet away from the table. Just standing. Like maybe heÕd forgotten how to move.

ÒXander?Ó Willow said, gently, and felt Oz lift his head a bit, shift his arms.

Xander didnÕt react.

ÒXander?Ó she tried again. He moved a bit, then finally turned to look at her, the same dead shell-shock in his eyes sheÕd seen in BuffyÕs earlier that day.

ÒHuh?Ó

Oz released her and she walked around the table, and reached for him. But before she could embrace him, he flinched all over and took a quick step away.

ÒDonÕt.Ó

She looked up at him, pained.

ÒOh- ok.Ó

He looked a bit apologetic, turned and lifted a hand, nearly touched her face, then stopped himself.

ÒI just, I just need... need to... not be touched right now.Ó

Her vision blurred again, and she nodded. 

ÒOk. Ok, thatÕs fine. I understand.Ó

There was another painful silence, and then he spoke again.

ÒI think... I think IÕm gonna go. Yeah. Go.Ó

And then he made for the door at a slow, ambling, pace, wavering slightly, like a drunk. They all watched him go, and then Oz, for once, spoke first.

ÒGiles was a good man. I think... itÕs important we donÕt forget that.Ó

Willow turned back to face the group and saw Buffy was crying again, silently, just dampness on her cheeks, sticking her eyelashes together in dark clumps. Her arms were crossed, though, and her expression was resolved.

ÒHe was. And now- heÕs gone. And thereÕs a demon in his body. And weÕve got to stop it. Because itÕs the right thing to do.Ó

ÒBut... Buffy. Can you?Ó Willow asked.

She looked down, then looked back up, her eyes hard again.

ÒI have to. And I will. And Angel, too. Because nothingÕs gonna bring him back, and too many lives have been lost.Ó

Willow felt her heart break all over again, but all she said was:

ÒGood. ThatÕs good.Ó

***

Chapter Five

The hem of a burgundy silk skirt lightly caressed the floor as Drusilla approached the little cd player and switched it on. She adored Rasputina, the strings and the lovely Gothic lyrics were simply dreamy.

"Once you're well, we're going dancing, Spike," she purred, dancing around her wheelchair bound lover and teasing his shoulders with her long fingertips. She growled, and smirked playful, as he grabbed her hand in his and kissed it, drawing her index finger into his mouth.
 
"That we will, Pet... an' we'll start with a tango on the Slayer's grave."
 
"Mmmmmm." Her midnight eyes flashed with a hint of gold. "Remember during the Boxer Rebellion when you killed your first Slayer?" Dru moved away from him a bit, putting her hand to her lower abdomen and danced suggestively to the music. "You were right about it being an aphrodisiac. And we'll have more again, and ride on, and on, and on..."
 
"Dru, you're insatiable," Spike grinned.
 
She wrinkled her nose at him and continued dancing, rolling her hips and swinging her other arm above her head as though it were a lasso. Then she stopped dancing, running her free hand over her head and down her body.

"Spike, I wonder what'd happen if we turned a Slayer?"
 
"Drusilla, dear," a new voice sounded from the doorway, and she turned to see Angelus framed in a square of light, a gunmetal door sliding shut behind him. "It's bad manners to play with your food."
 
She squealed in glee and prowled over to embrace her Sire, then snarled playfully at him.
 
"Daddy's home!" Drusilla ran a hand through Angelus' thick black hair, oblivious to Spike tensing in jealousy. "What have you brought your kitten?" She purred, rubbing her body up against his.
 
Angelus smirked and slipped one hand into the pocket of his trench coat, withdrawing a tiny rag doll in Romanian costume, which he presented to the waif-like woman.
 
Dru plucked it from his hands and danced about the factory with it, holding its tiny hands in hers.
 
"I'm going to call you Daisy Mae," she sang, "'cause you're as pretty as a flower... but I can't have flowers because they always die." Then here eyes went wide, and she crumpled to the floor, clutching the dolly to her chest and whimpering in pain. A flash of motion had registered on her third eye. "I see it..."
 
Through the pain and the confusion, she heard Angelus' voice.
 
"Tell me what you see, Drusilla."
 
"Rain... It's a rainy night... They're frightened... and cold... nowhere to run, nowhere to hide." She returned to the present as the sturdy metal door started sliding open again and turned to face their visitors.
 
They were two young vamps, newly turned.
 
"Oh, Daddy," Drusilla whispered, approaching the couple, "look who's come to visit." She caught sight of the well toned biceps on the male and reached out a hand with undisguised lust in her eyes. "Look at this one... he's built like a god!"
 
The female leaned possessively against the male, switched to game face, and hissed at Dru while the male simply stood there smirking and fondling one of the female's breasts.
 
"Mine," the fledgling female warned.
 
"Good girl, Jenny," Angelus chuckled cruelly. "I knew you could do it." Then he swaggered over to stand nose to nose with the male. "This will do better than kill her - it'll devastate her, won't it, Rupert?" He slapped the male on the shoulder. "After all, what good's a Slayer without her Watcher?"
 
"Not a damn bit of good," the fledgling male smirked. "And the name's 'Ripper' now."
 
Angelus laughed out loud, not bothering to disguise the contempt he felt toward this interloper.
 
"Oh, no no no no no.... Not so fast. You're gonna have to * earn* that name... Rupert."
 
Ripper glared at Angelus, but dared not challenge him just yet.
 
"We need a place to stay," Jenny explained. "The Slayer..."
 
"We had a melee with the little tart," Ripper smirked. "She looks like she'd be a hell of a shag."
 
"She was. And you can thank * her* for your new life style." Angelus took a blood bag from the cooler nearest the stairway and bit in, the salty coppery flavored liquid oozing out and into his mouth. It was life and nectar, invigorating... and best of all, it annoyed the hell out of Rupert who was watching with mounting hunger. "Now get out or I'll see you kissing daylight."
 
"Oh, * please* let them stay," Drusilla pleaded. "It's nearly Christmas day and the family should be together. We could have dinner with all the trimmings and a fine fat blood pudding for desert!"
 
Angelus sighed.
 
 "All right, they can stay... but * only* a few nights, and that's final."
 
He stalked out, and Ripper flopped down in a nearby chair, pulling Jenny onto his lap and kissing her savagely. He paused, leering at Jenny, then glanced at Spike.
 
"He always that anal?"
 
"Only every bloody minute of the day."
 
"Hrmph." Ripper gave a hideous grin. "I'm not as dumb as he looks, you know." Then he returned his attention to Jenny.
 
Dru watched them, fascinated by the shape of Ripper's face, his jawline, the way his tongue darted into view, the way a few stray chest hairs peeped out above the collar of his shirt. He was beautiful, primally sexy, and she wanted him.
 
She was so taken with watching the vamped ex-Watcher that she barely caught the whisper of rubber against concrete as Spike's wheelchair slid up beside her.
 
"Welcome aboard, Ripper," Spike grinned. "It's nice to have some fresh blood around again." He glanced up at Drusilla. "Um, Dru? Show Jenny the guest room, would you, Pet?"
 
Jenny pouted, then kissed Ripper very quickly and very deeply before getting up and following Drusilla out of the common room.
 
"You're part of the family now," Dru reflected happily. "My great-great-great-great-great-great-grandniece! We'll have such fun together hunting and prowling and dancing in the moonlight." She skipped off hand in hand with the fledgling, ready for the new adventures that awaited them.
 
"Yeah, great," Jenny sighed, "whatever."

***

Chapter Six

Cordelia sighed and crossed her arms against the early morning chill. Here she was, leaving school, to go home, to get ready to go--to school. Her life was really just not going as planned today. And what the hell was up with Giles dying? WhatÕd he go and do that for? DidnÕt he realize how much trouble he was causing?

She sighed again, forcefully, exhibiting to the whole world just how much duress she was under at this moment. Because hello, without Giles around, there was just that much more research that theyÕd all be expecting HER to do. Great. Plus, there was now a much larger chance that sheÕd be eaten by a vampire, given that Giles, he of no life, had been largely responsible for ensuring that the vampire population of Sunnydale was kept in check.

And besides-

Whoa.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Was that Xander?

She turned around and stared across the street. Yup. That was Xander. And dear god, for once, he was actually looking totally hot, and not just his usual inexplicable geeky hot. And he looked cool. And, oh my god, he had a gun. A very big gun.

She scurried across the street.

ÒXander!Ó

Ok, rude. He didnÕt even  look up.  She practically had to jog to catch up with him, and how dorky did that make her look, anyway?

ÒXander, wait up!Ó

She came up alongside of him. He didnÕt even break stride, just walked along, staring straight ahead, gun resting against his shoulder.

ÒMan, what is with you? Are you, like, possessed? Having a soldier boy relapse or something?Ó

ÒCordy. Get away from me.Ó
ÔOh, well, thatÕs not what you said last night,Ó she said, half-joking. Her self-satisfied grin made her jaw hurt again. Stupid Buffy. Thinks that just cause sheÕs the Slayer, she can hit anybody.

Xander stopped and was suddenly right in front of her, glaring down at her. She shrank back a bit.

ÒWhoa. Psycho much?Ó

ÒJust go.Ó

Her eyes widened in pained shock.

ÒWell, fine. Whatever. Where are you going, anyway?Ó

He walked away, but called over his shoulder, ÒTo get the bastard that killed him.Ó

***

Buffy opened the door to find Cordelia peering at herself in the glass of the adjacent window. She didnÕt even look up.

ÒCordelia?Ó Buffy finally said when it became apparent that she wasnÕt going to.

Cordelia glanced up, then back at her reflection for a moment.

ÒGod, look at that bruise. IÕm going to look like a case for the local womenÕs shelter all day, thanks.Ó

Buffy began to close the door, and walk away, but stopped when CordeliaÕs hand blocked the door from shutting.

ÒWait! Wait, I- I saw Xander. On the way home.Ó

Buffy turned back to her, really not wanting to deal with Cordelia right now.

ÒOk. You saw Xander. And? This is worth my time because?Ó

CordeliaÕs brow knotted.

ÒI think heÕs gone nuts.Ó

Buffy frowned, and a tendril of cold fear worked its way through her heart.

ÒNuts?Ó

ÒYeah,Ó Cordelia said, her eyes wide. ÒHe had this big gun, and he was acting all, all... macho... And he said something about... getting the bastard who killed ÔhimÕ.Ó

The trickle of fear turned to a flood of icy horror.

ÒOh, god, no.Ó

ÒBuffy?Ó Willow said, coming up behind her. ÒCordy? WhatÕs going on?Ó

Buffy pulled away from the door and dashed up the stairs, calling back down to Willow.

ÒXanderÕs gone after Angel.Ó

She burst into her room and hauled out her weapons chest, quickly digging for a few quick necessities for a rescue mission. Crosses, holy water, and a single stake. She doubted that sheÕd be killing any vamps this time around. Just get in, get Xander-the-idiot out, and go. She just brushed past Willow on her way out the door, but her friend trailed her down the stairs.

ÒBuffy! What are you doing?Ó

ÒIÕm going to go and get him. DonÕt worry, Will,Ó she said, as she stormed out into the morning sunlight, ÒIÕm not gonna do anything dumb.Ó

Willow stopped following her when she reached the sidewalk.

ÒBe careful! And- And bring him back safe!Ó

Buffy stopped, then looked back over her shoulder, and saw Willow standing at the end of her walk, looking completely alone and forlorn.

ÒI will.Ó

Willow nodded, but Buffy could see her twisting her hands together in agitation. She felt like there was something more she should say, but nothing sprang to mind, so eventually, she just turned and walked away, feeling the stake, rough and familiar, press against her back with every step.

***

Chapter Seven

Ripper leaned his chair back on two legs and surveyed his surroundings. The place was a bit of a mess, but it was spacious, at least. Pretty well sealed off from stray sunlight, too, from the looks of it. Not so sure about the company here, though. Angelus would no doubt prove to be a bit of a drag. He let his gaze wander over to Spike. He was a bit more promising.

ÒGot a smoke?Ó he inquired, and immediately, Spike dug one out, and handed it over, then held out a lighter. Ripper took his first deep drag, held it in his lungs for a moment and then let it out with a heartfelt sigh.

ÒOh, thatÕs good. DonÕt know why I denied myself for so long.Ó

He tossed the lighter back to Spike, who caught it and quirked his brow a bit.

ÒNo reason to now.Ó
ÒSupÕose not,Ó Ripper said, savoring the moment.

It ended too soon.

The door to the factory banged open and a swath of sunlight poured into the room, vivisected down the center by a dark silhouette. Ripper threw a hand in front of his eyes and staggered back, knocking his chair over, and losing the cigarette somewhere on the floor.

The figure from the doorway strode into the factory.

It was vengeance personified... in the form of Xander Harris. It should have been laughable.

Actually, Ripper decided, as the shock of the sunlight faded and he was able to assure himself he was out of any direct rays, it was laughable. The boy looked somewhere between angry enough to pop and scared enough to throw up. He was holding a gun high in one hand. For a moment, he looked around wildly, his hair flapping as he moved his head, and then his eyes focused on Ripper.

Ripper grinned.

ÒXander, dear boy. It seems you werenÕt paying much attention to the lecture on ways to kill vampires. You see, bullets donÕt-Ó

In less time than it would take a human heart to beat, Xander had the gun cocked and braced on his shoulder. A second beat, and he squeezed the trigger.

The hail of bullets came in low and sweeping, cutting across RipperÕs abdomen like a sword. He howled in agony as his world came down to nothing but pain and darkness. He vaguely felt himself hit the floor, and for a moment, he couldnÕt even move.

Footsteps crossed the cement floor, echoing loudly in the empty spaces.

Ripper scrambled to his feet, clutching at his gut, with one hand, and the side of the table with the other. Slick, cool blood oozed around his fingers, but he could already feel the wounds healing.

ÒLittle ponce,Ó he snarled, going full game face. Xander readied the gun again and fired, and this time, the bullets strafed across his shoulder and chest. The force of it knocked him back. As he tried to get his bearings back, he heard the roar of gunfire again, followed by a bellow of pain that sounded like Angel.

Suddenly, there were cool hands on his shoulder, helping him up.

ÒRipper!Ó

Jenny, then.

He grabbed her arm and together they staggered back to their feet.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Angel also getting back up. Xander was standing in the patch of sunlight, still holding his gun at the ready. Ripper stalked forward, gun be damned, that little shit was going to pay. He heard Angel and Drusilla and Jenny all closing in as well.

Xander fired again, wildly, trying to take down all four of them at once, no doubt, but only managing to catch Ripper once more in the shoulder. He did hear Jenny and Dru cry out, though, but it was unimportant. He had plans to teach this child a thing or two about vengeance.

The boy had the guts to look him straight in the eye as he approached, and the gun was steady in his hands as he leveled it at RipperÕs neck. Decapitation, now, that *would* do the trick. Ripper would never let it happen, of course. At the moment XanderÕs finger twitched, he lunged forward and a bit to the side, feeling the heat of a bullet or two as they whined past his ear, and then he felt the far more satisfying sensation of firm flesh and bone colliding with his own.

For an agonizing moment, he and the boy grappled in the full sunlight, and then, with a shove, he toppled them both to the hard cement floor and out of the burning brilliance. 

Xander was squirming beneath him, and the sensation flared through him. The heat, the life, in that body. The power in the blood he could all but hear singing in those veins. Xander was shoving at him, ineffectually. One of his hands was at RipperÕs shoulder, the other at his waist. Ripper snarled and snatched first the wrist of the hand at his waist, and then the one at his shoulder, and jerked both of the boyÕs hands over his head, holding them there with one hand, pinning him to the floor with his hips, and twining their legs together. 

He could feel the chest beneath his own heaving, probably barely able to get enough breath under the weight of his body. XanderÕs eyes were wide, only inches beneath his, and his mouth gaped open as he struggled for breath.

ÒIdiot boy,Ó Ripper sighed across his lips, close enough to kiss him, ÒYou really think you could have killed me? YouÕre useless, Xander. You always were. And now Buffy will probably come here, to try and save you, and you know what? SheÕll die, Xander. Because, letÕs face it. ThereÕs one of her and five of us, and sheÕll never be able to kill me, or Angelus, because she doesnÕt understand, does she? That weÕre not them.Ó

ÒBastard,Ó Xander hissed, trying to look brave, but the pain in his eyes told a different story.

Ripper just smiled.

ÒIn any case, you wonÕt be around to see it happen. Perhaps that will be a small mercy to you? Not that I care about mercy. At the moment, IÕm just hungry.Ó

He bent his head down, found the smooth skin of XanderÕs neck, and gently ran his tongue across it. The body beneath his stilled and stiffened, and he could feel his pulse racing still faster.

ÒAfraid, Xander?Ó he whispered against the damp flesh, feeling the shiver. ÒI was too.Ó

He let his fangs just lightly caress the skin over the jugular, feeling the pulsing heat call to him, and just enjoying the sensation for a moment, more sensual than anything sexual heÕd ever done. He could smell the salty tang of tears, and watched as one drop rolled slowly over XanderÕs jaw. He caught it with his tongue.

ÒWhat? Not begging for your life?Ó

Xander spoke, his voice rough with tears.

ÒJust fucking do it already.Ó

Ripper pulled back a bit, looked down again into the boyÕs damp, defiant eyes.

ÒBeg.Ó

ÒNever.Ó

Ripper shook his head slowly. No, no, that would be no fun at all. He slowly tightened his grip on XanderÕs wrists, feeling his bones shift, and watching as pain twisted his features.

ÒCome on, now,Ó he said, his voice gentle and cajoling. ÒHumor me.Ó

He felt a bone snap. Xander gasped, then said, ÒNo.Ó

ÒReally, Xander, there are two ways to do this. The easy way, where you do as I say, and die quickly and easily, or the hard way, where you keep up this foolishness and suffer first. Not that the idea of making you suffer isnÕt attractive.Ó

XanderÕs long lashes fluttered shut, and Ripper could feel him making an effort to regulate his breathing. 

Ripper bounded to his feet, dragging Xander with him by his wrists and his tee-shirt and he slammed the boy against one of the nearby support pillars, pinning him there again with his body, still holding his hands immobile above his head. Xander kept his eyes shut, kept trying to keep his breathing level.

With his free hand, Ripper reached around behind the pillar, searching amongst the stacked debris there until his hand hit on a small implement. A screwdriver, as it happened, he saw when he glanced down at it. Perfect.

He softly slid the long metal rod up underneath XanderÕs shirt, trailing it back and forth lightly over his ribs.

ÒCome on, now, Xander. LetÕs hear it.Ó

Xander let his breath rush out, and he was trembling harder than ever. Ripper could literally smell the terror on him, and it was doing wild things to him. But Xander didnÕt beg.

Ripper dragged the phillips-head down lower, tracing small designs over the soft flesh on XanderÕs flank. He angled it up, nearly perpendicular to his body. The air beneath the boyÕs shirt felt blazingly warm on his room-temperature skin. Xander was panting, now, frantic in his fear. But silent.

ÒI always knew you were far braver than you were smart, but really, Xander, I thought youÕd know when you were beat.Ó

He began to apply pressure, feeling the skinÕs resistance pushing back. Someone behind him made a small sound, and he realized he had an audience. He didnÕt bother to look back at the other vampires. As long as they stayed out of his way, he couldnÕt care less what they did.

He pressed a bit harder, caught the first metallic scent of blood, mingling with the scent of the sweat that was now coating the boyÕs entire body.

And then, suddenly, there was a shout behind him, and then the sound of combat.

ÒDamn it,Ó he muttered, glancing back over his shoulder.

The three other mobile vampires were standing in a loose ring around Buffy. He had to grin, though, at the sight of his Slayer, facing them all down. Jenny was the first to move, coming at her from behind. Buffy clearly heard her approach a mile away, and spun a quick, neat roundhouse kick at her, sending her flying to her side on the floor, stunned.

Angel immediately took advantage of the SlayerÕs moment of unbalance after the attack, jumping in and grabbing her by the shoulder, trying to knock her off her feet. Buffy shook him off and slammed her hand against his arm--no, not just her hand. Angel staggered back with a scream, frantically clawing his shirt off. Holy water. Ripper could see the small shards of glass from the bottle still embedded in his arm, and his skin was red and steaming. Drusilla was distracted by her injured sire, and ran to his side, and suddenly Buffy was coming right at him, unchallenged, already reaching behind herself for her stake.

Ripper snickered and released Xander, hearing him fall behind him, but now all focused on the charging Slayer. He was ready for her first move, easily blocking the kick, and then ducking the punch that followed. All things heÕd done with her in training, only now... Now he was just as strong, just as quick. 

The fight was fast and brutal, but in the end, he got her pinned down, trapped between him and yet another pillar, with his right hand tight around her throat, and his left braced above her head. Her stake was long since lost somewhere beneath some debris. She hadnÕt been giving it her all, he knew, and now she was paying for it.

ÒGiles,Ó she gasped, between panted breaths, grasping uselessly at his grip.

He shook his head.ÓI thought I trained you better than that,Ó he said, making his voice sound mournful. Then, he just laughed. ÒSeems not. Not that it matters. Your loss is my gain.Ó

But just as he was beginning to feel her lose consciousness, it all went to hell.

The roar of gunfire was almost drown out this time by the intensity of the pain. It hurt so bad, he didnÕt know where heÕd been hit, he didnÕt know that heÕd fallen back away from Buffy. He didnÕt know anything until an endless moment later when he opened his eyes and saw Xander, with fire in his eyes and the gun in his hand, and realized that he was now leaning against one of the packing crates, and that he was clutching his left hand in his right, and dear god, all he could really see of it was a bloody mess, and how could it possibly hurt this bad? Being shot through the gut hadnÕt hurt this bad. And there went Buffy, dragging Xander out the door, and no one even tried to stop them, because the other vampires were all still down for the count: Jenny unconscious, Spike AWOL, Angel burnt and Dru fawning over him. 

He slid down into a sitting position against the crate, clutching his hand.

***

Chapter Eight

Buffy punched him once sheÕd dragged him out of the factory and into the sunlight, and it made him fall on his broken arm, and for a moment, heÕd nearly passed out. But he shook off the darkness and made it back to his feet, fighting vertigo and still trying to get back inside the factory. But she grabbed him again, and he went down to his knees again, and they were both shouting at each other.

ÒDamn it, Buffy, we could stop them, theyÕre vulnerable, right now! We canÕt just let them-Ó

ÒXander, will you just shut up! ItÕs not worth it!Ó

And then he saw that she was crying, and it stopped him.

ÒGod, Xander,Ó she screamed, through her tears, ÒI canÕt lose you! *I canÕt lose you!*Ó

And then, suddenly, all he could do was fall into her arms, and they clutched each other like they might die if they let go, and they cried in each otherÕs arms, for all theyÕd lost, and all they could still lose.

Once theyÕd finally cried all they could cry, they stood up, and walked away in complete silence... but Buffy didnÕt let go of his hand until the nurse at the ER gently led her away so that the doctor could set his arm.

He stayed mostly wordless through the whole procedure, only speaking when spoken to, and then in listless one or two word replies. The doctors had treated him like a child abuse victim, which was fine by him, whatever. HeÕd gone through that spiel with social services workers enough times before to know by rote all the answers necessary to get out as fast as possible.

So, he got through all that, and came out on the other side with a cast and sling and a sample packet of fairly potent painkillers. They hadnÕt even noticed the small scab on his side. It probably wouldnÕt even leave a scar. And yet... 

He brushed a fingertip lightly over the spot again, for what had to be the twentieth time, as he and Buffy walked out of the ER. She glanced at him, and he knew that she had noticed, but she didnÕt comment. Instead, she just reached out and laid her hand on his good arm, and moved to stand a bit closer as they stood on the curb and watched CordeliaÕs cross and garlic adorned car pull up.

Buffy got the door for him, and gestured for him to get in ahead of her. He was too tired to protest the chivalry treatment, and the pain meds were kicking in, filling him with the usual expected dizzy sleepiness. He slumped in the front passengerÕs side seat and fumbled with the seat belt until Cordelia sighed and reach across him, pulling it on herself.

ÒJeez, Xander, what are you on?Ó

ÒVicodin,Ó he said.

ÒOh, ok then,Ó she said. ÒWhere to?Ó

ÒMy place,Ó Buffy said. ÒMomÕs probably gone in to the gallery by now. Did Willow go to school?Ó

ÒYeah,Ó Cordy said as she guided the car away from the curb. ÒSo did Oz. They said something about telling Snyder that Giles is on some emergency trip to Alaska.Ó

ÒHmm...Ó Buffy said. ÒCreative.Ó

Xander slumped against the door and shut his eyes, tuning out the girlÕs voices. Alaska. Right. Sure. He was in Alaska.

In his mind, he saw a flash of dead green eyes, and heard GilesÕs voice whispering horrible truths in his ear.

He jolted awake suddenly, just as Buffy said, ÒThanks for waiting for us, Cordy. DonÕt know how my Mom would have reacted to me calling her in the middle of a school day to pick us up from the ER.Ó

ÒHeÕs not in Alaska. HeÕs dead,Ó Xander said, turning his head to see Buffy leaning between the two front seats. She looked over at him.

ÒI know that,Ó she said.

ÒDo you?Ó he asked, looking at her, hard, searching her face, and her eyes. He could still see tear tracks on her cheeks, and faint red marks where the bruise left by GilesÕs hand was fading.

ÒOf course I do, Xander. I saw him myself.Ó

ÒYou have to *know,* Buffy. You really, really have to know. Because if you donÕt, heÕll kill you.Ó

She stared at him, and he watched as the emotion played across her face: Shock at his bold statement. A brief flash of that Slayer rage that always lurked beneath the surface. Pain. And then, finally, just quiet pensiveness. He reached across his chest with his free hand and gently closed it around her own hand, which was resting on the top of the seat near his shoulder. Then, they just looked into each otherÕs eyes.

ÒOk, weÕre here,Ó Cordy said, breaking the moment. ÒLook, IÕve really got to get to school, so if you guys are gonna live and all, IÕm gonna be going.Ó

For a moment, neither of them broke their eye contact. Then, Buffy seemed to shake herself, and she turned towards Cordelia.

ÒRight. Sure. Thanks, Cordy.Ó

Buffy climbed out of the car, and opened his door, helping him out as well.

ÒBye!Ó Cordy called, just before Buffy pushed the door shut, and then she pulled away from the curb and drove off. Buffy laid her hand on his arm to guide him towards the door, and it felt shocking small and fragile. He glanced over at her, and realized for the first time in ages how small she really was, and, with a force, the thought hit him that they were just a bunch of kids. Teenagers. The fate of the entire planet may well rest in the hands of five seventeen-year-olds.

Buffy unlocked her door and he stepped inside the house, allowing her to shepherd him onto the living room couch.

ÒNeed anything?Ó she asked, ÒI guess I could do the food thing, if youÕre interested.Ó

He shook his head and lay down, feeling the muzziness of the drugs again.

ÒNah,Ó he said, softly, ÒThink IÕll just, you know, pass out for awhile.Ó

ÒOk. Sounds... relaxing. I just might jump on the bandwagon there, and join you.Ó

ÒBuff,Ó he said, as his eyes drifted shut almost of their own accord.

ÒYeah?Ó she said, and he felt her hand again, gently brushing his hair back.

He kept his eyes comfortably shut as he spoke.

ÒI trust you, ok? I just--IÕm scared. And. I really donÕt want... you know, to lose anyone else.Ó

ÒI know,Ó she whispered.

ÒIt isnÕt fair,Ó he said, and he meant to say more, but at that moment, even breathing seemed like a lot of work.

ÒI know,Ó Buffy said again, and just before he drifted off, he felt her lips brushing a single, soft kiss across his forehead. ÒSleep now. Just... get better.Ó

***

Chapter Nine

*SheÕs amazing.*

She drew his attention away from the papers heÕd been sorting through. She was kneeling on the floor of GilesÕs living room, volumes of dusty old books scattered around her, a notebook on her lap. Her red hair hung down in a veil around her face, and her soft pink sweater embraced her curves.

The corner of his mouth turned up as he watched her small hand reach out and shift one of the giant books, then move back to jot something into the notebook. He couldnÕt *not* look at her. His Willow. So brave, so strong.

As if sheÕd sensed his eyes on her, she turned her head, pushed her hair back behind her ear and regarded him.

ÒOz?Ó

He just shrugged one shoulder, let his smile stretch momentarily wider, then turned back to the papers.

Legal stuff, mostly, stuff like the lease for the loft, financial records, GilesÕs birth certificate, and his will. For now, of course, they would wait on the will thing. Snyder had bought the Alaska excuse with a snort and a muttered, ÒThat is just like him.Ó

Oz slid the first set of papers back into the file, noted what and where they were in his own notebook, and then opened the next folder.

Watcher Council stuff. Correspondences, addresses, phone numbers, names.

ÒHmph,Ó he said.

ÒWhat is it?Ó Willow called, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stand and move over to stand behind him, with one hand resting like a light bird on his shoulder.

ÒWatcher stuff,Ó he said, holding the first few pages up to her. She took them and they both looked over it.

ÒWhat should we do? Should we... tell them?Ó

Oz shrugged again, as he read over a letter from the Council that berated (in a very proper and British way, of course) GilesÕs handling of the Angel situation. Not the after-losing-the-soul thing. Just the Angel thing in general. Seems the council wanted him dead and gone two years ago.

He turned his head, dropped a kiss on the hand on his shoulder, and then looked up at her, loving everything about her, even the worry in her eyes, and the way her expressive brows drew together.

ÒI dunno. We need to talk to Buffy about it.Ó

Willow nodded, then set down the papers she was holding and sighed. He caught a whiff of the tears that had been so close to the surface all day today, and he reached up and touched her cheek.

ÒItÕll get better,Ó he said.

She shook her head, bunching her lips together, and the first of this latest onslaught of tears brimmed in her eyes. He pushed the chair back and stood in one fluid movement, and pulled Willow into his arms, gently cradling her head in one hand and guiding her face to his shoulder. She clutched him tight and sniffled against his neck.

He shut his eyes.

And then, someone kicked the door in. Willow jumped back with a startled shriek and Oz spun towards the door, just as Giles lunged forward and was immediately thrown back by an invisible field of energy.

Oz knelt down, slowly, and reached under the desk for the crossbow, all the while taking in the sight of the vampire who was standing at the threshold. He didnÕt really look any different.

Willow was walking slowly towards the door. Oz leveled the crossbow at GilesÕs chest. He was still wearing the pinstriped shirt and corduroys heÕd had on yesterday, except the shirt was spattered with blood and unbuttoned halfway down his chest. And, he wasnÕt wearing his glasses. 

And then, of course, there was the whole, evil, vampire face, yellow eyes thing he was doing, which he hadnÕt been doing a second ago. And the fact that he smelled... dead.

Willow stopped a few feet in front of him, her hands slightly out from her sides, obviously terrified. And angry.

ÒYou canÕt come in,Ó she said, her voice level and calm.

ÒBitch,Ó the Giles-thing hissed, in the same low, intense, cultured tones Oz remembered from countless library rendezvous, ÒYou canÕt just cast a man out of his own home.Ó

ÒYouÕre not a man.Ó

Oz could practically feel her trembling as she swallowed hard, and then drew herself up to her full height.

ÒYouÕre a demon. And you killed Giles. And--And I--I wonÕt have that.Ó

Yellow demon eyes narrowed and focused on Willow and Oz saw his chance. Calmly, without making any moves that may alert the vampire, he pulled the trigger. Willow flinched as much as Giles did when the vampire staggered back. For a heartbeat, Oz was sure--*sure*--his bolt had found its mark.

And then, with an inhuman roar, Giles slammed his fist against the invisible barrier, backed off, and vanished up the stairs.

Willow fell to her knees, and Oz dropped the crossbow and reached her side in seconds, grasping her tightly. For a moment, he thought she was crying again, but when he lifted his gaze to her face, he found her eyes dry, staring out the door, and her jaw clenched in a very un-Willow-like snarl. Rage. His Willow was shaking with rage.

ÒOz?Ó she said, softly, after a moment.

ÒYeah?Ó he said. 

ÒA little to the right next time.Ó

He was silent for a beat, then he glanced out into the empty night.

ÒYeah.Ó

***

Jenny watched, amused, as Ripper stormed back up the stairs, yanking a crossbow bolt from his chest and tossing it aside as he came.

ÒDamn kids,Ó he growled, and she laughed.

ÒThey lock you out, Ripper?Ó she asked, curling herself around his arm and following him down the sidewalk.

ÒItÕs my flat. They had no right-Ó

For a timeless moment, he was the flustered librarian again. She pulled his head down and kissed him deeply, probing his mouth thoroughly with her tongue until she felt a measure of the tension flow out of his body, and he began to return the kiss, turning them and pushing her back a step or two against a lamp post. She waited until he was really getting interested in the proceedings, then she slipped out under his arm and skipped a few steps away.

ÒIÕve got an idea. We could go into town. Get some... things,Ó she said, arching a brow and grinning.

He pushed himself away from the lamp and prowled towards her, an almost playful glint in his eyes. Almost.

ÒWe could. Or... we could stay here... and *do* some... things...Ó he caught her wrists and wrapped both their arms behind her back, lowering his lips to hers again. She allowed the kiss for a little while, then tugged away.

ÒBut I want to go to town,Ó she pouted.

ÒJenny-Ó he started.

She pulled a little harder against his grip and found he was holding her tighter than sheÕd thought. His eyes flashed at her escape attempt, and he went to game face, growling deep and low in his chest.

ÒRipper-Ó she began, then changed tactics, ÒCome on, now, who sired who, here? I think that makes me the boss, all right?Ó she said, trying to keep her tone light and teasing, relaxing her body to a pose of submission. For a moment, he tightened his grip, pushed her back a step or two, and she felt a flash of real fear.

Then, so abruptly it made her stumble, he released her and started walking down the sidewalk towards the center of town. She stood there in the grass for a moment, looking after him, then she trotted to catch up. When she reached his side, he slung his arm around her and pulled her against his side.

ÒLovely night,Ó he said, human-faced again.

ÒYeah,Ó she said after a little while, trying hard to shift gears again.

They walked in silence, until they began to pass the small shops that heralded SunnydaleÕs downtown.

ÒAnything you want, love,Ó he said, ÒItÕs yours.Ó

***

Chapter Ten

Spike looked up at the rumble of the factory door opening and arched his brow in surprise. Well, now. They certainly looked... different.

Jenny was wearing a black leather top that barely covered more than the average bra, a tiny matching skirt, and black boots that came up to nearly her knees. Her navel was pierced with a shining hoop, and encircled with a small tattoo of a dragon biting its tail. Over it all, she wore gauzy, transparent black jacket that reached a bit lower than the skirt itself on her thighs.

Ripper completed their matched set with black leather pants, a white wife beater, and a thick leather bikerÕs jacket adorned with various shining silver hoops and buckles. He wore a thick chain around his neck, and in his left ear was a hoop with a small skull dangling down. The sleeve of the jacket was pushed up a bit on the arm he had around Jenny, and Spike could see a studded leather band around that wrist that matched the studded leather collar around JennyÕs neck.

SpikeÕs brow crept a bit higher, and he intoned, ÒWell, lookee what we have here. Two escapees from the local bikerÕs convention. Been awhile since youÕve been young and hip, has it, ÔRipperÕ?Ó

The newly turned vamp shot him a scathing look, and then he dug into one of the jacketÕs pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He tossed it to Spike.

ÒThat your brand?Ó he asked.

Spike quickly glanced at the label.

ÒSure is.Ó He suddenly felt a bit more charitable. ÒThanks.Ó

Ripper dropped into one of the chairs and pulled Jenny into what was becoming her accustomed place on his lap.

ÒWell, letÕs just say the chap I obtained them from will--no longer be needing them,Ó Ripper said, with an ironic quirk of his brow. He pulled a pair of cigarettes out of his own pack, handed one to Jenny, and lit his own and hers with an expensive-looking chrome Zippo.

Spike huffed a laugh in spite of himself.

ÒYou know, a pitiful taste for too much--Ó he paused, frowned, then said, ÒOr possibly too little--leather aside, you could be all right.Ó

ÒHmm,Ó Ripper mumbled around the cigarette, then plucked it out of his mouth and tapped the ash onto the floor, leaning in to nuzzle JennyÕs neck. Spike rolled his eyes and wondered if he and Dru were that bad.

And then, as though his thoughts alone had conjured her, the factory door rolled open again, and his princess floated in.

ÒDru, baby,Ó he called, and she rolled her head towards him.

ÒMy Spike. ItÕs been so long. And I was cold. And the baby... it screamed so loudly.Ó

He smiled and held out his hand. 

ÒCome here, my pet. IÕve missed you.Ó

She drifted closer to him, swaying back and forth with every step, like a feather floating to the ground. She clasped his hand in her own and drew it up to her lips, but she didnÕt bite or lick, just dragged his fingers over her lips. He watched her fondly, unable to stop a smile from crossing his own lips.

ÒDid you have a good hunt, pet?Ó he said, as her eyes drifted shut and she hummed.

ÒIt was... like a tree...Ó

He grinned.

ÒWas it now?Ó

ÒIt was like a vampire, eating a man. Like most hunts.Ó

Spike frowned as Dru immediately detached from him and flowed off in the direction of the new voice. Angel. He sighed, and again battled back the urge to leap up and kill the bastard. All in good time.

He watched, feeling the rage simmer, as Dru bumped up against her sire, curling her hands into fists around bits of his shirt.

ÒJenny,Ó Angel said. He didnÕt even acknowledge Dru with anything more than an absent hand, laid on the small of her back, but she curled back against that hand and her mouth dropped open in a wide-mouth grin, as though she were in the heights of pleasure. Angel talked on, oblivious. ÒI need to talk to you.Ó

ÒNow?Ó JennyÕs petulant voice drew his attention over to that side of the table. Ripper was game-faced, and his nuzzling seemed to have changed to nibbling. Also, one of his hands was somewhere in JennyÕs lap.

ÒYes. Now.Ó

Angel strode over pulled out the chair at the head of the table, sprawling in it and crossing his feet up on the table. Dru looked after her sire dazedly from where heÕd left her, standing in the middle of the room. Then, like a determined little dust mote, she began to gravitate in his direction. Spike sighed again.

Jenny rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back. 

ÒFine. So talk.Ó

Angel swung his feet back down onto the floor and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

ÒThis little spell of yours. What exactly does it do? And what would one need to do it?Ó

Ripper plucked his cigarette from his mouth and said, ÒSpell?Ó

Jenny glanced back at him, then turned back to Angel.

ÒItÕs an old-style gypsy curse. It restores a vampireÕs soul. If the vampire experiences a moment of true happiness, boom, no more soul. You know all this.Ó

ÒHold up, just a moment,Ó Ripper said, suddenly, Òyou knew this spell? And you didnÕt find it prudent to tell us this little detail?Ó

Jenny shot him an exasperated look. 

ÒItÕs the reason Angel killed me, Ripper. IÕd just figured it out.Ó

But, Spike was still staring hard at Ripper, a bit shocked. That was the first time heÕd seen even a flash, really, of the man Ripper used to be. Any sign at all that Ripper really even remembered or cared about his former life. Hell, even his accent had changed since heÕd been turned.

ÒAnyway,Ó Jenny was saying, ÒYou need an orb of Thesula to serve as a vessel to summon the human soul from the ether. ThatÕs the only rare thing youÕd need. The rest of the stuffÕs a dime a dozen at any herbal store in the world.Ó

ÒHow many are there?Ó

ÒWhat? Orbs? I dunno. Maybe fifty or so left in the world? TheyÕre really not used for much.Ó

ÒGot one in my office,Ó Ripper said, firmly back in his new form, ÒI could fetch it for you. The children canÕt lock me out of there.Ó

Spike looked quickly over at Angel, and didnÕt miss the speculative gleam in his eye when he said, ÒThat would be good of you, Rupert. Why donÕt you do that? Hey, you could even get some of your books while you were there.Ó Dru came up behind Angel and draped her arms over his shoulder. He folded his hands over her slim forearms and looked up, his face lost behind a curtain of her dark hair. Spike fumed. ÒNightÕs still youngish. Why donÕt you go now?Ó

Ripper took a draw of his cigarette and then said, ÒJust might do that. Care to join me, love?Ó he added to the woman in his lap.

ÒGot nothing better to do.Ó

Spike watched the pair stand up in disbelief. His mouth was probably hanging open, but what the hell. Just as they started for the door, he pulled himself out of the shock.

ÒYou bloody idiots.Ó

Everyone stopped, and then turned to look at him.

ÒHeÕs setting you up. CanÕt you see that?Ó

ÒSpike-Ó Angel said, and it was clearly a warning.

ÒSod off, you big poof.Ó Then, to Ripper, who was looking at him like he wasnÕt quite sure what to make of this, ÒYou really think that the Slayer would let you just waltz into that library? DonÕt be a git. You were a smart man when you were alive, *Rupert.* What happened to you?

Apparently, Angel couldnÕt resist opening his big mouth, even at a moment like this, and he said, ÒHeÕs two days turned, Spike. You and I both know that vampires that age donÕt operate on all cylinders.Ó

ÒHey, now,Ó Jenny protested.

Angel rambled on, oblivious.

ÒBesides, IÕm not setting anyone up. He knows the Slayer. He knows what she can do. HeÕll be fine.Ó

ÒLike hell he will. You just said it yourself. HeÕs two days old, fer crying out loud.Ó He turned to Ripper. ÒDonÕt. Just donÕt. You wanna live longer than two weeks, youÕll do well to lay low for a bit. That Slayer... you donÕt trifle with her.Ó He shot a long look at Angel as he said the last words.

ÒHuh. So what, exactly, were *you* trying to do?Ó

ÒMe? I was trying to kill the girl, not piss her off.Ó

ÒActually, you *were* doing a fair job of pissing her off.Ó

ÒYeah, well, least I was *trying* to do the right thing. You donÕt see *me* turning her bloody Watcher and piddling around with her best friendÕs pets.Ó

ÒWhat, exactly, is your point, here?Ó

ÒI see what youÕre trying to do, mate. You want her to kill him. You think itÕll make her weak. You think she wonÕt be able to live with herself after turning her own Watcher to dust. Well you know what, Angelus? YouÕre wrong. You know what itÕll do? All itÕll do is make her realize that heÕs a demon, and you... are... too. And then, sheÕll come here. And sheÕll kill you. And then, sheÕll kill me. And maybe, sheÕll even manage to kill Dru. And you know what else? I am not going to stand for it.Ó

Dru cried out suddenly, her high, wavering voice slicing through the sudden silence in the factory. ÒOh. Oh, oh, oh.Ó

ÒDru. Dru, baby-Ó

She staggered back, and he spun his chair, hurrying to reach her, and just managing to catch her and pull her into his lap before she fell to the hard floor. She was skin and bones against him, delicate and wonderful, and he held her close.

ÒEasy, baby, easy.Ó
ÒOh, Spike. ItÕs bad. Bad bad.Ó

ÒShhh. IÕve got you. Nothing badÕs gonna happen, kitten.Ó

ÒAll the worldÕs falling down... all the world. All of the family. Dust and dust.Ó

ÒNo, no, baby. Never. I wonÕt let it happen.Ó

ÒDust, dust, I *see* it, I see it floating, floating down... Oooh!Ó

She curled into him, and he wrapped the sides of his coat around her quaking body, still making reassuring noises as he looked up and found all of the other eyes in the place on him. He looked Ripper straight in the eye, and saw, for just a single moment, something more stir there. And then, Ripper looked over to Angel.

ÒIs this true?Ó he said, his voice quiet and calm.
 
The corner of AngelÕs mouth twitched, in something, maybe a grimace, maybe a smile. It was hard to tell.

ÒWhat Dru said? ÔCourse not.Ó

ÒWhat Spike said. Is. It. True?Ó

Angel pursed his lips, steepled his fingers, and finally peered up through his lashes at Ripper.

ÒLook, Rupert, buddy, nothing personal. ItÕs all just part of the plan.Ó

Ripper growled, and his stance changed, subtly, becoming looser, more balanced, the stance of a seasoned and talented fighter going on guard. Angel stood up, not quickly, just being prepared. He even pushed the chair back in behind him. And then, he too settled into the fighting groove, going game face and spreading his hands slightly to his sides.

ÒYou want to fight me, Rupert? YouÕll just die now, instead of later. IÕm two hundred years older than you.Ó

ÒYouÕre a coward and a blind idiot, Angelus. And you always were,Ó Ripper replied.

Dru wailed into SpikeÕs chest and he held her a bit tighter, and he felt a thrill pass through him. Someone was going to die, and before they did there was going to be a bloody good romp. He grinned in spite of himself, and settled back to enjoy the show.

Across the room, he saw that Jenny had backed well out of the way and was watching the two male vamps as they made a slow circuit around each other. Her dark brows were drawn together with concern, and it wasnÕt unwarranted. If Ripper was the one to take the fall, no doubt Jenny herself wouldnÕt be far behind.

Angel made the first move, darting towards Ripper, going for his throat. Ripper dodged easily, and caught one of AngelÕs arms, then used his own momentum to send him crashing off into the cluttered debris off to SpikeÕs left. Angel rebounded off the junk, angling himself towards Ripper, reacting just in time to block a kick aimed at his head, and then reply with a solid blow to RipperÕs side with his own foot, sending the younger vampire reeling back out into the middle of the floor.

They met again out there, and the fight continued, with neither seeming to gain the upper hand. These were two expert fighters, well-matched in strength and ability. It was like watching a ballet--or at least, it would be, if ballet included growling, swearing and bloodletting. It was a hell of a thing.

Then, Spike noticed Jenny again. She was moving away from the fight. Not a bad idea in general, but she seemed to be moving with more purpose than one who is simply getting out of the way. When she stopped and opened one of the vampiresÕ crates, he understood. Oh, clever woman.

She returned to the fight with a long sword in her hand.

ÒRipper!Ó she called, and after a moment, Ripper caught Angel with another good kick and fell back a pace or two, spinning towards Jenny. She grinned and tossed him the sword, point down. He snatched it out of the air and immediately arced it up to ready, and suddenly, Spike knew beyond a doubt who this fight belonged to.

AngelÕs eyes widened, and he made a mad dashing circuit around the room, keeping as far from Ripper as possible. Ripper just turned in one place, keeping Angel in front of him, but not attempting to pursue him. Honor. This was honor. What an odd trait in a vampire.

No. Wait.

Angel reached the weapons chest and frantically hauled out his own sword, turning back in RipperÕs direction as quickly as possible.

Not honor, Spike realized. This was the cat toying with the mouse. RipperÕs eyes glittered, and he settled down in a fighting stance, one foot slightly back, his free hand out just enough for balance. Angel stayed where he was, similarly braced, and they stared at each other across the factory.

ÒAfraid?Ó Ripper asked.

ÒNot a bit. You?Ó Angel retorted.

ÒHardly. ThereÕs more room to play out here. Are you going to join me, or do I have to come over there?Ó

And, then, for good measure, Ripper lowered his sword, resting the tip of it on the floor at his side. After a moment, Angel edged closer, keeping his own weapon at the ready until he finally came within striking distance. Ripper calmly raised his sword again and dropped back into position, crossing their blades between them. Their eyes locked together.

ÒEn guard,Ó Ripper whispered, and the real fight began.

SpikeÕs grin widened further as he watched the swordplay. Blades glinted in the light as the two combatants worked their way up and down the factory floor, and the walls reverberated with the clang of metal on metal. The fight moved over closer to him and stalled there, giving him a good view of the proceedings, but not close enough for him to worry about DruÕs safety just yet.

For a moment, Angel and Ripper locked swords, and Ripper glanced in his direction, a wicked grin of his own on his face, just before springing back away from Angel, laughing.

ÒEnjoying yourself, Spike?Ó he shouted, above the sound of the the swords coming together again as Angel lunged towards him.

Spike laughed. So, the placement of this little sparring match was no accident. Neither, he was beginning to realize, was very little else that Ripper was doing in this fight. Angel was the attacker in almost every move, and Ripper was blocking each blow with ease, his every movement measured and  deliberate. And, where Angel looked like he was giving it his all, or was, at least, deadly serious, Ripper looked like he was simply enjoying the hell out of himself.

That went on for a few minutes, and then Spike saw the moment that the fun went out of the fight, and it was in earnest again. Angel fell back immediately, suddenly struggling just to block the rain of blows, until Ripper got him backed into the center of the room.

Their swords locked together again, and they were leaned in close to each other, eye to eye. Ripper snarled softly, and then, with a sudden twist of his wrist, he neatly flicked AngelÕs sword out of his hand. He caught it behind his own back, and Angel backpedaled frantically. But not quite frantically enough. 

Ripper slammed AngelÕs own sword low through his gut.

Dru howled, and Angel made a small gasping sound.

Still holding the sword that impaled him, Ripper stepped up close to Angel, and whispered to him.

ÒRipper,Ó Angel gasped, after a moment, his eyes wide. ÒYour name. Ripper. Definitely.Ó

ÒAnd donÕt you forget it,Ó Ripper said, then jerked the sword up, slicing through AngelÕs abdomen from his belly to his collar bone. Angel grunted, and fell to his knees. Ripper turned his back to him. Angel clutched the sword in his chest and stared up at him as he began to move off.

So, he was going to let him live. Not so bad, Spike supposed, he could be a useful-

Ripper spun around, and his sword cut cleanly through AngelÕs neck.

Then he walked away, the dust swirling in his wake.

Spike stared, mouth open in shock. HeÕd thought... but... dust... Angelus dust...

He looked back towards Ripper, whoÕd stopped when he reached the table, where he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and shook one out. With the cigarette between his lips, he looked back at Spike.

ÒThink IÕll wait on getting that orb from the library,Ó he said, then flicked open his lighter.

***

Chapter Twelve

Tuesday again. One week since Giles and Jenny had died. Xander walked alongside Buffy in the quiet cemetery. There hadnÕt been a whole lot of activity from the vampire gang since Wednesday, although every morning since, Buffy had read the homicide column of the crime section of the paper with even more intensity than usual. Her finger would glide down the page as she read, until it froze in one place, and Buffy would softly say, ÒThis one. This one was Giles.Ó

He wasnÕt sure how she did it. He wasnÕt even entirely sure if she was right, although heÕd come to trust her instincts on icky things implicitly. Still, whether she was right or not, the killings were always brutal ones and her apparent obsession with ferreting them out was worrisome.

Right now, though, the night was still and quiet. It was a silence that extended even between them. He knew that with the arm thing, he wasnÕt a whole lot of help to her right now. In fact, he was probably more of a burden than anything, someone sheÕd have to worry about while fighting. But really, that wasnÕt much different than the way things usually are, and the thought of letting her out here on her own troubled him more than the thought of being a distraction.

On Saturday, Joyce had begun to make gentle jokes about adopting him into the family, in fact, because of the amount of time he was spending at their place. HeÕd felt really dirty for it, but heÕd finally resorted to hinting that maybe his home life was responsible for his current condition, and since then, thereÕd been less pointed jokes and more chocolate chip cookies, so maybe it wasnÕt an entirely bad thing. And, anyway, his house really wasnÕt the place to go for sympathy and understanding.

Buffy sighed softly beside him, and he glanced over at her. She was walking with her arms crossed over her chest, a stake in one hand, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Like she had for the past week, she looked tired, run down.

ÒHowÕre we doing, Buff? ÔWe,Õ of course, being the medical Ôwe.ÕÓ

She smiled a bit without looking at him and said, ÒWeÕre doing not too bad. Medically.Ó

ÒWell. Good.Ó

There silence again... until they rounded the corner and stumbled over the body. Literally. Buffy grabbed his shoulder before he could skillfully plow face first into the grass, and she hauled them both back a few steps. 

Xander could swear his heart stopped in his chest when he looked up.

Jenny, lounging back against the side of the crypt, watching them with that hint of amusement in her eyes. Except for the cigarette dangling from her fingers, and that *outfit,* she looked pretty much like she always had.

ÒWow, hey, I always suspected sluttiness was part of the whole vampire package, but *damn*... now I *know*.Ó

As the words escaped his lips, Xander seriously contemplated where, exactly, this death wish of his had come from.

ÒXander!Ó Buffy hissed at him for good measure, obviously wondering exactly the same thing.

Jenny just dropped the cigarette and ground it out with her toe and said, ÒXander, Xander, Xander. You never change, do you?Ó

ÒApparently not,Ó he said, feeling, for a moment, real remorse, even as his heart rate increased and the stark terror began to take over. Beside him, Buffy was looking around, searching the darkness. Jenny was walking slowly towards them.

ÒGiles,Ó Buffy said, and Xander barely resisted the urge to yip in horror. And then he realized she was addressing the words to Jenny, ÒIs he with you?Ó

Jenny sniffed dismissively.

ÒLike IÕd tell you. ItÕs so much better to leave you wondering whether or not IÕve got back up waiting in the wings.Ó

ÒStay close,Ó Buffy said, inclining her head slightly in his direction, and she readied her stake, moving towards Jenny, tensed for battle. 

Only, instead of attacking, Jenny just made a break for it. Buffy grabbed her arm and threw her into a nearby tombstone, darting after her, stake held high. Jenny blocked the downward sweep of BuffyÕs arm and shoved her back, following her and grabbing BuffyÕs stake arm, trying to disarm her. 

As they tussled, Xander looked around the graveyard, watching for any sign of movement that might indicate Jenny wasnÕt alone.

ÒHa!Ó the sound of JennyÕs triumphant voice drew his attention back to the battle in a hurry. Buffy was reeling back to her feet near the crypt, clutching her head. Her stake was lying on the ground a few feet from Xander, and Jenny was approaching Buffy, who was looking extremely out of it.

Without even stopping to think, he grabbed the stake and charged Jenny.

She blocked his blow of course, but then she snarled at him and retreated. Xander hurried to BuffyÕs side, wrapping his good arm around her.

ÒHey. You ok?Ó

Buffy shook her head vaguely. ÒDonÕt feel so-Ó

ÒHey,Ó JennyÕs voice called, and he looked up. She was standing at a safe distance, grinning, ÒBuffy. Just thought you might want to know. Your boyfriendÕs dust.Ó

And on that note, Jenny fled.

Xander looked over at Buffy, who was leaning heavily against him.

ÒBuffy?Ó

She moaned softly and passed out.

And that was how Xander ended up in the ER for the second time in a week. He munched a bag of peanuts from the vending machine and made up dialogue for the characters on the muted TV screen in the corner.

ÒHey, werenÕt you just in here?Ó one of the ER interns grinned at him.

Xander sighed, ÒYup. YouÕd think theyÕd give, like, frequent patients discounts or something. Or maybe give us a nice lounge.Ó

The intern laughed, ÒSure thing. Right after they give the *doctors* a nice lounge, maybe.Ó

He looked back up at the TV as the intern scurried off. Mulder and Scully were doing an autopsy on something gooey.

ÒOh, Scully,Ó he muttered, in his best Mulder deadpan, as MulderÕs lips moved, ÒYou are so sexy when youÕre slimy. Make passionate love to me!!Ó

Scully looked faintly perturbed.

ÒXander!Ó

Xander twisted around in his chair. Ah, the gang was all here. Willow, Oz, and Joyce were rushing in the door.

ÒHey, guys.Ó
ÒWhatÕs going on? Where is she?Ó Joyce asked, craning her neck to try to see around the various walls and curtains.

ÒThey wouldnÕt let me back there. She was sort of going in and out. FluÕs been going around.Ó

Joyce headed for the main desk, and Willow and Oz sat down next to him, immediately clasping hands.

ÒWhat is it, really?Ó Willow said, softly.

Xander ate a peanut, then said, ÒFlu, I think.Ó

ÒOh. Ok. Good. I think.Ó

ÒLess research involved, anyway,Ó Oz pointed out. ÒOh, hey. X-files.Ó

Xander contemplated his peanuts for a moment, then said, ÒWe, uh, saw Jenny. Right before Buff went sleepy-time.Ó
ÓOh?Ó Willow said, her voice a bit shaky.

ÒYeah... she, uh, she said that Angel was... um. Dead.Ó

ÒWhat?Ó Willow was staring at him now. Oz raised one eyebrow just a bit.

ÒI mean, she could have been lying, but, you know, why would she?Ó

ÒTo hurt Buffy, maybe?Ó

ÒI guess. But. I mean, unless Angel really is gone in some way, weÕd probably run into him sooner or later, right?Ó

ÒBut... Why would he be dead? I mean, heÕs not stupid... itÕs not like heÕs gonna be, be trying to get a tan or something... how would he die?Ó

There was a moment of silence, then Oz looked away from the TV.

ÒGiles,Ó he said.

Xander and Willow both looked at him.

ÒGiles?Ó Willow said.

ÒYeah. I mean, Giles was always an alpha-male kinda guy. He probably didnÕt get along too well with Angel. Vampires... theyÕre like wolves. They have a hierarchy. Giles was a new member of their pack. HeÕd have to eventually challenge the established leader. Ergo, a duel with Angel. And, well, vampires are a violent bunch. They would fight to the death.Ó

ÒWhich all makes sense except the Giles is an alpha male part. Giles? Hello, did we know the same tweedy librarian?Ó

Oz looked as inscrutable as always.

ÒA librarian whose real job is... was... controlling a Slayer and fighting demons. Trust me, Xander, the guy was no pushover.Ó

ÒHuh,Ó Xander said. Giles had never really struck him as the tough-guy type. Well, except that whole beating-up-Ethan-Rayne thing, but come on, that guy just inspired that. He noticed that WillowÕs eyes had gone wide and tragic, that way they had that made her look like a Disney character.

ÒDoes Buffy know?Ó

ÒNot sure,Ó Xander said. ÒShe kinda did the unconsciousness thing right after, so, IÕd say, fifty-fifty chance.Ó

ÒOh. SheÕs... sheÕs not gonna take this too well.Ó

ÒHey, come on now. This is a good thing. Remember? Soulless evil demon? Kills people? Including Giles? Right now, IÕm thinking ÔDing dong, the witch is dead...Õ Um. Not that thereÕs anything wrong with witches in general.Ó

ÒAn apt metaphor, considering that the more dangerous enemy is still out there,Ó Oz said, but Willow was still staring at Xander like heÕd just declared that heÕd converted to Satanism.

ÒOk, IÕm still having trouble with the Giles alpha-maleness hypothe- Holy shit.Ó

Giles. Oh god. Giles. Here. Crap. And wow, Jenny wasnÕt the only one whoÕd changed her look. Giles was here and he was... he was heading for the receiving desk. Where Joyce was waiting in line. Oh God.

He really meant to say something intelligent and useful, like, ÒJoyce doesnÕt know Giles is evil now, perhaps we should assist her.Ó Instead, what came out was, ÒWhat the heck is it with vampires and leather anyway?Ó

ÒShe doesnÕt know!Ó Willow whispered urgently, ÒWeÕve gotta go over there!Ó

She and Oz stood up. Xander--tried. 

ÒI canÕt,Ó he said, his throat suddenly dry. ÒI--shit.Ó

Giles had come up alongside Joyce, and when sheÕd startled at his appearance, heÕd laid a comforting hand on her arm and smiled a comforting Giles-smile and murmured something to her. Willow looked at Xander, concerned, and then glanced quickly back at Giles. For a moment, she seemed torn, then she grabbed OzÕs hand and they both crossed the waiting area towards receiving.

Great. Just great, Xander, he thought to himself. Very manly. Yeah, well, they werenÕt the ones Giles-the-evil-thing had been about to gut with a screwdriver. At that thought, his hand tightened slightly on the arm of the chair, slippery with sweat, and he pulled his slinged arm a little closer to his chest. He could feel his heart pounding. 

Come on, he rallied himself. YouÕre in the middle of the ER. HeÕs not gonna do anything here. And if he does, youÕve got a nice little cross and some holy water in your jacket.

Willow and Oz had reached the line, and subtly inserted themselves between Giles and Joyce, no doubt trading clever jabs that all had no less than two possible meanings. It was the kind of thing he generally enjoyed. But right now, the idea of standing near that--thing, was just unbearable. Not to mention terrifying in a way he hadnÕt even truly realized existed. 

HeÕd always been the brave one. Brave, but, well, kinda dumb. But now, now the whole thing had been turned on its head, because no matter how much lip-service Willow paid to the to the fact that Giles was dead, and that was a demon, she, and Buffy, and Oz, and everyone else, they just didnÕt quite get it. Not on the gut level that Xander did. For once, *he* was the one who understood exactly what they were facing, and it was a feeling that made him suddenly sympathize a whole lot more with the position Giles must have been in countless times during their acquaintance. 

He *always* knew. He *always* understood exactly what it was that lurked in the dark. Damn, whoever said ignorance was bliss had no idea how right they were.

Giles always knew. But then, he also always did it anyway.

Xander took a long, deep breath, and before he could stop himself, he stood up and walked across the room.

ÒHey, Xander,Ó Willow said, her voice light and filled with notes of admiration and relief and fear. He forced a smile, and then pushed his eyes up to meet GilesÕs.

The vampire smiled slowly.

ÒXander,Ó he said, with a slow nod.

ÒGiles,Ó he said, through his tight throat, then he let himself wimp out a bit and turned to BuffyÕs mom, ÒJoyce. Hey.Ó

She looked tired and afraid, and he felt bad suddenly that they couldnÕt tell her. The poor woman knew that something was going on with her daughter, but she didnÕt know what, and probably every little thing that happened to Buffy was colored in her eyes with that fear of the unknown.

ÒXander. You were with her? What happened?Ó

Xander shrugged a bit, trying to look nonchalant, and not quite getting it, cause all his internal alarms were screaming about the vampire standing just a foot or so away.

ÒNot sure. She just passed out for a second or two. I really think itÕs that flu.Ó

The person ahead of them in line moved away, and Joyce stepped up to the counter, and the rest of them shifted forward to follow. In the shuffle, Xander felt the sleeve of GilesÕs jacket brush against his arm and he shuddered, and then stepped away.

Joyce turned back to them after a brief conversation with the nurse.

ÒThey said itÕs the flu. Family only with her right now, though, IÕm sorry. IÕll... IÕll let you know what room sheÕs in. Um. Xander, youÕre welcome to stay at our place tonight, if you want.Ó

He had no intention of being *anywhere* except right by BuffyÕs side tonight. Especially not with leather boy over there hanging around.

ÒThanks. But. I think IÕll just stay here.Ó

Joyce looked surprised at this, but didnÕt comment.
ÓWell, IÕll be back there with her.Ó

He nodded, and Joyce moved off into the back, following the nurse. He turned back to the group.
ÓWhat are you doing here, anyway?Ó he asked, feeling a bit braver now.

Giles smiled enigmatically.

ÒI was simply curious to see if I needed to worry about another Slayer being called.Ó

ÒIs it true?Ó Willow asked, suddenly. ÒAbout Angel?Ó

ÒThat depends on what, exactly ÔitÕ is. If ÔitÕ means dead, then yes. HeÕs dead.Ó

ÒWhy?Ó Willow asked, obviously also not quite buying OzÕs explanation.

ÒWe had a slight... difference of opinion.Ó

ÒYou killed him? You killed Angel? Killed? On purpose?Ó The concept seemed to be eluding WillowÕs grasp.

Giles just smiled again, and turned and walked away.

ÒOk. Ten points for Oz,Ó Xander said, still staring after him. ÒWould be twenty if youÕd called the biker thing.Ó

ÒHe killed Angel,Ó Willow said, her eyes doing that Disney thing again. Oz gently rubbed her shoulder.

***

Chapter Thirteen

Buffy was fading in and out. Her mind was muzzy and hazy, and shadows were dark and filled with evil things, and the edges of the world were sharp, and at the same time, wavery to the point of unreality. When she was awake, she could feel the scratchy sheets on her cold, sweaty skin, hear the sounds of doctors being paged and nurses making their rounds.

When she was asleep, she was visited by ghosts... some old, some recent. Merrick, her first Watcher, had stood at her bedside at one point, his own stake through his heart. He was resting one hand on it. He looked distant and very sad.

Sometimes, it was a little girl, her cousin, whoÕd died in a hospital when Buffy was very young. She would look at her with wide, accusing eyes. Or sometimes, with mute panic.

There was a parade of others, the people she hadnÕt quite been in time to save, the people who had been nothing to her but an enigma for Giles to puzzle out, whose bodies had been nothing but pieces of their puzzle, or obstacles in their path, or enemies to be slaughtered. Like fishes, they were the ones that got away, the ones that slipped through her fingers, maybe because she wanted a normal life, and had gone to the Bronze, or done her homework, or just flaked out one night, and laid in her bed listening to music. Or, they were the victims of her mistakes, or possibly, what she always considered acceptable losses in the overall battle.

One girl stood there longer than the others. She had shoulder length hair, mousy brown, unremarkable. SheÕd watched Buffy with quiet desperation, and then, all of a sudden, sheÕd just... fallen apart. Not emotionally. Physically. Her arms and legs and head had just fallen off her body. Buffy had jerked awake after that, her breath racing, found a nurse beside her bed, saying it was all right.

It wasnÕt.

Then, there were the most recent and heartbreaking. There was a middle-aged man, whose picture sheÕd seen in the paper the morning after Giles had been turned. His name was John. He had two children. That night, heÕd gone out to investigate a noise. He never came back. His wife had found him dead on their patio, and had said that a dignified-looking man and a younger, dark haired woman had laughed at her, and then vanished into the night.

And also, there was Angel. He was there almost constantly. HeÕd sit beside her, his hand holding hers, so blissfully cool against her fever-hot skin. He would whisper to her, softly, lovingly, telling her about all he had done, all the people he had killed, how JennyÕs blood had tasted on his lips, how heÕd scented her fear. And heÕd told her how Giles, how Ripper, had turned on him, killed him. He told her heÕd created a monster even he hadnÕt been able to handle. And then he would laugh, and stroke the hair back from her sweaty brow, and kiss her lips.

Now, she was somewhere between sleeping and waking. She looked out into the creeping shadows and the sharp edges of the hallway and she saw something  pass by her door. Dark hat, dark coat, long, curved nose, the wrinkled face of an inhumanly ancient being. She jolted in shock. Real. It was real.

She grabbed the bar of her bed and felt its cold shock in her hand and knew for sure. She was awake. And that was a demon.

Trembling all over from fever and exhaustion, she sat up and dragged her legs over to the side of the bed, then let herself down to the floor as carefully as possible. The room still seemed to be moving around her as she carefully moved to her door and peered out into the hallway. 

But the demon was gone.

ÒBuffy?Ó

She turned her head slowly, trying to not invoke the vertigo, and found Xander standing beside her.

ÒXan?Ó she asked, and her voice sounded far away.

ÒYeah, Buff. I donÕt think youÕre quite cleared for takeoff yet. Let me get you back into bed. Wow, I canÕt believe I actually got to say that.Ó

She wasnÕt in humor mode, so the comment drifted right over her head, like a leaf on a sluggish current.

ÒXan, there was a demon.Ó

ÒWhat? Demon? I didnÕt see any demon, Buffster. You could possibly be hallucinating, though, and if so, enjoy it while it lasts. Normally, that kind of experience requires controlled substances.Ó

He was guiding her back towards the bed, which, actually, seemed like a very good idea right now. She stared at the crumpled, tangled white sheets and felt a longing akin to the way a soldier in a distant land may feel while reading a letter from home.

ÒHang on, lemme get this for ya,Ó Xander said, gently releasing her and grabbing the sheets, trying to wrestle them back into order one-handed. Buffy swayed back and forth and couldnÕt find it in her to do anything but watch.

ÒAll righty,Ó he said after a moment, though the bed really wasnÕt in much better shape than it had been before. ÒYour chariot awaits, madam.Ó 

He gestured expansively, then placed his hand back on the small of her back and gave a gentle push. She climbed back in, lying down on her back, and tugging at the covers.

Xander stepped up beside her and reached for the sheets, pulling them across her with his good arm and tucking them around her body.

ÒThere you go. Nice and snug.Ó

Wait. Demon.

ÒXander,Ó she said, as firmly and awakely as possible, ÒI saw a demon.Ó

ÒOk, we had this conversation, remember?Ó

She reluctantly pulled a hand out of her cocoon and weakly grabbed his sleeve.

ÒI really did. I know when IÕve seen a demon, ok, Xander? Slayer here.Ó

That tirade left her practically panting for breath. She so hated being sick.

Xander stroked the hair off her brow, like dream-Angel, only warm.

ÒHey, ok, ok, no offense intended, oh Chosen One. What kinda demon? IÕll get Will and the guys on it.Ó

ÒUm. It looked. Old. Kinda like, you know, that guy? From the movies? With the... fingernails...Ó

She waggled her fingers to demonstrate.

ÒOld guy from movies?Ó

ÒYeah, scary... movies.Ó

Her energy reserves were fading rapidly. Xander was still petting her hair. It was nice.

ÒUm. Freddy Krueger?Ó

She smiled, as brightly as she could, given her condition, which meant it was kind of like one of those flickering letters in a liquor store sign rather than its usual thousand-watt brilliance, but, hey, extenuating circumstances for not-so-spriteliness.

ÒYeh...Ó she said, not quite getting the entire word out before giving up. Xander looked down at her with loving brown eyes, and a soft smile on his own lips.

ÒOkee dokee, then. WeÕre on it. Freddy Krueger demon, stalking the hospital halls. One soon-to-be-toast Freddy Krueger demon, that is. Now, your mission, whether or not you choose to accept it, is to take a nice nap and feel better.Ó

She thought maybe she could handle that as she drifted off again.

This time, it was Giles standing in her doorway, one shoulder resting against the door jam. The corners of his eyes were crinkly and he was smiling, like he did sometimes, after sheÕd saved the world, or something else of note, or sometimes just for no reason at all. He saw her looking at him and pushed away from the door, strolling into the room with his arms laced loosely across his chest, the smile never leaving his face.

ÒBuffy,Ó he said, and his voice was filled with tender reverence.

ÒGiles,Ó she said, not sure if she was really speaking or not.

He sat down in the chair beside her bed and touched her, brushing her cheek gently with the backs of his knuckles. His skin was soft and oh-so-warm.

ÒWhy, Buffy?Ó he asked, his voice still soft, still brimming with love.

She frowned a little, confused and tired, and just wanting him to be with her. 

ÒWhyÕd you let him do it? If only youÕd killed him... when I asked you to.Ó

His shoulders slumped a little, and his eyes darkened, regret written across his face.

ÒIf only youÕd stopped him then, when you had the chance. IÕd still be alive. Jenny would be alive. You... oh, Buffy. How could you?Ó

Devastation. That was all she could feel. It was like dying. It washed through her, wrapped like a cold hand around her throat and her heart and her guts and squeezed. Those simple words, spoken in his soft, deep voice, flat and agonized. It was the same voice heÕd used to confess that he didnÕt know how to stop the demon Eyghon without killing his beloved Jenny.

ÒGiles,Ó she whispered again, and this time it came out strangled, desperate, the same way it had when heÕd had her pinned to that pillar in the warehouse. He leaned closer, his green eyes suddenly intense.

ÒI trusted you. I *believed* in you, Buffy.Ó

Then, he pulled away, stood up and paced to the far side of the room, his back to her as he faced the window.

ÒLook where that lead me.Ó

He turned around and his shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, the collar soaked and brilliant red with his own blood. His face was twisted into the demonic visage of the vampire, except his eyes, which remained grey-green, and agonized.

ÒLook what youÕve done to me,Ó he whispered, and then the sunlight blazed around him, and he fell to dust.

Buffy woke again, finding herself propped up on her elbows, with her heart racing. A tear rolled down her cheek and into her hair, cool and tickling as it slowly curled around her ear.

ÒOh, god,Ó she whispered, and then a deep and dreamless sleep claimed her.

***

Chapter Fourteen

Willow thought that if she turned one more page, she may very possibly explode.

She did it anyway.

Old English. It was a lot like German. Not so much like English. Not so good to be trying to read at 3 AM, which, even for someone who was as nearly nocturnal as she, was still the deep, dank, sleepy underbelly of the night.

Most of the lights were out, except the fluorescent emergency light near the entrance to the library, and the lamps on the desk. Her book was resting in one of those pools of yellow light. Everything else was silent and still, even Oz, who was sitting at the end of the table, with his feet up on the table and a book in his lap.

She forced her gritty eyes back down to the text. This bit was an account of a strange, four headed demon who lived somewhere in the Alps. It apparently wasnÕt all that dangerous, given that it spent all of its time arguing with itself, and yet, the authors had felt for some unknown reason compelled to lavish five high-handed and overly embellished pages on it.

Her backpack was sitting up on the checkout counter. Her history book was in there, along with a sketchy outline of the essay she was supposed to be writing about the causes of the Civil War. Also, there was a bunch of half-graded programs for JennyÕs computer class. Balanced haphazadously beside her backpack was a stack of books that students had returned that needed to be shelved.

She looked at the book again. It also didnÕt help that the monk or whoever had transcribed this thing was obviously way trigger-happy with the serifs and decorations. Hello? ItÕs a letter, not a work of art. Function over form would *clearly* apply in this case.

ÒWillow?Ó

She jumped at the sound of OzÕs voice.

ÒUm. Yeah?Ó

ÒYou think maybe we should take a break here? Demon will probably still be there tomorrow, and hey, if not, no demon, so no problem.Ó

A break. Wow, did that sound nice. She took a few moments to stare into space and fantasize blissfully about her bed. Then, she shook herself back to the reality of hard wooden chairs and 500-year-old manuscripts.

ÒYou could, if you want. IÕm gonna keep looking.Ó

Giles would know what to do. He might even know what this demon was, without looking it up. Now, here she was, digging through this stupid codex, that was pretty much the Dummies Guide to Demonology, in spite of the serifs and the Old English. If things kept on like this, Buffy would no doubt be dead within the month. 

Maybe they should contact the WatcherÕs Council after all.
ÓOz?Ó

ÒYeah?Ó
ÓMaybe Buffy needs a Watcher.Ó

Oz put his feet on the floor and placed the book on the desk, sitting up to look straight at her.

ÒWe talked about this.Ó

ÒYeah, I know, but... But, Oz, I--I donÕt think I can.Ó

ÒYou can. I know you can.Ó

She narrowed her eyes, ÒI know you think so, but... but this time, I think youÕre wrong. ThereÕs just too much. Too much I donÕt know. Oz, people train for years and years to be Watchers. I canÕt just... just DO it. I just donÕt know enough.Ó

Oz got up and moved to the chair beside hers, and took her hand in his.

ÒHey. This is the first week, ok? YouÕve gotta cut yourself some slack here. Besides, you saw those letters the WatcherÕs Council sent Giles. Buffy was right, they could be bad news.Ó

ÒBut... but not as bad as if I canÕt find some demon, and so Buffy doesnÕt know how to kill it. Or if I donÕt know about some big apocalypse thingy. Or, or, some big bad comes to town and I donÕt even know that theyÕre big or bad!Ó

He leaned forward and cut off her rambling with a kiss.

ÒYouÕre not alone.Ó

ÒBut... I am.Ó

He shook his head.

ÒNo. ThereÕs me. ThereÕs Buffy. ThereÕs Xander.Ó

ÒBut, Oz... thereÕs no grown-ups. AngelÕs dead, Giles and Jenny are evil, thereÕs no one! WeÕre just kids! We canÕt... we canÕt save the world.Ó

ÒSure we can. Willow, we have.Ó

She didnÕt believe him. She wanted to, so badly. Or, actually, in some ways, she didnÕt. She wanted to give in, to call the WatcherÕs Council. She wanted them to send some nice, grown-up British guy who would step in and boss them all around, and know everything about anything.

ÒMaybe weÕre going about this wrong,Ó Oz said.

ÒAbout what?Ó

ÒThis demon in the hospital thing. Ok. So, thereÕs a demon. What do we know about him?Ó

Willow was dubious about the value of this, but she played along.

ÒHe looks like Freddy Krueger?Ó

ÒYeah, but what else?Ó

ÒNothing?Ó

Oz smiled his classic enigmatic smile.

ÒTry again. Just think a minute.Ó

She thought. Ok, so Xander had called them. HeÕd said Buffy had seen a demon. He hadnÕt seen it, but she swore that it was a real demon. It was in the hospital. That was all she knew.

ÒThink harder,Ó Oz said, gently, tilting his head a bit and looking hard into her eyes as though he could see her brain working.

Think harder. She thought harder. Xander called. Said Buffy saw a demon. Buffy saw it. Not him. Buffy. But not Xander. So... what was different about Xander and Buffy? Well, Buffy was a girl, and she was a Slayer. So... a demon that only girls can see? A demon only Slayers can see? It had possibilities.

ÒMaybe... only Slayers can see it? Or only girls?Ó she tested this hypothesis out loud, and OzÕs eyes danced with pride.

ÒSee? ThatÕs a step in a good direction. What else?Ó

It was in the hospital. So, sickness, death. Something of that nature. Maybe it... preyed on the dying? Fed off of sickness? Or fear? Or pain?

ÒUm... get the... uh... Damon Chronicles. Those are from Europe during the Bubonic Plague. Maybe... maybe a demon of death, or pestilence? And I could try, um, SandlerÕs... he was a physician, he might know something.Ó

Just before he stood to do as she asked, he said, ÒSee?Ó

She reached across the table for the index theyÕd made of all of Giles books, listing the titles and locations. She was working on organizing the list by subject matter and indexing all the various other kinds of references he had lying around. For now, though, she trailed her finger down the list of titles until she found SandlerÕs text. Ah, yeah, that was one of the ones Giles kept in his office. It had some really... detailed... anatomical drawings. She walked into the office, trying to ignore her backpack, which she could have sworn was staring at her accusingly.

The office was dark, like the rest of the library. One of GilesÕs coats was still hanging on the coat rack in the corner, and one of his sweaters hung over the back of a chair near the far wall, and there was a tea mug off to the side on the desk that still had the dregs in it. The desk itself was cleared off, and the papers that had been scattered across it were neatly organized now, in the drawers and cubby holes.

WillowÕs grandparents had died when she was very young, and since then, no one in her immediate family had passed away. Sure, like any Sunnydale youth sheÕd faced the death of friends before, the most notable of them being Jesse, of course. But, in spite of that, sheÕd never dealt with death before. Not the little details. And it was all in the details, she was finding. SheÕd never been responsible for sorting out the mess that was left behind.

Countless things. The lease on his apartment, which they had to somehow keep paying, because heÕd no doubt terrorize any future residents of the place. His job... well, jobs, both his job as Watcher, and his job as school librarian. Magazine subscriptions. Lots of papers, all sorts of papers, some of which were relevant to them, like the letters from the WatcherÕs Council, others which appeared to have been saved merely at some random whim.

Little things, like the knickknacks he kept on his desk, and his clothes, which theyÕd boxed up and then been completely unable to decide what to do with.

She found that she hadnÕt stopped walking when she reached the bookshelf. Instead, she crossed the room to the chair, picked up the sweater.  It was wool, slightly rough and heavy, and she lifted it to her face, breathed in his scent, as familiar and comforting as the scent of home to her. Her eyes were suddenly hot, and she pressed the rough fabric to her cheek and squeezed them shut, burning tears seeping through her lashes.

Sometimes it was like sheÕd lost him all over again. Sometimes, she wasnÕt sure sheÕd be able to take it.

She let herself weep softly into the sweater for a minute, maybe two, and then she pulled it away, arranged it on the chair again, and walked to the bookshelf, blinking away the tears she didnÕt have time for and pulling down the thick, leather-bound text sheÕd come for. By the time she reached the table and rejoined Oz, she was emotionless again.

Sandler was a recent text, written by an American during, oh the irony, the Civil War. The language was fairly dry and technical, given that he was describing the ruthless kind of demons that hunted battlefields and thrived on blood and aggression and slaughter. But, dry was infinitely better than Old English, and she found her second wind, moving through the pages swiftly, and trying not to look at the bloody pictures.

She stopped on about page forty-three. Interesting.

ÒThe men are restless and terrified tonight. They say a beast is visiting at night, preying on the wounded. I believe this particular claim is nothing but poppycock, as I have observed the men all night myself and seen no such creature. I believe it is merely the case of frightened, dying young men, making up stories of a creature that they might fight, rather than facing the inevitability of their own death from this accursed fever. However, I shall watch again tonight.Ó

Tucked into the next page was a scrap of folded paper. Willow pulled it free and gently laid it flat, careful not to tear it along the worn creases.

ÒOh!Ó she said.

It was a rough sketch of an old man, with a dark hat and a long curved nose, grinning horribly. It was obviously drawn by one of the soldiers, not by Sandler, given the quality of the artwork, but still, there was no mistaking.

ÒOz! Freddy! Right here!Ó

Oz jumped up and joined her.

ÒOh yeah. ThatÕs him all right. What else does it say?Ó

She sighed.

ÒPretty much a big nothing. Sandler didnÕt see it. Said he didnÕt believe it was a real thing. But, oh, fever. They had a fever, which is kinda like a flu. So, definitely leaning towards the pestilence demon idea there!Ó

ÒGood. Then, I can keep working on my book, right?Ó

Willow nodded.

ÒAnd IÕll see if thereÕs any more in mine.Ó

Which, as it turned out, there was. One of the soldiers, a seventeen-year-old whoÕs family were relatively recent immigrants from Germany, apparently awoke everyone one night, screaming, over and over, Òder Kinderstod, der Kinderstod!Ó Recognizing the name, Sandler had looked the demon up and recorded the pertinent information.

Der Kinderstod was a demon that preyed on the sick and dying, usually children, which was where the name, which literally meant Òchild death,Ó had come from. It was your standard demon, apparently slayable even without special tricks or weak spots, although too strong for an average human to take on. Its only other advantage was it was invisible to anyone except those who had high fevers. Sandler had performed a simple exorcism to drive the demon from the camp, since thereÕd been no Slayer on hand to be rid of the parasite once and for all.

For her, that meant she needed to find out if theyÕd just go the exorcism route themselves, or if Buffy felt up to killing the thing.

Willow smiled, and, for a moment at least, felt in control.

Then, she dragged her backpack over to the table and began to attack her history essay.

***

Chapter Fifteen

The children were distracted... circling the wagons around their fallen Slayer and settling in to wait out her flu. It meant he had a few days. He wouldnÕt waste them. He, in fact, wasnÕt wasting them. 

He shut his eyes and let the night air move over him. So different from the air of his youth. In England, nights were cool and damp. They touched you like gentle wet leaves, heavy with scents and chill. Here, the air was warm and dry. Always warm and dry. Such a static thing, so empty. This air couldnÕt hold anything. 

But, still, it fairly crackled with magic. That was the Hellmouth, of course, not anything to do with Southern California. 

The power of the Hellmouth, which he was tapped into right now, with a rough power circle sketched around him on the concrete where he sat, cross-legged with this hands resting, palms up, on his knees. Just outside the circle, Jenny was pacing, holding the book heÕd retrieved from the library on the night Buffy had been admitted to the hospital.

JennyÕs voice cut cleanly through the dead, brittle air, and he caught each word and repeated it, feeling the power gather closer, pulse stronger with each repetition of the verse.

Twice more, twice more and it would be seven and the spell would be cast.

His eyes fell open and he stared straight ahead, as the power filled him and focused. 

His words had not been mere frustration. They could never truly cast him from his home. Willow wouldnÕt know that, of course. It would give him an edge.

Twice more the verse was repeated, and then, a clap like thunder, the scent of ozone and power in the air, a soft click, and the front door of his apartment drifted open, welcoming him in.

He smiled and stood up, kicked at the chalk of the power circle, to blur the lines, and then walked in the door. Just past the threshold, he paused, glanced back over his shoulder and said, ÒDo come in, Jenny.Ó

She smiled and shut the book with a heavy thump, then followed him inside.

The place was dark and quiet, but not undisturbed. By the look of the arrangement of pillows and throws on the living room couches, and the scent of the place, Willow and the werewolf had been spending a lot of time here, even sleeping here.

The papers on his desk were more or less where heÕd left them, only more neatly stacked, which told him the children had been sorting through them. Understandable.

Some of the books he would take. Others, he had no use for, so he would leave. HeÕd already compiled a list of the volumes he wanted to take, and he noted with satisfaction that Jenny had immediately moved to begin packing up those books. 

He had a more personal matter to attend to.

His bedroom, as it turned out, had not been spared, most of his clothes were already in boxes. Not that it really mattered. There were only a few things he wanted. It took a bit of digging, but he found a pair of black jeans, a grey sweater and undershirt, and, most important, his long black overcoat.

The biker jacket had been an impulse decision, a mad grab at his former youth, which heÕd thought he could reclaim now that he was an ageless creature. Over the past week, heÕd quickly realized that that was an error in judgment. His youth was gone, and he didnÕt even particularly want it back. He was something new, and, more important, older and wiser.

Of course, SpikeÕs constant taunting had nothing at all to do with his decision to change his look.

He quickly stripped and changed clothes, then grabbed his glasses from the night stand and slipped them on. 

As he stood, feeling the weight of the trench coat settle around him, and enjoying for the first time in a week clear vision, he felt as though something had clicked into place. The clothes may not make the man, but there was something about the way one presented themselves that linked back intrinsically to who they were. For the first time, he felt that he had got it right.

He tossed one glance at the mirror over the dresser, and it took seeing nothing there to remind him that he wouldnÕt see himself. He rolled his eyes at his own ineptitude, then headed back down the stairs.

Jenny paused her work in the living room, and looked up, approval shining in her eyes.

ÒNice. The glasses... look pretty good, actually. You sure you need them, though?Ó
He snarled softly. 

ÒYou think IÕd wear them if I didnÕt? Hardly. Bloody obnoxious things.Ó

ÒAww,Ó she said, in mostly-mocking sympathy. ÒHere. Have a book.Ó

He took it from her and then began checking the shelf she hadnÕt gotten to yet.

ÒEverythingÕs accounted for?Ó

ÒSo far, so good. Oh, ÔDeath Magicks and Talismans.Õ IsnÕt that kind of silly name for a book? I mean, usually itÕs something like Ô The Forbidden Tome of So-and-so,Õ or something. What is this, some kind of bargain-basement ÔKill Things for DummiesÕ?Ó

Ripper snatched it from her hands.

ÒItÕs a modern translation of one of the most ancient and dangerous texts known to mankind.Ó

Jenny looked impressed.

ÒSounds like fun. We gonna play with it?Ó

He sighed.

ÒIÕve told you. I have no plans to end the world.Ó

ÒWhy not? IÕm sure you could do it. Probably got all sorts of arcane Watcher secrets somewhere in that brain of yours... all that stuff that the good guys donÕt want us bad guys to know. And just *think* of all the suffering and gratuitous violence.Ó

ÒI was thinking more of the lack of fresh human blood that would be available should everyone on the planet happen to die,Ó he said, softly, letting his words drip with irony.

ÒHmm. Spoilsport,Ó Jenny said, reaching for the next book. ÒIf youÕre not going to use it, why take it?Ó

He waited a moment, then said, ÒIn case I ever change my mind.Ó

Jenny grinned up at him, an attractive evil glint in her eye. He found himself grinning back, and dropped to one knee, going game face and pressing a hard, brutal kiss to her lips. She rumbled low in her throat, a sound that was closer to a purr than a growl, and licked away the blood his fangs had drawn from her lip.

ÒAre you good here?Ó he asked, standing up and sweeping the coat irritably back away from his legs.

She nodded up at him.

ÒGood, then. IÕve got to go. ThereÕs an old friend I need to get back in touch with.Ó

***

Oz froze, one step inside the door, and sniffed. Death. Vampires had been here.

ÒWillow. Back to the car. Now.Ó

***

Chapter Sixteen

The old factory was cloaked in darkness, surrounded by old run-down machines and junk. Clearly, it was abandoned and had been for some time. 

Must be the right place.

To be honest, now that he was here, the gravel of the parking lot crunching under the tires of his rental car, he was a bit nervous. More than a bit, actually. He was beginning to think that he was possibly insane.

But, it was too late for that... he was shifting into park even now, and turning off the motor. When he switched off the headlights, the dark became total.

Except for the red glow of a cigarette off near the wall of the factory.

Ethan Rayne drew in a deep breath, tried not to think that it could be his last, pushed open the door of the car and stepped out into the night.

Immediatly, the cigarette dropped to the ground and was snuffed out. Ethan squinted at the dark, as his eyes adjusted far too slowly for his taste. He could hear heavy footsteps crossing the the gravel, see a dark form approaching. He hung back a little closer to the car, feeling the cool metal of the door against his back.

ÒRipper?Ó he called, and was suddenly absolutely convinced that heÕs just in fact pulled up next to the *wrong* vampire lair, since there were undoubtably many in Sunnydale, and he was about to be someoneÕs midnight snack.

But then, blessedly, a familiar voice cut through the night.

ÒEthan Rayne. About time you showed up.Ó

He couldnÕt stop the nervous chuckle. 

ÒOh, right. Well, you know airlines these days... delays like you wouldnÕt believe.Ó

ÒMmm, yes,Ó RipperÕs voice eased around him, different than he remembered it, looser, seductive. He didnÕt stop moving when heÕd had reached a sociable distance... Ethan instinctively shrank back another inch closer to the car, and then Ripper was right on top of him, close enough that he could feel his coat brushing against his own, and in the light of the half moon, he could see his eyes glittering. ÒAre you afraid?Ó Ripper whispered, his lifeless breath tickling EthanÕs cheek.

ÒTerrified, actually,Ó Ethan said, with false cheer.

Cold fingers traced from his temple to his jaw, and Ethan shivered, every instinct screaming at him to run, but every muscle frozen solid.

ÒGood,Ó Ripper said.

But, oh, it wasnÕt just fear. No, no. Not just fear at all. Every second, he could see a little clearer, and right now he could see things in Ripper he hadnÕt seen in years... the barely-restrained violence, the power... His doubts were rushing away like leaves on an autumn wind. This was the man heÕd known, who knew his own strength and reveled in it, with no fear and no regret.

Ripper stepped back suddenly. 

ÒWalk with me.Ó

For a moment, his muscles continued to rebel against any form of movement. Then, realizing he was probably safer with Ripper than without, he trotted after him, slowing to match pace beside him.

ÒSo. HowÕd it happen? Slayer wasnÕt around to save your ass, I assume?Ó

Ripper shot him a glance that was indecipherable in the moonlight, and then said, ÒI let my guard down at the wrong time. IÕd really rather not discuss it.Ó

ÒAh. Right, then.Ó

They walked on in silence, eventually leaving the warehouse district ending up on a quiet residential street. He couldnÕt see well, but the houses seemed a bit tired, run-down.

ÒSo, um... where are we going?Ó Ethan asked finally.

ÒTo a friendÕs place. ThereÕs something I need.Ó

ÒOh, yes? WhatÕs that?Ó

Ripper smiled in the darkness.

ÒAn invitation,Ó he said, and then turned up one of the walks. Ethan followed him up to the door and watched him knock.

A moment later, a woman opened the door a small crack, and peered out, yellow light spilling around her.

ÒWho are you?Ó she asked, glaring at them.

Ripper smiled a perfectly innocent smile, suddenly and disconcertingly all sniveling librarian again.

ÒIÕm sorry to be a bother,Ó he said, ÒBut our carÕs broken down, you see, and weÕre from out of town... I was wondering if it would inconvience you too terribly much if I could just use your phone for a moment? I promise IÕll be gone just as soon as I can.Ó

Th